I’m realizing that ultimately, my job—the one I’m good at but is causing me conflict and stress—is really the last normal thing I have, the last part of my life that’s the same as it was before Alex. I think the reason I’ve been holding on to the nine-to-five grind—resisting even the flexibility of working from home—is because it’s normal, and nothing else about my life is anymore.
Sometimes I wonder how my life got so complicated, and then I remember I’m engaged to a professional hockey player who’s currently broken. As the elevator rises, I realize every single person in this office knows how broken he is. It’s been all over the news—as has the massive suspension slapped on Cockburn.
Charlene puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“What?” I’m eating my fingernails so I drop my hand. “Oh, yeah. Just bracing myself for all the fake sympathy.”
“It’s not fake, Vi. People are really concerned about you.”
“No, they’re not. They’re worried about whether Alex is going to play the end of the season and how much this is going to hurt Chicago’s shot at the playoffs.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but the elevator dings.
I’m not braced enough as the doors open and we step into the office. It’s like being smacked in the face with an empathy dick. All these people come out of their cubicles— half of them I don’t even know by name—to hug me and tell me how I’m such a trooper and blah fucking blah.
It takes seventeen minutes to get to my cubicle. I’m frazzled and on the verge of tears by the time I make it. I need to get it together. Jimmy pops his head in before Charlene can even leave. He’s holding a box of cinnamon buns. My favorite kind. My stomach is all sorts of upset over the crap I’ve already put in it.
“Hey, girl, how you doin’?” He grimaces, indicating I may look like yesterday’s garbage. “Ohh, rough start?” He opens the bun box. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” My smile feels constipated.
My professional and personal relationship with Jimmy hasn’t been the same since Alex and I got engaged. I don’t know if it’s because he secretly hoped the rumors about Alex being gay from years ago were true, or because I’ve been fortunate enough to get some sweet opportunities, like managing Buck’s money and now the Darcy account, if I don’t screw it up. It’s a lot of personal attention from Stroker, which he’s usually stingy with. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Jimmy’s always had a crush on Alex.
“It’s so great that you’re here! Are you just coming in to get some stuff? I thought Stroker was letting you work from home for a while.” He checks behind him before he makes his customary jerk-off gesture.
“Thanks. He was; he is—”
“Who’s dealing with the Darcy account? Are you still presenting? I checked out the PowerPoint. I hope you don’t mind.”
Charlene puts a hand up in front of his face. “Calm your balls, Jimmy.”
He drops a hand to his crotch. “What? I haven’t seen Vi in, like, a week. I’m being a good friend.”
“You didn’t even ask her about Alex.”
“How is Alex? I’ve been watching all the news and stuff, but some of that is probably skewed, right? He’s not really out for the rest of the season.” His voice rises instead of lowers at the last question.
I should’ve known I would get this, but it still throws me. Alex hasn’t done any interviews yet. He wants to wait until his face isn’t quite so banged up.
I don’t get to answer because Mr. Stroker’s bald head appears at the top of my cubicle wall. “Violet, can I see you in my office?”
“Of course, Mr. Stroker.” Charlene and Jimmy get out of the way so I can follow him to his huge, comfy office at the far end of the hall.
He gestures to one of the plush chairs, where I sit. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he takes the one across from me and steeples his hands. “I’m not going to ask you how you are, because I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”
“I appreciate that.” I’m not thinking it requires more of a response.
“Are you sure you want to present to the Darcys today?”
“I’m sure.”
“You know it’s just a formality at this point. They’re very much set on having you manage the accounts.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but I think it’s best for me to present. It’s an experience I don’t have yet.”
“You have lots of experience presenting, Violet. You do it every week at our meetings.”
“This is different.” I tap the arm of the chair with my nails. They need to be redone in the worst way. I had to touch up all the chips last night before I went to bed so I didn’t have cheap-hooker hands today.
Mr. Stroker regards me for what seems like forever, but is most likely only about ten seconds. Still, it’s a long time since I’m trying not to fidget, or get emotional. And my stomach is not happy.
He slaps his hand on the arm of the chair, startling me. “Okay then, meet me in the conference room in five minutes, and we’ll have a quick brief before they show up. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” This is what I need. Business as usual. A reminder of why I want to be here, doing this job I don’t actually need.