The One I Want

Weeks. That’s it.

Not for a year or for life.

After completing Tuesday’s task of organizing the supply room, we return to the front desk.

I’m told we restock the break room on Wednesdays.

We are supposed to verify conference room appointments and make sure they’re ready to go next week.

And it sounds like I prepare to repeat the week’s duty next week by ordering everything for delivery on Monday.

My ability to learn quickly growing up served me well on the junior circuit, my mind a sponge for information, my memory as sharp as a thumbtack. At least back then. It’s not too shabby now, I must admit, but I’m not competing anymore.

The little reassurance doesn’t do much for my stomach. I’m not sure what’s making me a little queasy, but I swallow it down. As if that is an accomplishment in and of itself, I pride myself on being present in the moment and not letting fear take over. “I push this one and then transfer here, but add their employee number?”

“Exactly. The automation takes it from there.”

Judging by how busy this position is, time is going to fly. She’s already had me running the reception desk for two hours. She grabs her purse from the drawer and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

“You’ve got this, Juni. I’ll be right inside if you need anything.”

One hour on my own. Easy peasy. While I work, the entire office showers her with baby gifts. I can hear the laughter and her squeals of excitement all the way in reception. Barely able to hear my calls over Melissa’s raving about Mr. Christiansen’s gift, I get up to shut the door.

From my research, the directory lists two Christiansens, who I suspect are the owners, considering the company's name—a lawyer and the CEO. Apparently, one of them is winning the day with their gift.

Although I’m curious what it is, it’s much quieter with the door closed.

Melissa practically floats through the door, leaving it wide open again. She taps the screen of her phone, bringing it to life, and then says, “It’s lunchtime. This is how we shut everything down when we leave the desk for an hour or at the end of the day.”

She goes through each step and then has me do it. When I get it right the first time, Melissa confides in me that she knew I’d catch on quickly the moment we met.

We ride down the elevator together. It’s crowded, so we move to the back. She whispers, “The boss just gave me a silver baby’s rattle from Tiffany and two extra paid weeks off. And here I thought he was the moodiest man I’ve ever met. Today he’s my favorite.” The herd exits the elevator, but I remain, my knuckles whitening around the railing.

Just outside the elevator, she turns back as if she just realized I’m not beside her. “Come on, Juni.”

I move at the sound of my name but then stop in the lobby. “Does that mean you’re taking eight or ten weeks for your leave?”

“Ten.” She carries on as if she has no cares in the world. “My last day is Friday, and I cannot wait to work on my tan.” She turns around again and waves me to her. “And nest, of course.”

“Of course,” I reply, going through the motions. Ten weeks is suddenly sounding like forever. Am I ready to take that on? Do I even want to? I need to call the agency again.

Outside the building, Melissa jets off to meet her husband for lunch, and although she was kind enough to invite me, I decline. I brought my lunch from home, but more so, I need a minute or fifty-five to wrap my head around this change in plans.

No matter how much this city changes, some things always stay the same. If memory serves me correctly, there’s a park two blocks up and one over.

Satisfaction sets in as soon as I see tall trees and soft grass covering the ground. I remember coming here with my grandmother when I was little since it was near the dance studio. I’d dance barefoot, and she’d clap as if I was the star of the ballet. I wasn’t. I was quite terrible. I could blend in at the circus since the audience was watching the acrobats and the trapeze artists.

I find a spot under a tree and reach inside my satchel to dig out my lunch. My hand hits paper that crinkles under my touch, and I pull it out. I’d forgotten about the muffin because my morning has been so busy, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find the treat. Looking inside the bag, I find two. I’d forgotten he’d ordered one. Apparently, he forgot as well.

And now he’s on my mind again. Too bad he’s not here, or I’d share. Taking a big bite, too big to be proper, I attempt to chew.