57. REEMA
Sunday afternoon, I meet Mr.Davies at the office. In all my time here, I’ve never been inside the building on a weekend, but this is when he requested the meeting. There is no one here but us.
Actually—
Fi, the IT person is also here.
Mr.Davies asks me to sit down.
I follow the instructions, taking everything one step at a time like I’ve been doing for the last twelve hours. During the reception, I made sure I was the happiest sister I could be for Esha. Outwardly smiling, laughing, dancing, and crying at the speeches. I didn’t let anyone talk to me about anything else. Then, the next morning, I snuck out of the hotel and caught the first flight home. And now, I’m here.
Mr.Davies starts talking about expectations, disappointments, and regret. I’m having a problem following his meaning, but I don’t tell him to slow it down for me. No, this foggy numbness is too nice to risk being lifted. Instead, I nod.
He turns his screen so I can see a video. It’s grainy, black and white, and pulled from a security camera. There’s my car parked in the parking lot, alone and after hours. Fi clicks something, so the video becomes a time-lapse. Over and over again, it shows my car pulling into the lot and pulling out of the lot.
Mr.Davies asks if I can explain. I can’t.
When he sees me struggling, he sighs. He tells me that he’s going to re-evaluate this whole incentive program, but I have to understand that in good conscience, he will not be giving me the bonus this year. I’ll still earn commissions from every client I signed up after-hours, but that’s all.
There’s nothing to argue. I try to form excuses or explanations, but they’re stuck in my throat. Mr.Davies tells me to take a few more days off, and then when I come back, we can talk about it some more. He says he’s concerned about me, that I’m a valued employee, and he just wants to make sure I am okay.
With that, I’m dismissed.
Back at the apartment, Ms.Beatrice is surprised that I am home. That’s because I’m never there in the middle of the day, even on weekends. I’m always working or on the way to work. She asks me how the wedding week went. I lie and say it was good, but also that I’m still tired.
She shuts the lights off, even though it’s broad daylight, so I can sleep.
There are missed texts and calls on my phone I’m ignoring.
I’m far too busy on my bed, behind my curtain, weeping into a pillow, trying my best to muffle the sounds, so Ms.Beatrice doesn’t worry.
Eventually, the sun sets.