Chapter Seven
Seven
It’s unclear whether I’m free to go for the day or whether Connor expects me to stick around, and I don’t really feel like poking the bear, so I decide to split the difference and pack up my old desk.
I steal an empty cardboard box and methodically fill it with all my work-adjacent belongings, which amount to a water bottle, four tubs of Tupperware, the maple syrup, a pen jar I’ve become weirdly attached to, and a stolen cactus.
Besides my friends, there’s not much I’ll miss about working in Product, in all honesty, but one thing I will miss is my desk.
I’m on the non-glamorous side of the building, the one that stares directly into an adjacent office block that’s almost identical to ours, but given the choice, this is still the view I’d pick.
I love watching all the other people going about their days. There’s a meeting room visible from where I sit; as long as it’s not too sunny, I can sometimes read what they’re writing on the whiteboard.
Maybe if Taskio sends me packing they’ll take me in instead. I could add just as much value to their organization. Which is to say, none at all.
It’s amazing how pathetic it feels that I can pack the entire contents of my career into a single cardboard box. After six years the total sum of my contribution to this place will be forgotten in a blink.
Someday soon someone else will take over this desk and ask, idly, who used to sit here. And the person they’re talking to will squint into the distance and eventually say, you know, I have no idea.
It’s fine. I’ve survived enough rounds of redundancies to know it’s not even really personal—for the purposes of these layoffs I am just a number on a spreadsheet.
But it’s weird, knowing that if I walked out of here today and never came back, I wouldn’t leave so much as a fingerprint’s worth of impact on this place.
It’s amid these cheerful thoughts that my phone starts ringing.
“Hello?”
“It’s your mother.”
As greetings go, this one is totally unnecessary. “Yeah, Mom, I know.”
“How do you know?” she says, accusingly. “It could have been your father.”
“I can tell the difference between your voices,” I assure her, switching the phone to my other ear. “You also told me you were going to call me back later.”
“Don’t be smart,” she tells me. “And don’t roll your eyes.”
She issues this command at the precise moment I roll them. She’s good.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“We’ve decided to do the engagement party this weekend. I’ll need you home tomorrow to help with the setup.”
I choke on an intake of breath. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s not a request,” she says, with the authority of one who has given birth to me. “Get one of the early flights.”
“You know I have a job, right? One they expect me to show up for every day?”
“Take a holiday,” she says breezily.
“Now really isn’t a good time, Mom,” I tell her. “I just got…um, promoted. Sort of.”
She’s not buying it.
“All the more reason why you should take a couple of days off.”
“What? No,” I say.
I catch a colleague walking in my direction and pivot, leaning my shoulder against the wall, trying to make it seem like I’m on a business call. I nod as they pass. They nod back.
“You can’t just order me to fly home,” I argue when they’re out of earshot again. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Oh you are, are you? Then start acting like one. What could be more important than your sister’s wedding?”
“Seeing as it’s not her wedding, it’s her engagement party, a lot of things.”
“Well, those things will have to wait.”
“It’s not that easy. Am I even invited? I don’t think Shannon wants me there.”
“Of course she wants you there,” my mom says, never one to give up on trying to broker peace between my sister and me. Even if it means lying through her teeth.
“OK,” I reason. “Then she can call me and tell me that herself.”
“She’s very tied up right now,” Mom says, evasive. “There’s lots to get done between now and Saturday and she has a big house sale going through this week.”
“Again, why not just do this another weekend, then?”
“Because it’s decided. We’ve already invited the neighbors.”
“Heaven forfend,” I mutter.
“None of your attitude, young lady. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mom—”
“Text your father your flight number,” she says, cutting me off to issue her final command. Then she is gone.
I stare dumbly down at my phone, at a total loss for what to do next. I could either: call her back and refuse to attend the party; refuse to attend the party without calling her back; go back upstairs and ask my new boss for a few days off.
I can’t, in this moment, think of anything less appealing than going home to gag over the pending nuptials of my beloved sister to the Worst Man in the World. And what’s the big rush? Is this a shotgun wedding or something?
Oh god. Is that it? Is this a shotgun wedding? Please, please no. I can’t imagine anything worse than a miniature Dan.
