He’s standing outside the old diner we would go to sometimes after class.
I hit the brakes irresponsibly, and the car behind me honks. With a grimace and a sheepish wave, I make a left into the diner parking lot. The asphalt is littered with bright purple petals from the jacaranda trees around the edge.
Greg’s gone now, but there’s Morgan and Sarah, heading inside. And a few more people from work I recognize are also getting out of their cars and drifting over: more of the accountants, and some of the people I saw on pub trivia night. Adam holds the door open for Carol.
I follow them inside, and there are a few dozen more people from work, gathered around a series of tables they’ve pushed together in the center of the dining room. Some of them I never work with, but I recognize them from when we were in school together. It’s empty in here, other than this crowd—it’s a wonder the diner stays in business.
There’s Greg, back turned to me, talking and gesturing at a piece of paper. Next to him, Morgan has her laptop open, and—I move closer to see—there’s a very detailed, color-coded spreadsheet on her screen.
Sarah sees me and reaches across the table to close Morgan’s laptop.
“Hey!” Morgan says, before she turns around and startles at the sight of me.
Wow, I’m the jump scare.
“Ruby!” she squeaks. “Hi! What are you doing here?”
“I, um…come here often?”
Greg turns toward me, and the tension on his face is hard to read.
“Okay, that’s a lie, I just…I saw you guys and felt left out?”
I look from face to face uncertainly. Everyone is eyeing me like a stray dog who wandered in—or maybe a coyote.
Steve the Project Manager nudges Greg. “We can’t tell her!” he whispers—or at least, he probably thinks he’s whispering, but he’s bad at it. “She’s dating management!”
Greg sighs wearily, the way he does when he’s heard something too many times.
Sam from Sales sneezes, and some cards he was holding in one hand scatter. Sarah dives for them, but before she can snatch them up, I grab one by my foot.
There’s a lot of text on it, but my eyes gravitate to a few words across the top:
AUTHORIZATION FOR REPRESENTATION
It all falls together—the time I thought Greg was handing out business cards at the reunion. All the times he stayed late for mysterious reasons. Mark Winterson’s weird remarks at the all-hands.
“You guys are forming a union?”
Greg stands and pulls me to the side, by the pie case.
“You can’t tell anyone. And I meananyone.” The urgency in his voice, and the stern look on his face—it’s an unfamiliar side of him.
“Or you’ll what?”
“Or—” Greg glances at the ceiling and lets out a long breath that puffs his cheeks. “Or it’ll kill me and I’ll haunt you.”
I laugh despite myself. “Wow, too soon.”
“It probably would kill him, honestly,” Sarah pipes up from where she’s sitting. “Greg really made this happen. Brought all of us together. We’ve been working on this for years.”
My heart swells with pride for him. “Damn, Greg, you’ve been busy!” I exclaim so vigorously, it makes him laugh.
I want to shout:See, Mom! Greg does apply himself when it counts!
“You have to keep this to yourself, okay?” His eyes are pleading. “We’re so close, and—” Greg glances at Sarah, and she gives him a meaningful look. “It matters for everyone here. For everyone’s jobs. And we’re racing the clock, trying to get this together before the next round of layoffs hits.”
“You think there’s one coming?”
