DO NOT CONTACT (Carol)
My heart warms at what Greg wrote, even though the doubt stings at the same time.
“We need half the people in the office to sign cards before we can have an election,” Greg says as I pass his phone back. “And we’re basically there.”
“That’s amazing!”
“But if you go public with only that fifty percent secured, you’ll probably lose. Management is going to pull out all the stops to turn people against us. They’ve already started—you saw.”
Greg looks down at his feet, shuffling them in the dirt. “Every week we put it off is a gamble. If they find us out, they’ll probably lay us all off before the bigger wave. We’re holding out until the company retreat that’s coming up, because that’ll be big for us—everyone from the departments we’ve had trouble reaching will be there, in one place.”
“I still can’t believe you got twenty-five hundred people to sign cards.”
“Helps that a lot of us went to school together. All that social overlap across departments.” The corner of his mouth turnsup. “Why do you think the accountants throw so many parties? Good recruitment strategy.”
“Is that why I never get invited?”
“You think I haven’t wanted to invite you?” Greg lets out an exhausted laugh. “I’m relieved you know now, honestly. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, before you started dating…” He trails off and waves a hand.
“Why didn’t you?”
“You were going through a lot. And I figured it didn’t exactly fit with your mission? Trying to live the way your mom wanted. I didn’t want to derail you.” He sighs again, staring out into the fog. “Maybe like a week or two before that all-hands, we realized Mark Winterson was going to be a problem. He started showing up to every work-adjacent social event he could, trying to catch any union gossip, figure out who was involved. He’s Erickson’s guy. The one doing his dirty work.”
I stop swinging, all these weird moments from the recent past flashing back through my mind. “Okay, what should I be looking for?”
“I don’t want you looking for anything.”
“Greg, I’m doing this!” My grip tightens on the swing, chains digging into my skin. It’s hard to explain, but when everyone’s hands went up, it was like I could see the answer to Trisha’s question shimmering just out of reach: the outline of who I want to be. “I’m always going around feeling like I’m this numb host fortasksandunmet goalsandfailures.But here’s a mess I made that I can do something with, for once!” My voice has slowly been getting louder and louder, and now I’m shouting.“So tell me how I can help!”
Greg blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting this outburst. A little smile creeps onto his face, and I shove him reflexively, which sends my swing rocking from side to side.
He stares at his feet, fighting himself again, but eventually telling me must win out. “There was something in the books—these recurring payments to a vendor I didn’t recognize, coming up over and over. Same amount, each time. I tried to get more information about them, my boss ran it up the chain, and we got a bullshit excuse back. Right after I asked, that vendor disappeared for a while, and another weird one popped up. But when I mentioned that one, my boss told me to stay in my lane.”
“How about this for proof?” I ask, pulling up the photo I took of Mark Winterson’s bank account. It looks like it was taken through a screen door, the way the image distorts, but when I pinch to zoom, it’s still clear—all the transactions for $9,999.
His jaw drops. “How did you get this?”
“He literally left himself logged in when he bolted out of the house at two a.m. This isn’t exactlyOcean’s Eleven.”
Greg runs a hand over his face. “I don’t think it’s enough on its own, yet. But it’s definitely something.” He moistens his dry lips in his mouth. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t let him catch you.”
He looks so worried about me, I can hardly stand it—I lean over and ruffle his hair, and he closes his eyes like it’s painful. “I really hate this,” he says quietly.
There’s so much hanging unspoken in the air between us. But I keep thinking about everyone at the diner, and how clearheaded I felt for once, after years of fumbling around in a haze.
“I’ll break up with him after the company retreat,” I say. “That’s two weeks—I’ve stayed in relationships I shouldn’t have for way longer than that. Like there was Owen…Miles…”
“Jamie,” Greg adds, ticking off his fingers. “Brian.”
“All right, stop helping! What are you, my permanent record?” I whack him on the arm. “We don’t talk enough, as a society, about the downsides of having lifelong friends.”
“I’m not that much better?” Greg says with a weak laugh. “Averaging, what? Three or four girlfriends a year.”
I do love some self-awareness.
“Yeah, you’re kind of a fuckboy,” I say wistfully. “Who knows if you’ve ever really liked someone.”
“Ouch. That’s harsh, Ruby.” Greg sounds more wounded than I would have expected. “I’ve been trying! Every new relationship, I go in hopeful. But maybe…my heart has just been somewhere else.” He hesitates for a moment, kicking the dirt under his swing. “I’m also not dating Sarah, in case you didn’t figure that out.” He squeezes the back of his neck with one hand. “I just couldn’t think of another explanation on the spot, when you pointed out we were sneaking around. And I didn’t want to blow our cover.”
