Page 25 of All's Well that Friends Well

I could leave them closed. But Rod told me not to. So, once again gritting my teeth, I stand up and open them, letting in the little bit of light that comes from the windows out on the floor.

I don’t have windows to the outside in my office. I wish I did.

I don’t miss the surprised looks of the workers in the cubicles closest to me when the blinds open, but I ignorethem. I spend the next several hours going in and out, checking on things I shouldn’t have to check on and asking for things I shouldn’t have to ask for. I notice too that with my blinds open, the people out on the floor are shooting looks toward the office—the people I can see, anyway. Like they’re worried I’m inspecting them.

Good. Iaminspecting them, as much as I’d rather wall myself off.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, I’m tempted to skip it altogether. I’m not particularly hungry, and one glance out my windows shows that about half the floor has gone to the break room already.

I’d prefer not to go in there while it’s full, so I decide to wait an hour. Once everyone is back at their desks, I grab my empty mug and head out. I can hear Rodney’s voice in my mind, reminding me to drink more water, and I know he’s right. So once I get to the break room, I grab a glass of water; then I refill my tea, letting the bag steep while I stare blankly out the window, eating my cup of yogurt without tasting much.

The break room gets a window but I don’t. How is that fair?

After exactly twenty minutes, I grab my tea and leave, turning back into the hall that leads to the work floor. Despite the desire to walk slowly, I keep my pace normal, and that familiar wave of exhaustion hits all too soon—the one that appears every time I come back to my office. So I take a sip of my drink and exhale, savoring the flavor, and I’m just about to round the corner when I hear a word that makes me freeze in my tracks.

Barbie.

My halt is so sudden that my drink sloshes up the side ofmy mug and onto my hand; I hiss, but I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. Every part of me is focused on the conversation just around the corner. It has to be the group in the cluster of cubicles nearest to this hallway, but off the top of my head, I can’t place any of them.

I hear the word again, accompanied by more whispers and a chorus of laughter, soft and knowing.

Surely they’re not talking about Juliet. What are the odds that someone else would give her the same name I’ve been calling her in my head?

But…she started working here today. And, for better or worse, she does resemble Barbie. In fact…

My heart sinks and my stomach churns. I don’t have to like her, but I should stop calling her that.

I inch forward, and if anyone could see me right now—I glance around and sigh in relief to find myself alone in the hallway—they’d think I were nuts. But I creep closer to the corner and listen harder anyway. Snippets of conversation reach me now, words that make me feel even worse.

“—saw her this morning, literally in all pink?—”

“—I almost laughed out loud?—”

“—heels—”

They fall silent for a second, and then, more loudly, one of the voices says, “I’m sure she’s really nice, though.”

I roll my eyes at this, because the words are little more than aBless her heart—insincere platitudes to soothe the conscience.

And I can’t keep standing here. I don’t even know why I care that people are talking about Juliet, because I shouldn’t. I don’t.

But it’s unprofessional to be gossiping on the clock, after all, and don’t these people have better things to be talkingabout? Like theirwork?It wouldn’t matter who they were talking about; it’s not appropriate, period.

I emerge from the hallway around the corner, my eyes on the block of cubicles that come into view. Sure enough, there they are: a group of three women, huddled together, giggling and whispering like a bunch of high schoolers.

It doesn’t matter to me how you talk to your friends, but don’t do it on my time if you’re supposed to be working.

“Ladies,” I bark, and all three of them jump, their eyes widening as they whirl around to face me. “Is this the time to talk about a children’s toy? Unless our inventory is moving in a direction I haven’t heard about, I don’t see how Barbie dolls are relevant to your job. Do you?” I cock one brow at them, waiting.

Their cheeks turn red, and one of them even turns a splotchy purple color.

“It’s not—no,” one of the red-cheeked women says quickly. “There’s a new janitor. We were just—we’re not talking about Barbies?—”

But the woman with purple cheeks kicks her none too discreetly, and she falls silent.

“And how does the janitorial staff merit your discussion?” I say, my eyes darting over the three of them. They’re slouching back in their chairs now—cowering, to be honest—but I don’t lighten my voice or infuse a warmth that I don’t feel. “You’re on the clock. Do your work, please.” I pause as they nod and then add one last thing. “Remember this: If you’re all so eager to gossip about a janitor behind her back, what are you saying about each other when you’re not together?”

Their mouths snap shut almost comically in sync, their gazes turning to each other as they sink further down in theirchairs. I don’t wait for their responses, because frankly, I don’t care to hear. I just turn on my heel and head back to my office.

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