—
It takes me a while to work up the courage to talk to Connor. Even I know this is pushing my luck. I consider sending him an email but think better of it. This conversation is best had face-to-face. At least then I can see his reaction.
There’s just one problem. I can’t find him. Anywhere.
The first place Connor is not is at his desk. Then he’s not upstairs in the canteen. I check downstairs again: still not at his desk. There are infinite places he could be: call booths, meeting rooms, miscellaneous sofas, mysteriously placed little nap pods.
I’m standing outside a row of call booths with my hands on my hips, trying to decide my next move when the one closest to me pops open. Jackpot.
Connor stops short when he sees me hovering, bringing his laptop to his chest. Like a shield.
I give him a slow wave. “Hello.”
“Just checking—is running into you for the third time today a coincidence, or have you been standing out here waiting for me?”
“Well, it is sort of a coincidence,” I say. Which is not a lie. “But since we’ve bumped into each other, there is something I wanted to ask you about.”
“What could you possibly need now. A kidney?”
“I’m touched you’d offer,” I say. “Actually, I need to take a couple of days off.”
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“So to be clear,” he says, scratching at his eyebrow. “After bullying your way in, your first act in this new role will be to…take a couple of days off.”
“When you say it like that it sounds bad.”
“OK.” He nods. “Make it sound good.”
I make a cringe face. I can’t.
“I know the timing is not amazing,” I admit. “But my parents are throwing my sister an engagement party this weekend and they need help with all the prep.”
This diverts his attention. He tilts his head. “Where is home?”
“Canada.”
“Aren’t Canadians supposed to be nice?”
“Oh, that’s just a rumor. It was a Canadian who started it.”
“How long are you proposing to be away for?”
“Maybe a week?”
I can see that this answer has not impressed him, and hastily add, “I’ll work remotely for most of it. Besides, it gives you a chance to prepare my onboarding or whatever.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And if I say no?”
I place a palm on my throat and cough lightly. “Now that you mention it, I think I might be coming down with something.”
This has its intended effect. He laughs.
“Are you always this outrageous?”
“Mostly, yes.”
He tips his head back and sighs deeply. “What have I done?” he mutters.
“Made an amazing decision,” I tell him. “I will go home for a few days and then come back here ready to be the model employee.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“You’ll see,” I promise him.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says. He mulls it over. “Fine. Take Thursday and Friday. You’ll officially start Monday.”
I salute. “Yes, boss.”
“Early Monday.”
“I love early mornings,” I tell him.
“And I expect you back in the office by Thursday.”
“I will be here. Also early.”
“Fine.”
“Great,” I chirp back.
“And now can you please do something for me?”
“Sure,” I say. Only seems fair. “What is it?”
“Go home for the day,” he tells me.
Umm. “OK?”
“Seriously. Please leave the building. I have things I need to accomplish today.”
“It’s a sacrifice, but one I am prepared to make,” I say.
“If you cause me any more trouble between now and Monday you are fired.”
“It will be like I do not exist,” I promise him.
“Good,” he says briskly. “Then I’ll speak to you on Monday.”
—
On my way out, I make one last visit to Carrie’s office, turning the handle after I hear her muffled invitation to enter.
I find her in much the same position I left her this morning, hunched over her computer and typing so violently the letters are in danger of pinging off her keyboard.
I sigh dramatically and flop into the single chair in the corner of the room, yowling when my hip makes contact with the metal armrest on my way down. God, this day.
“So?” she says.
“It worked.”
“I’m surprised,” she says.
“So am I,” I say, pressing the heel of my palms into my eyes. “It was really touch and go there for a minute. The department head was not having it.”
“I gathered that, when he phoned me,” Carrie says in response.
“Shit, did he?”
“Yeah, this morning, after you talked to him, I guess. Asking what the hell was going on, basically.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Let’s just say he probably thinks I’m the stupidest human resources manager in existence. He smelled a rat. He argued the role can’t be signed off without his approval, and I just said there was some sort of mix-up. I thought for sure he was going to send you packing.”
“I think that was his intention, but I won him over.”
Or did I wear him down? I’ve spent the entire day trying to stay one step ahead of Connor, and it’s only now that I realize just how little sense it made to hire me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful—but suspicious.
“What do you think his deal is?” I ask Carrie, thinking out loud.
“No idea.” Carrie shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him. What’s he look like?”