Undercovers
“Hey, Olivia!” I say, making my voice as singsong as possible as I answer my phone.
I was on my way out the door to pick up Jane for our “investigation” when I saw Olivia’s name on my screen. Honestly, I was
tempted to bury my phone under a cushion until the ringing stopped. These past few weeks the group chat has continued its
silent streak, and it’s getting harder to pretend I’m not bothered.
But I didn’t want it to be weird when I returned to the office. Plus, I genuinely miss her. At work, she’d always been my
realest fan—cheering me on and saying how much she wished she could achieve what I had. She was right on track. I’d always
joke to her that she reminded me of a younger version of me (circa 2022), and that one day she’d be my boss. It was nice to
be admired and to share the hard-won advice I’d gathered along the way. Right now, I could really use that ego boost. So I
took a seat on the wicker bench by my door and swiped to answer.
“It’s so good to hear your voice.” It’s Tuesday, which means it’s been exactly three weeks of only texting.
“Yours too!” I smile even though she can’t see me. I can even feel my back straightening, like muscle memory, now that work
has entered my apartment.
“So, how’s your mom?” She’s doing that low voice, high voice thing—like she’s faking interest. Fair enough.
Alice gives me a knowing look that I choose to ignore. My throat is already tightening with frustration over my troubles. “Things are going really well here.”
“Amazing. So you think you’ll come back soon?” Again, Olivia’s tone is that business chipper. Maybe it always was and I just
didn’t notice when I was also in it. Man, how has it already been three weeks? I’ve already hit the halfway mark of my leave.
In some ways, it feels like no time at all has passed—my meager accomplishments around this building are depressing. On the
other hand, the office already feels like a lifetime ago. At least I managed to get all the rest of the electrical inspections
done today. (Apart from Carmen’s place because he was too “busy with a big project.”) Jamie has miraculously agreed to come
back when he’s in the area on Friday, which is cutting it to the exact day of Lana’s June 11th deadline. So if Carmen doesn’t
let us in through his own volition, then I STG.
“I don’t know,” I start. “There’s still a lot going on here.” Technically, this is also true. I look down on my “stakeout”
outfit. Black leggings, black hoodie, beat-up sneakers that I plan to use for their intended purpose.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Olivia’s voice has lost none of its pep. “I miss my work bestie.”
I grin at this. “Me too. How has it been at the office, anyway? I know Corbin and Lisa can’t match my mojo.”
As Olivia dives into all the goings-on, like Corbin’s fight with the bicycle courier who didn’t deliver flyers in time for
his client’s conference, so he’d started scootering all the marketing materials himself until he ran into a stop sign pole
and bruised his knee—hearing it all—it’s like I’ve taken a sip of Kool-Aid and need more.
After a break from our giggles, I mutter, “I can’t wait to come back.”
As I look into Alice’s tank, I know it’s true. That is the life I want. This undercover mission I’m about to do—and the fact that I’ve been actually looking forward to it—just proves how tragic my life has become.
“God, you’re a much better person than me,” Olivia says. “There’s no way I’d step away this long, no matter what my mom needed.
I mean, to press pause on your career like that—that’s really selfless.”
Olivia doesn’t know the truth, but it’s still grating to hear. Of course, it’s torture to leave this long. The truth is I
wouldn’t—didn’t—put family first, even for my dying father. It makes me want to scream thinking about waiting another three weeks until I
can return. Already, it’s clear my colleagues have begun to dismiss me as an afterthought. I’m off the group chat. I’m irrelevant.
And maybe that’s why I blurt my next words. “Well, my career isn’t totally on pause here. I’m still working on some leads.”
“Oh? Now that’s the Mona I know.” Her voice has pepped up a full degree. “Care to share more?”
“I may be bringing in a big client. A huge one,” I blurt out before thinking too hard.
“Seriously? I adore how even on leave you’re chasing leads.”
The excitement in her voice is palpable. It’s exactly the kind of hype I wanted. “So, who is it?”
I swallow. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ll say she’s in real estate.”
“Oh my god! If you return with a big new client, the directors are going to lose it. You realize that?”
I’m smiling so hard now, Alice is practically rolling her eyes (if she could move them).
“Monaaaa! Please! I need to know who!” Her voice is oozing with giddiness, and my mood is so buoyed that I just have to say, “I don’t
want to jinx it, but let’s just say her name, were you to spell it backward, would be . . . anal.”
