Private Lessons in Obedience

Chapter 1

Three pings before ten o’clock, all from the same message thread. The vendor deliverables slipped a week, and nobody told me until the client asked. Now I’m rebuilding the timeline in a spreadsheet with a cell highlighted in panic yellow. I type “No worries at all. We can absorb this” and hit send.

The photo on my desk is Biscuit at the shelter, day one, tongue out, one ear up like he’s mid-question. I smile at it. Then I remember my left flat. Or what used to be my left flat.

I wish there were a pre-class, a remedial hour where I could practice being someone who gets listened to, and then show up to the real one already competent. A class before the class. I’d take notes.

A coworker leans into my cubicle holding the vendor thread on his phone in case he needs to prove to me it wasn’t his fault. “I know I was supposed to flag the slip Friday. It got away from me.”

“Oh, honestly, it’s fine,” I say. “The dates were optimistic anyway. I’ll shuffle it.”

He’s already relaxing before I finish the sentence. He says I’m the best and goes to lunch.

My phone lights up with a notification from SWIPE! “It’s been 175 days since you SWIPED! Love is out there looking for YOU, Robin! ??” Exclamation points, a heart, corporate cheer. One hundred seventy-five days. Maybe next week.

I swipe the notification away.

I do not touch the calendar block. 6:30 stays. I go back to the yellow cell and start typing new dates.