“She’s so hardworking,” Erica adds, and I get a moment of that sick full-body relief that follows any crumb of external validation. “In fact, the other day, she stayed late to help me finish our strategy deck for the TKMART resort collection campaign.”
Wait. I didn’t do that.
Erica’s going into so much detail about what I did and didn’tdo—this must be a thing that actually happened. The realization creeps over me like a caterpillar crawling on bare skin.She’s talking about a whole-ass other person. She just thinks it was me.
Slowly it dawns on me: Erica must be thinking of Sarah. She’s younger and shorter and rocks bangs in a way I never could, but we have roughly the same skin tone and the same long, dark hair. She’s Malaysian, and I’m Filipino with a white dad I don’t know, but apparently to Erica, it’s close enough.
When I glance over, Sarah does indeed look pissed off—but subtly, daintily, like she’s trying not to show it. She taps out a quick message on her phone and lets out a sharp sigh.
Then the Associate VP of Sales, Marketing, and Customer Experience pushes his way through the glass conference room door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” he says with a winsome grin—and man, I guess the headshot wasn’t AI-generated, because hedoeslook like that. He’s so handsome, it’s uncomfortable. His crisp brown suit seems tailor-made.
He surveys the room, and his eyes linger on me a beat too long. I’m suddenly extremely aware of the way my work shirt pinches under my armpits.
He’s the kind of person my mom would want me to impress, and when I see him, a strange, contrary impulse seizes me.If the universe is taunting me, I want to taunt it right back.
“Oh, you’re right on time!” Erica says brightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We were about to share some fun facts.”
“Not the fun facts,” I mumble.
“Ruby, do you have something to share with the group?” Erica stares at me for long enough that I realize I actually have to say something.
“Oh, it’s just…I get so in my head about whether the fact is fun or not,” I say. “Like…what is fun? How do I know I’m having it? Why is there something instead of nothing?”
Mark Winterson makes some very direct eye contact. “Yeah,the premise has always been a bit weird to me. Are facts ever that fun?”
“All right, let’s save the existential crises for after work hours!” Erica looks a bit murderous. “Who wants to start?”
Hi, I’m Ruby and my mom died in this office two months ago and that’s probably the only thing you know about me!What could I possibly say to blot that out?
The couple dozen people here from other teams take turns introducing themselves and sharing a smattering of facts—hobbies, hidden talents, past run-ins with celebrities. One person reveals that their unflattering selfie was the basis for a popular mid-2010s meme. Morgan volunteers that she did logrolling when she was younger.
“It’s a sport!” she clarifies quickly when Mark Winterson’s eyebrows go up.
Sarah adds that she’s been teaching herself to play the ukulele. Al reveals that he sings in a barbershop quartet on the weekends, and everyone meets this news with a faintoooh.
My heartbeat speeds up as it gets closer to the time I’ll have to say something.
“Ruby?” Erica prompts with a too-tight smile.
“Hi! I’m Ruby. Started a couple weeks ago in Advertorial/Content Studio. I just moved back from New York, but I grew up around here. As some of you know, my mom worked at TKCORP. And…”
Oh God, what do I say?
“And when I was four years old and my mom couldn’t find someone to watch me, she brought me in and asked the receptionist to keep an eye on me until her friend could come pick me up.” My palms are sweating and I’m not sure why I decided to go this route, but now that I’ve started, I have to see it through. “I didn’t know how to read yet, but when the receptionist looked up, I was holding this copy ofForbesopen and staring at it, all serious, like I was reading it. She took a photo.”
“Oh, well, now you have to show the group,” Mark Winterson interjects, and my armpits feel even sweatier. My face burns as I pull it up and show it around—and then the executive plucks the phone from my hand and studies it, smiling.
“Anyway, they were all like, ‘Wow, Adela, your baby readsForbes!’ She loved to tell that story.” I grab my phone back after a few polite seconds have elapsed. “Whew, long fact!” And, channeling Erica, I clap too. “Next person?”
When the meeting ends at long last, I’m the first out the door.
“Surprisingly,” Mark Winterson says from behind me, “I did think your fact was fun.” When I turn around, he puts a hand to his chest. “Sincerely.”
I laugh breathlessly. “Oh good.”
He points at me. “Just a hunch, but—you seem like a straight shooter. Someone who tells it like it is.”