I didn’t think that clue through when I started.
Olivia’s chiming laugh bursts through my phone so loudly I need to hold it away from my ear, just for it to stop with a sudden gasp. “Wait! Lana! Lana Winston? Are you kidding me? I love this so much for you! How did you recruit Lana while taking time off?”
I’m so pleased by her reaction it doesn’t even bother me that parts of my story are a lie. I did recruit Lana for a pitch meeting with my own wiles.
I’m tempted to keep divulging, just to coax a few more scraps of Olivia’s praise, which are soothing my bruised ego, but then
I catch the time on my microwave clock. 9:17 p.m. I was supposed to be at Jane’s seventeen minutes ago. “Sorry, I gotta run!”
“Of course! We’ll talk later.”
“And Olivia,” I say, “I really appreciate you reaching out.”
I’d almost forgotten how much I need my work friends. We can all be a little ruthless sometimes, but that’s because our eyes
are on the prize. They drive me to be better.
I give a goodbye nod to Alice and slowly open and shut my apartment door, being careful not to let the sound of my footsteps
reach Divorced Dad’s place as I make my way to Jane’s.
She must’ve been waiting by the peephole, because as soon as I reach her door, it clicks open.
“About time,” she whispers. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing black leggings too—but the purple
sweatshirt, embroidered with bees in certain areas, definitely breaks the undercover dress code. “Come in.”
We make our way into the silence of her living room—when I let Jamie in earlier today, I hadn’t come this far. Our unit’s
layouts are identical, but even though Jane has only lived in this place for a year, she’s actually hung art on the walls,
filled shelves of books, and laid out pots of leafy plants and flowers—even a giant palm tree–looking thing in the corner!
Her couch is one of those emerald-green velvet deals, and it’s covered in fuzzy blankets and throw pillows.
Covering her rustic trunk coffee table is a clutter of ornaments, and what seem to be random art projects: a half-completed embroidery, next to a crochet kit, next to what looks to be a deconstructed model ship.
There’s one chair in the corner that seems dedicated to random items of clothing.
Everything smells fruity, which I suppose is the work of the gigantic pink candle burning on her countertop.
All the colors and clutter create an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It feels like she might be going through some kind of identity crisis.
The room feels mismatched, like it’s clashing with itself and unsure of its direction.
“So, there’s about twenty minutes left until I move things into the dryer.” She plops onto the couch, sending all the pillows
bouncing. “May as well wait it out here.”
I look for a suitable place to sit, but her cat now sits on the pink armchair across from the couch, eyeing me with the disdain
of a creature who’d prefer to be the only tenant.
I move aside a throw pillow and join Jane on the couch, as I try to ignore the cat hair that may be sticking to my leggings.
Jane’s eyes follow my gaze to the broken tiles on her coffee table. “Sorry, I only had a chance to do a little bit of tidying.”
I try to imagine where she could possibly have hidden more mess before the tidying began.
“It’s very . . . eclectic,” I say.
“Are you being a bitch?” Jane retorts, voice flat. “You want me to be sad and beige?”
I almost choke on my spit. “Sorry?”
She chuckles, easing back into the couch. “I’m just fucking around. I know it’s mad in here.” Her eyes drift over the room.
“This is my first time really living alone, so I’m just letting myself be for a while, you know?”
“Yeah.” I take a harder look at Jane. She’s close to my age, but just moved out? That explains the energy of this room, I
suppose. It’s like she just realized she could stay up as late as she wants and eat ice cream for dinner.
“That’s fair,” I agree. “And you moved here a year ago?”
“Yeah, just about.” She taps her fingers against the arm of the sofa. “Thirteen months I’ve been in this city.”
I glance at her kitchen, toward the microwave that’s the same as mine. The little clock indicates only two minutes have gone
by. I repress a sigh and try to think of something else to say. “Did you come here for, um, work?”
“You mean, did I move to Calgary to work as an admin at an insurance office via a temp agency? Now that would’ve been fucked
up.” She chuckles flatly. “No, I lived in a town north of Edmonton. Extremely cold, and extremely small.” Something painful
lingers just below the surface of her expression. “So when I left my home, I chose the biggest city I could that wasn’t as
cold as Edmonton in January.”
Again there’s a hint of something more behind the words she doles out. I get the feeling her leaving was more about getting
away from there than coming here. She continues with a grin. “The amazing job at the insurance agency was simply pure, unadulterated
luck.”