He looks away first, stepping back from Sarah’s cubicle, one hand raised. “See you guys.”
I slide down in my chair again. I can just hear what Mom would say, if she were here:Why are you always brooding? Why can’t you be warm and gracious like your cousins? One of them is married to a dental hygienist. Maybe if you worked on your charm, that could be you one day!
Okay, fine! I’ll make an effort, for once!
Everyone’s gone back to their own desks, so I search for Greg in Slack.
ruby.ocampo:
Hey, sorry I was awkward
It is good to see you
It’s just been a while
My stomach lurches as I stare at the messages I sent, but he writes back pretty much instantly.
greg.de.leon:
yeah, it has
mom said you needed some space?
i wanted to visit earlier, obviously
Tita Wendy has been coming to check on me a couple times a week since I moved back. The first time, I was a wreck—subsisting on instant noodles, barely leaving the house, trying to get my head around Mom’s elaborate record-keeping system, which centered on stacks of envelopes she’d grouped by theme inside the rolltop desk in the living room.
Tita Wendy took one glance at me when I opened the front door and said, “Roobs, you look like hell.”
And I blurted out: “I can’t see Greg! I’m not ready!” So shemade sure he stayed home whenever she came by. When I run in the mornings, I take a longer route on purpose so I won’t go past his house. Somehow I deluded myself into believing I could avoid him indefinitely at work too.
greg.de.leon:
how have you been?
Oh sure, hit me with the hard questions.
I need to get back to my actual job, so I leave Greg’s message without a reply.
Chapter
3
Every task feels overwhelming lately, even small things. And Erica doesn’t ease up. She walks over from her office to ask me why Ican’t even write a simple email properly.
The hours under the buzzing lights weigh on me. The air itself seems tired, like the exhaustion of everyone who spent their days here coats the walls in a thin film.
My fingers wiggle, hovering above my keyboard.
Get yourself together,I write into the DM that’s just for me, the tunnel between work and whoever I am outside of it.
It’s not that hard.
It’s not that bad.
Hours tick by. A terse email from Erica lands, and the sting makes my eyes water.
And I see that girl again, the one who looks like me, a movie playing superimposed over the scenery of my cubicle. She’s mostly submerged, knees bent, only the top of her head above water. Mouth opening and closing.
