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I'm totally different. I wonder if everyone can tell by looking at me. Do I glow? Because it certainly feels like I do. I feel like I'm broadcasting every emotion to all the people around me. It is a sound, a sensation, a sonic boom.
But then again, nobody seems to notice.
In just two hours, I'm going to be back at August's apartment. I've got my bag in the car. I've already given my dad an excuse, babbled over dinner, just something nonchalant about heading out for the weekend to do some sightseeing. Nothing for him to be concerned about. It's playoff season, so he didn't give it too much thought.
And why would he? I'm a grown woman. Just because I live at home still, doesn’t mean I'm a child. I just still need to look after my dad, I guess, and we get along so well there wasn't any good reason to leave.
So what am I going to tell him?
That seems like a conversation my dad and August should have together. I can tell August has a lot of feelings on the matter, and I suppose I'll let him take that bull by the horns when he's ready.
Other people answer their phones, type on their computers, get up and walk around to do whatever it is they're doing. The minutes tick by. Around three o'clock, I stretch in my chair, wondering if it would even be possible to maybe leave early.
“Dahlia? Are you busy?”
I look around, catching Lori's eye. She gives me a squinting, professional nod and I stand up automatically.
“Busy? Not really. Can I help you with something?”
“Let's head to the conference room,” she suggests.
I follow behind her to the long conference room at the back of the office. When I arrive there are four more people sitting around the oblong table, looking at each other in confusion.
“Just have a seat,” Lori advises me, then strides purposefully to the front of the room.
I sit in the leather executive chair uncertainly, hearing the air whoosh out of the cushions as my weight settles. We all watch Lori as she paces back and forth, taking a few steps in either direction. She steeples her fingers under her chin and then finally turns to us, resting her fingertips on the table and leaning forward.
“As you all know, we have had an unexpected dip in revenue,” she begins.
There is a collective gasp. Instantly, everyone in the room seems to know what’s happening but me.
What is going on here?
“No, Lori, come on,” Derek sighs, shaking his head and knuckling his brow.
She stands and folds her arms across her chest.
“While we may be able to recover financially next quarter, this quarter's revenue is—”
“Are you kidding me?” Barb interrupts. She is an older woman, usually a plump and friendly grandma-type, suddenly transformed into an outraged matron.
“I wish I were,” Lori shakes her head apologetically.
Mickey, a rather pleasant young guy who does our computer systems or web page or something, lets his head fall dramatically against his fist.
“What's going on?” I whisper to him.
He swivels in his chair to face me and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “We’re all being fired,” he scowls.
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“I know, right? This is my fourth layoff this year! What is wrong with people!”
“You have all been exemplary employees,” Lori continues, projecting her voice over our heads. “And I'd like to offer any of you reference letters with my highest recommendation. As a matter of fact, you can go ahead and write the letters and I will sign them for you.”
“So that's it?” Derek huffs. “Just like that? Just pack up your stuff and leave?”
Lori stares him down, saying nothing. She has a frozen smile on her face, the sort you might see on a plastic doll head.
