Page 6 of The Probability of Us

Clara was wrong.

The CFO’s name isn’t Mitch, it’s Warren Mitchell.

And as he shakes my hand with no flicker of recognition running across his face, I think these next two weeks might just kill me.

Three

MAY 8 YEARS AGO

Ilook down as I stand twelve stories above ground.

From under my feet, the sidewalk stares back, taunting me with visions of what my sprawled out, jagged body will look like if the pane of glass beneath me decides to give out. My breath quickens, and I swear I hear the splintering sound of glass. I jump back onto the worn, navy-blue carpet as a shudder travels from the tips of my freshly manicured toes to the ends of my freshly cut hair that falls in soft, brown waves to my shoulders.

I wanted to look nice on my first day of work, but now I regret the extra blush I put on because it’ll only exaggerate the flush on my cheeks from my fear. I’ve been preparing myself mentally to work on the twelfth floor. The day of my interview, I spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying to calm my breathing, so I didn’t seem like a crazy person, but the room they put me in had a wall of windows. I tried to focus on the questions they asked me, but a few minutes in, the interviewer asked what was wrong.

They were kind about it, and switched sides with me, so I did the rest of the interview from behind their desk, the windows at my back. It’s partly why I decided to accept the offer here—even though the other company’s office was only on the second floor of their building.

But it seems weeks of trying to prepare for this wasn’t enough.

My focus narrows to a loose strand of carpet as I try to convince my body that I’m on solid ground. Slowly, the fuzziness in my head and swaying feeling start to fade. But just as my heart rate slows down to a normal rate, the image of my mangled body flashes in my head again. My eyes snap shut and my hands clench into fists. I focus on taking slow, deep breaths, over and over, until the movement of my chest is all I can feel.

“Not a fan of heights, I take it.”

I jump at the words, then quickly jump back again when I realize I landed closer to the foot-wide pane of glass at the edge of the floor.

“They’re not my favorite.” I smile nervously at Alison, who’s been tasked with giving me a tour of our department’s floor. “Why, exactly, is this floor a foot wider than the rest of the building?”

She shrugs and I hope one day I’ll be as unaffected by it as she is. “I don’t think anyone knows. It could’ve been a mistake when they built it”—Mistake?!That word does nothing to help my fear—“or the architect was going for an inverted tiering effect. A handful of random floors have the same thing.”

And of course, I got stuck on one that did.

Alison’s eyes soften as if she understands what I’m thinking, and her smile turns sympathetic. “Don’t worry, your desk doesn’t have a view of the windows. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

I nod and follow her, watching the people who are now my coworkers as they carry on with their day. I conclude that a bunch of them are in the same meeting after seeing the same PowerPoint slide on a fifth person’s screen—the numbers and figures, meaningless to me. Others work silently, but in one cubicle, two girls sit side by side, chatting away. There’s a spreadsheet open on the computer, but it appears they’re gossiping instead of working. One of them glances up at me as I pass by and I quickly avert my eyes.

I wipe my sweaty palms on the new, black business trousers I’m wearing and try to keep a smile on my face even though all I feel is intimidation. This place is a well-oiled machine, and I don’t even know where I’m supposed to sit.

“This one’s you,” she says as we approach a group of four cubicles in the back corner of the floor. “The back two are still empty so it should be pretty quiet over here.” She gestures to the front left desk of the group.

Compared to the desk across from mine—that’s full of basketball posters, a few pictures, and a mini basketball hoop hanging off the back wall of the cube with a container of mini, foam basketballs—my desk looks dull and lifeless with everything in the same beige color. I’m already trying to mentally design my cube, and make a shopping list for what to pick up after my first paycheck comes in.

“I’ll give you some time to settle in. Your station should be set up already, but you’ll have to follow the directions on the paper there to log in and set up your computer. I sit right over there.” She points to a group of desks halfway across the room. “If you have any questions just stop on by.”

“Thank you.” I’m too overwhelmed to say much else right now so I take a deep breath. Does everyone feel this underprepared on their first day of work? I hope it’s not only me.

“Hey, Alison?” I say as she’s starting to walk away. I wasn’t going to ask, but panic got the best of me because I didn’t bring any food with me.

“You can call me Ali.” She smiles back at me with such kindness I know I’d like to be her friend.

“Ali,” I repeat, a smile on my face. “What do people usually do for lunch around here?”

Her eyes light up like she’s realizing she meant to bring this up herself. “I usually have lunch with two others from the department. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“I’d love that.” My stomach settles fractionally now that I know I won’t be aloneallday.

“Perfect, we’ll come grab you around twelve-thirty.”

After Ali leaves, I sit down and rummage through the three drawers in the filing cabinet under my desk and the small overhead cabinet in the corner, cataloging what supplies I have and what I still need. I only find a half-gone pad of sticky notes, a small notebook, some paper clips, and a pen that doesn’t write. Underwhelmed with what I find, I turn to the computer and start working through my step-by-step manual.

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