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11
LENORE
When I walk away from Matt, I realize I actually miss him when he’s out in the garage. He’s easy to talk to, and he sees me when I've so often wanted to hide from others. Retrieving my to-do list, I try to get back to work. But after staring at the screen and not absorbing anything, I give up. Nothing appeals to me or keeps me interested, and my traitorous mind wanders back to Matt.
For years I’ve lived with an ever-present anxiety that Matt seems to soothe just by being close by. Or maybe it’s the inexplicable faith he seems to have in me. It’s refreshing to have someone reinforce, without amendments, that I can function on my own. My mother loves me, but most of the time, I feel like she refuses to believe I’ve grown up and matured over the last five years.
Refocusing on the list, I scratch off the items Matt explained to me. There’re only two things left to do—figure out how much I’m getting paid and learn more about the different parts offered in the store. I find the employment forms and compare them to the digital forms on the computer. They seem to be fillable, so I enter all my information and save it to print out later.
Eventually, I get to the part where it asks for the compensation level. Snooping in the old files, I see what he was previously paying his office manager, and I’m surprised to see she was only part-time. I make a mental note to ask him about my hours later. For now, I put in a rate lower than hers since I assume he’d given her raises after hiring her. I hope my guess will at least be a good starting point.
Finally feeling brave enough, I start up the software system and browse the inventory. It’s just a little dated, making it look more like a sprawling, data-crowded spreadsheet than an organized inventory catalog. My brain twitches at the massive amount of information. I add a note to my list about checking for software updates and draw a line across the bottom for a section of specific questions later.
Idly clicking through the different menu options, I find one that gives a detailed sales report showing the time the software has saved the history. I copy the top ten things onto my notes sheet and then, going back to the search engine, look them up individually. I get lucky and find videos of the first few things and spend a good chunk of the afternoon watching them until my mind starts to spin with too much new information.
The bell over the door chimes, and I look up to find Sarah in the doorway, carrying a small paper box that I assume contains the few things I’d left at Taub’s office.
I step out from behind the counter, and she notices me.
“Nore! I’m so sorry about all of this.” She comes closer and sets the box down on the floor before taking one of my hands in hers and squeezing it. I never explicitly told anyone, but hugs were not my thing. Sarah had picked up on the hand squeeze to curb her natural enthusiasm for giving everyone hugs.
“If I’m honest, it’s a huge relief in some ways.” I realize how true that is only after I say it out loud.
Sarah pouts. “I know, but it was still a shitty way to end things.”
I pull her into the small break room and offer to make her a cup of coffee, but she declines and settles on the couch. I spin the desk chair around to face her. I’d found out the hard way that it squeaks and teeters precariously backward, so I sit down gently.
“We found the files, by the way, right where you’d left them in the cabinet.” Sarah closes her eyes and rubs one manicured finger between them, easing the lines of tension that show up there. Her styled, light blonde hair looks immaculate despite the signs of stress.
“I figured. He never could see what was right in front of his face.” The bitter words are completely out of character for me, but they feel good to say.
“Look at you.” Sarah grins happily. “I never would have thought I’d hear you say something so snarky.”
I’ve made it a habit to make myself as small as possible at work—especially around my supervisors—preferring to fly under the radar. Sarah always tried to get me to say what I was thinking, but I was too scared to draw attention to myself.
Her face falls, and she looks like the weight of the world has settled on her shoulders, her whole demeanor turning introspective. “There were some rumors yesterday and today after we all found out you got fired.”
Caution and curiosity war inside me. In my experience, rumors and gossip were not sources of great news.
“A couple of the other girls are talking about things that have happened to them. One of them overheard him with you on the phone, and it opened the floodgates for everyone to share their experiences.”
Sarah looks uncomfortable, a rare occurrence for her. A bolt of alarmed awareness makes me sit straighter in the noisy chair.
“They’re talking about filing complaints against him. Sexual harassment and possibly something more. I’m not sure, but since it's a small company, they might also be going to the police.”
I feel the start of a panic attack building. My vision narrows, and my heart is a slowly expanding balloon in my chest. I know Sarah’s still talking, and I nod to make it seem like I’m paying attention to what she’s saying, but I’m not absorbing any of the words.
She mentions something about getting together with the other girls in the office.
I think she asks if it’s okay to give them my number.
The jagged static of my panic has blocked out huge chunks of the conversation.
Eventually, she stands and smooths her hands down her slacks, so I get up too and walk with her toward the front of the store. She’s still talking, and some of her words start to come through again. We make plans to meet for dinner in a couple of weeks, and I shakily give her a hug. She looks startled, not used to me wanting to be touched, but she doesn’t say anything. I watch through the window as she goes to her little car and pulls out of the lot.
Alone again, I stagger into the office and close the door. My hands are shaking, and I fall onto the couch, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes so that I can feel something—anything—other than what is whirling through my mind. My body shivers, and I curl tighter, trying to stop the feeling that I’ll shake apart if I don’t hold myself together.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, but eventually, I feel like I’m coming back. The queasy, unsettled feeling follows me out to the store. I’m thankful it's a slow day, and there aren’t any customers. I slide onto the stool but can’t quite find a position that makes me balanced and comfortable.
Trying to actually do work, I start looking up videos again, but I can’t focus on anything. I look at my list, and the words swim before my eyes. I blink several times, willing myself to focus on something. I idly check my phone for messages, hoping someone has reached out, but there’s nothing.
Feeling antsy and wired, I wonder what Matt’s doing. Usually after a panic attack, I want to be alone, but I remember the way he helped head off the one last night, and suddenly, I have to be wherever he is.
I bolt upright and start to walk to the door, but I realize what a mess I must look like, and I don’t want to interrupt a customer looking like this. The scheduling app on the computer is still open, so I click over to it, making sure Matt doesn’t have an appointment. Thankfully, even though it’s later in the afternoon, there isn’t one on the calendar.
I bounce away from the computer, suddenly feeling like I should try to put myself together. My old habit of hiding and not letting other people see me, let alone realizing how much I’m struggling, rears its ugly head.
Matt’s never made me feel less than, though.
Before I can second guess myself, I bolt for the door to the garage and push through it. It swings shut behind me, and I’m temporarily blinded by the bright lights in the bays.
