“Saw them talking later—”
“No! You’re shitting me.”
They seem to be having a great time, thick as thieves.
Irritation overtakes me, abrasive like knuckles scraping my sternum.
It reminds me of senior year, when I’d run into Greg with a new girlfriend every few weeks. I don’t know why I have such a long hangover from things that happened a decade ago and really shouldn’t matter anymore.
You’re living with the muscle memory of old stress,I tell myself, flexing my fingers.You’re over it! You’ll adjust.
Sarah notices me and raises a hand. “Ruby, you’re still here?”
“This thing is more involved than I thought.” I type some gibberish just to seem busy. “You came back?”
“Oh, yeah, uh—ran into Greg, and—” She gestures between them awkwardly. The harsh overhead lights shine off her black hair. “A few of us went to the bar.”
Why is she lying too? Are they afraid I’m going to report them to HR?
“But then I remembered I left my headphones here,” Sarah says, grabbing a pastel purple AirPods case off the desk.
She’s so cute, and Greg looked so happy a second ago. And, man, I feel like a greasy-faced wretch.
I close my eyes and think about Mark Winterson laughing on the roof, his body pressed against mine for a second in that dingy hall.You have some things going for you. You should focus on that.
But just when it seems I’m almost in the clear, Greg drifts over and rests a hand on my cubicle wall. “Sarah, you should go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I stare at him. What does this fool think he’s doing?
“Night, Ruby!” Sarah calls with a jaunty wave as she heads for the elevator.
Greg must have told her about his pathetic childhood friend, the one he needs to check up on because she’s losing her mind.
“Come on,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the elevators. “Let’s go home.”
Sometimes, in moments like these, Greg has a bad case of puppy-dog eyes, and I do not appreciate the effect they have onme.
He’s not doing it on purpose! That’s just how his face is.
“Yeah, I’ll go home soon,” I say, rubbing my puffy cheeks.
“No, we’re calling it a night now,” he says. “You’ve done enough.”
There’s something steely in his tone, a departure from his usual nonchalance. Mom got that wrong about him—she looked at Greg’s don’t-give-a-shit exterior and saw all her problems with unreliable men personified. But I’d watched him long enough to realize that wasn’t fair. That he had to try so hard to seem like he didn’t care because he cared too much about too many things. He was fiercely protective of his mom, for one—he’d get into fights when people made fun of her job, and she’d whack him on the arm when she picked him up from the principal’s office and say,Ay, you think I care about that! Stay out of trouble if you want to help!
“Ruby,” he says, low and steady. “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”
I feel like I’m going to cry. Of all people, he should understand.
“She’s still trapped in there!” My voice has dropped to a desperate whisper. “And it’s because of me, and—and maybe if I just tried harder! Maybe if I just tried—”
“Hey.” Greg comes around the divider and gives my shoulder a firm squeeze.
Something hitches in my chest at the gentle way he’s looking at me. This is how he is—attentive, soft, calming. Lots ofgirls have fallen for it over the years. I’ve learned my lesson; it doesn’t mean anything.
“We don’t know what’s going to get her out, or why she’s there,” he says firmly. “But this isn’t all your fault. And grinding yourself down won’t…”
He pauses.
