Page 11 of All Our Almosts

My boss—who I generally like, by the way—wants me to make a presentation for our board of trustees this week. Surprise! She described it as “no big deal, just a few slides about what they can expect in the new exhibit and the run-of-show for the launch gala.” And that’s one of the scariest things I could imagine doing, but I’m completely spineless so I write back, “Of course, no problem! Will have that ready by Friday.”

“Knock knock,” a voice chimes, and I spin to see my work best friend, Mari. (That’s an unofficial designation—I have no idea if she considers me her work best friend or not, but she’s definitely mine.)

Mariane Gomes, Operations Manager, leans into my cubicle in a navy blue pencil skirt and collared white shirt, “no makeup” makeup on her light brown skin, and thick shoulder-length curls. Her cubicle is right next to mine, and beneath her nametag is a purple sticky note (provided by me) that says “Mariane rhymes with Johnny” with a little smiley face. (That’s the Cape Verdean pronunciation, in case you didn’t know.)

“I got you something,” she says, smiling as she holds a cardboard coffee cup in my direction.

“Oh my god, really? Thank you.” I take it from her hand with both of mine. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” she waves dismissively. “Dunkin was doing two-for-one for the Pats win.”

“Oh right, weren’t you and Paolo going to the game? Did you have fun?”

“It was freezing, but it was worth it to watch the Giants get their asses handed to them.”

“I’m happy you’re happy,” I offer, having no idea what city the Giants are even from. (These teams play football, right?)

“Anyway, one month until launch day! How are you holding up?”

“I think good,” I reply. “I mean, Shawna just asked me to give a presentation about the exhibit to the board on Friday, so that’s horrifying, but I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Oof. Good luck. Our board is a mixed bag.”

“You’ve met them?”

“Only a few. They’re mostly nice, just…” She leans in theatrically to whisper, “don’t be shocked if there are a few huge assholes in the room.”

It’s obviously a joke, so I force a chuckle along with a feeble, “Got it, thanks.”

She straightens up and tilts her head. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem stressed.”

“No, no, yeah, I’m fine. Really. I’ve got my to-do list sorted… mostly.” I shuffle a few sticky notes around on my desk, then meet her eyes again. “It’s all good.”

“Really nothing’s going on? Did you sleep okay this weekend?”

“Well, I mean… Elliot and I broke up on Saturday.”

I realize immediately that I’m oversharing. This is work! I need to keep some things to myself! But there’s no undoing it—Mari’s eyes are already full-moon wide. I quickly add, “I’m totally fine though. Really. Just trying to shake off the brain fog still, I guess.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Here—wait.” She holds one finger up before darting out of my cubicle, then returns with her rolling chair dragging behind her. She places it directly next to me and sits down, taking both of my hands in hers as she asks, “What happened?”

And I know she’s just being a nice person. But the force of her worried attention has my chest tightening, and suddenly I can barely control my expression. I just hate when people worry about me. I’m an adult—I should be able to handle my own stuff without making it into other people’s problem.

So I pull my hands back (Sorry, Mariane! I know I’m a jerk!) and say, “Oh, nothing I didn’t see coming. And it really doesn’t matter. I’m doing fine.”

“Okay well, I hope so, because I never liked that guy.”

“Hah, tell me how you really feel.”

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Was that too soon? Do you think you’ll get back together?”

“No, it’s not that.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Just a bit blunt. But we’re not getting back together. I am moving on.”

She quirks one perfectly shaped brow. “Moving on with someone in particular?”

“No, of course not.” I roll my eyes, and I hope it comes off as playful. “It’s been two days.”

“I have ideas if you want to brainstorm.” She scoots in closer and lowers her voice. “Do you know Mitchell in accounting? He’s single and kind of cute—”