I find a seat and open the book. Alissa’s signature has gotten even more refined inside the cover, and she also added little doodles of Colt Peacemakers and war hammers around her bookplate.
I kind of expect the receptionist to say something else, to keep trying to talk to me, but she doesn’t. She stays busy with work at her desk. I guess that’s how it should be, her just being a professional and doing her job, but I’m used to people who show any interest in me, whether real or faked, continuing to talk to me long after I’ve lost interest in the conversation.
It’s confusing.
“Do you talk to all the clients who come in?” I ask her.
She looks up, blinks. “Well. Yes. That is part of my job.”
“No, I mean...” I wave the CoH book around. “Do you talk to them about, like, their interests?”
“Sure. Best way I’ve found to make people feel comfortable.”
“So do you just talk to me to make me feel comfortable?”
“Not just, but in part. I’ll stop, if you like.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I like getting to know people.”
“Oh. But I’m, like, a teenager.”
“I can see that.”
I huff. She smiles.
“Is it because a lot of adults don’t treat teenagers like people?” she asks.
“Yes!”
“Would you like it better if I didn’t treat you like a person?”
“No!”
“Okay, great. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t one. I just...” I grasp at air. “What made you like this? Not that ‘this’ is bad, it’s nice, but I don’t get it.”
The receptionist takes my blathering in stride. Doesn’t seem to get worked up by it, is maybe a little amused. She rests her chin on her palm. “I take it easy,” she says. “I say hello to myself in the morning. I eat a well-rounded breakfast. I get eight hours of sleep a night. I don’t expect anything of anyone except to be respected, and I give them respect in return.”
“You sound like a hippie.”
“There are way worse things to sound like than a hippie, trust me.”
I pick at the corner of my book. My voice lowers. “I’ve never been very good at having conversations with people. Life would be easier if I was. I could have made more close friends, and I wouldn’t feel like I do now.”
She makes a noise in her throat. “You may want to talk to Anna about that last part. But the first part, I understand what you mean completely. I had to learn how to do it.”
“But why do we have tolearn? There are people who arenaturally good at it—what’s wrong with me that I’m not one of them? What do they have that I don’t?”
She holds up a hand. “Here is my hot take. No one isnaturallygood at talking to other human beings. Some people have fewer inhibitions and so they can talk without caring what they say, but their unrestrained talking can get them in trouble. Then you have people who have every inhibition, every anxiety, about talking to others. Both of these types of people can learn how to communicate better. Some people have farther to go than others. Some have more obstacles in their way. But everyone has to learn. If you think I’m good at talking to people, it’s only because I’ve had, like, twice as long to practice as you have.”
The idea that I could be like her one day strikes me. Calm, carefree, having easy conversations with strangers. Not being on guard about what I’m thinking, or what I’m going to say to someone next. I can’t fathom it.
The door next to her desk opens. Anna leans out. “Evie, you ready?”
The receptionist smiles at me as I follow Anna into her office. It’s a knowing smile, but also a friendly one, and it makes me feel like I’ve been inducted into a secret society I never knew existed. I don’t know what mental issues the receptionist has had in her life, but she has had them, she knows what this feels like.
