Until I Met You

Chapter Thirty-Six

Gloomy skies welcomed Samantha back to England. It suited her mood perfectly. When she finally arrived home, a stale odour clung to the air inside the flat. Her monstera plant stood drooping in a corner. She put down her luggage and cracked open a window. Then she set her phone on the bedside charger. The group chat comprised texts, GIFs and endless strings of emojis. Hugo had kept his word and broken the news more faithfully than a BBC correspondent. Everyone on the chat, which now included Jen, had an opinion. Samantha didn’t have to hear it.

She was exhausted. The last leg of her trip had gutted her. It was easy enough to keep up appearances with her friends around, and she would have leaped out of the plane before falling apart in front of Tara. Sitting alone in that transatlantic flight, without the perks of a first-class upgrade that got her through the last time around, she was a weepy mess. Tara’s words haunted her. It’s not so easy to get over Roman Carver.

After a shower, she pulled on her favourite jumper and yoga pants combo, tossed a half-empty container of takeaway into the rubbish, made a cup of mint tea, watered the monstera, lit a candle, and repeated her mantra until she fell asleep. I can go it alone.

In the dead of night, she startled awake. No tropical night sounds. She slipped out of bed, puttered into the hall and in the dim light, checked the zippered pockets of her travel bag until she found her passport, and in her passport, the note left on her pillow the night before.

Next thing, she dug out her laptop.

DRAFT POST #10: THE HIDDEN PATH

I was on the path to happiness and somehow lost my way …

The following morning, Samantha dragged herself to work. The pandemic had significantly altered the office culture. Where she and her colleagues once crammed into one large office space divided into a cubicle farm, now only a handful of them were authorized to work from the office on any given day. The rest of the time, they worked from home. Samantha welcomed the change, but she was in the minority. Her colleagues missed their routines. They enjoyed setting their alarms the night before, waking up at dawn, commuting in the rain, scarfing down prepackaged lunches at their desks, arguing with co-workers over office supplies, office gossip, and bad coffee. Samantha didn’t share their longing for the way things were.

The office was located in one of the modern buildings in the city centre. Riding the lift to the tenth floor, she worked out a strategy. If asked about her trip, she would hand over her phone and let her colleagues swipe through the carefully curated album she’d created for her mother. She would chalk up her lack of enthusiasm to jetlag. Satisfied with her plan, she marched to her workstation.

Of the nine writers in the web content division, Dawn Matthews alone was at her desk. A gift! Dawn wasn’t one to chitchat. Channelling Naomi, Samantha did her best to sound as chipper as possible. ‘Good morning, Dawn!’

Not me crying over some man I met last week. I’ve more sense than that.

‘Look at you, all healthy and glowing.’

‘A little holiday doesn’t hurt.’

Dawn frowned. ‘You’re happy about the news, aren’t you?’

‘What news?’

Samantha dropped her bag on her desk. Her cubicle was smaller than the others, but it was closest to the window. That summed up corporate compromise.

‘You haven’t heard?’ Dawn said.

‘Heard what? I was on holiday.’

‘Mary sent an email.’

‘I was on ho-li-day.’ Work-life balance was not a privilege of the few, but a right of the masses. ‘Would you like to see the photos?’

Dawn’s frown deepened. In her mid-fifties, she always looked polished and put-together in navy suits. ‘Don’t you know me by now?’

Samantha laughed, even though her insides felt like broken glass. ‘Yes, Dawn, I do.’ She took a breath and sat down. ‘And I love you just the same.’

She fired up her desktop computer and froze when she spotted a note on her keyboard. Another damn note! This one was from Steven Shaw, her managing editor, a few words jotted down on a yellow square. Come see me right away. Samantha held it up over the cubicle partition. ‘Dawn!’ she cried. ‘Do you know what this is about?’

‘I do,’ Dawn said dryly. ‘And you would, too, if you checked your emails.’

The web content division was going remote. That was the news.

‘As with everything, it’s about money,’ Steven explained. ‘By going remote, we’ll cancel the lease on this floor. We’ll make an office available for any of you, should you need to come in, once or twice a month. Don’t worry, you won’t have to work in the break room.’

Samantha leaned forward. ‘You’re saying we’ll be working from home 100 per cent of the time.’

‘From home or a café in Paris, if you choose. The point is, we really don’t care. So long as you have a secure connection, which we’ll provide, turn in your assignments in a timely manner, and participate in our virtual weekly meetings.’

‘Are you … serious?’