Gabby googled “how to make an Excel spreadsheet” on her phone. The short instructions weren’t enough. She needed a full-on YouTube tutorial, and that was just for starters. She probably needed to go back to college. Because watching a tutorial on how to open a spreadsheet would give away that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, she secreted herself away in a bathroom stall to watch an Australian accountant explain what a spreadsheet was while she took notes on a legal pad balanced on her knee. This was not how she imagined the life of a secret agent.
“There are columns running vertically and rows running horizontally,” the expert explained in a loud and clear voice. Gabby couldn’t pass statistics in college. It was probably a mental block, but she probably wasn’t going to overcome it today.
“Um, are you okay in there?” an amused voice called from another stall.
“Oh, sorry!” Gabby hitPAUSEas fast as if she’d just been caught watching porn at her desk. “I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She breezed out of the stall and tried to act normal, like she watched spreadsheet tutorials on the toilet all the time.
Carmen, who worked the front desk, cut her eyes toward Gabby while reapplying some hot pink lipstick. She didn’t have to ask anything because the questions were written all over her face.
Gabby, the queen of dumb explanations, started explaining herself. “I was, ah, just brushing up on some Excel.”
“On the toilet?” Carmen couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer. “Girl, are you okay?”
Gabby started to answer but all she could come up with was “Ehhhhh,” so she added on some truth. “Eh, it’s just a rough first day back. I had quite the weekend too.” An EOD crash course after fourteen years of SAHM life was a lot.
Carmen leaned back and looked at Gabby like she was seeing her in a new light. “I didn’t know you partied like that, girl!”
“If you think partying takes a toll at twenty-five, try thirty-eight. I can barely remember who I am or what I’m doing here.” The second true thing she’d said all day.
“I got you,” Carmen said. “I can’t have you over there taking a spreadshit on your first day back.” She laughed at her own stupid wordplay.
Gabby felt her cheeks go red. “I’msooooembarrassed.”
“Are you kidding? My whole first six months at this place was a spreadshit. Kramer just didn’t notice because he never gets up from his desk.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabby was at Carmen’s desk getting a live Excel tutorial while they chugged Gatorade and snacked on Chicago-mix style popcorn, Carmen’s recipe for a hangover. “Something crunchy for the munchies and the real medicine.”
“Thanks, girl!” Gabby said. “You saved my behind today.”
“Hos before bros.” Carmen gave her a scrutinizing look and said, “Is it just me or was that spreadsheet tutorial practically a makeover? I gave you an instructional glow up.”
“It’s either that or the nose job I had last week,” Gabby said with a wink in her voice.
Carmen laughed at her own silly assumption. “Your nose looks fab. Good for you.”
The advantage of not having an earpiece was that Gabby could almost convince herself she was an actual executive assistant instead of an undercover spy in mortal danger. No big deal. She was just doing some light party planning and having snacks with Carmen.
When the spreadsheet was almost done, Fran bustled over.Even at walking pace, she looked like she was in a hurry. And why didn’t her clothes have a single wrinkle at almost the end of the day? Gabby squashed those feelings. Women spent too much time tearing each other down and not enough time building each other up. Like Carmen said, “Hos before bros.” They were all working for a money-laundering finance bro.
All business, Fran said, “Camille, do you know whose blueberry yogurt is in the fridge? There isn’t a name on it?”
“Um…”
Before Fran could give her the third degree about the unmarked yogurt, her phone rang with an incoming call from someone named “Waldorf,” and she bustled away.
“Is her boyfriend named Waldorf?” Gabby asked. Fran and Waldorf—that just didn’t roll off the tongue.
“Either that or she lives at the Waldorf Astoria.” Carmen giggled.
At the end of the day, Gabby slumped into the driver’s seat of her car, sucked dry from pretending to know what she was doing all day and talking to a whole office of new people. It wasn’t the worst first day she’d ever had, though. Waiting tables at Chili’s took that prize.
Monday evening, Greene household
Gabby pulled into the garage and parked in front of a steel shelf with boxes of Christmas ornaments, tennis rackets they never used, and her grandmother’s dishes. She’d never been so glad to see her old, useless crap. She was home safe. No more pretending and no more wondering what everyone thought of her nose or whether she was talking to a killer—not that anyone at eStocks seemed like a killer. They seemed like standard office people: an annoying brownnoser, a hungover twentysomething, and a couple of guys who golfed.
With a deep, cleansing breath, she tried to wipe eStocks from her mind. Sure, the kids had been all “we don’t care about you getting a job, Mom” this morning, but they probably missed her this afternoon. What wouldn’t she give to be picked up by someone who brought her a snack and asked how her day was?
“Kids, I’m home!” Gabby called as she came through the garage door and chucked her shoes into a pile with the rest of them. Their backpacks were tossed carelessly in the hallway—meaning no one had touched their homework yet. “Kyle, Lucas, where are you?” she called, eagerly awaiting their smiling faces and hugs.
