She’s into “calm conflict,” which probably she learned about on a podcast, and in general, I admire it. When Emma talks, everyone who was squirming only a second ago settles.
I stay the same.
I don’t feel much of anything.
Not about trend reports, at least.
“True crime,” someone says. “True crime is always working.”
“There’s been backlash lately—” Cody says. He’s fine, I guess, but he’s the kind of guy who wears aTHE FUTURE IS FEMALET-shirt while also making Madhura repeat the same points about videos and images every time he wants to talk about interior design podcasts again.
“Backlash or not,” someone else chimes in. “Numbers stay good.”
I want out of here. It’s hot and this chair is small and I don’t remember if I ate anything this morning. Or last night.
“Hawk?” Emma says. Calmly.
I look up at her. Judging by the set of her eyebrows she’s said it at least more than once.
“Sorry. What was that?”
“Madhura was asking you a question.”
Oh, great. I should go buy aSMASH THE PATRIARCHYkeychain on my way home tonight. Not that I’ll go home after work, since I hate being there almost as much as I hate being here.
I give Madhura an apologetic smile that feels strange on my face. “I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted today.”
Every day.
“It’s fine,” she says, waving a hand.
She thinks it’s garden variety distraction, typical Tuesday at Two distraction. As far as I can tell, no one notices anything is wrong with me, which I guess is the benefit of not having worked here all that long. If I’ve got tells, they haven’t figured out what they are yet.
“I was asking whether you’d been in touch with Salem about the Baltimore story?”
I swallow, press my thumb into my knee under the table. She’s not the first person to ask me, but it’s not getting any easier to answer.
“She should be back in a couple days. She’s been a little off-grid.”
“Of course,” says Emma. “We know she’s got so much on her plate with Pen’s injuries.”
I nod blandly, tuning out again. She does have a lot on her plate, with Pen’s injuries.
But that’s not why she’s not back at the office.
That’s not why she’s taken the ten days since we got back from Olympia off.
I know it’s not.
I can’t say I was particularly observant, that day we left Washington. I can’t say I even asked Salem how the rest of her interview went. I can’t say I did much of anything but go through the motions, replaying every single part of that last conversation with Jess.
I can’t say I could hear any words but the same ones I hear pretty much all day, every day since I last saw her.
You’re the one who brought this to my door.
But distantly I’d realized Salem was almost as subdued as I was, her face drawn, her frenetic energy of the previous few days nonexistent. In the airport, while we waited for our flight—while I tried not to think about where Jess was right that very second—she’d excused herself and stood partially concealed behind a concrete pillar and spoken quietly into her phone.
For almost an hour.
