“Everyone, this is Lainey, Jackson’s second in command.” She pointed to a guy in a mustache shirt with a goatee. “This is Eddy.” She motioned next to him to the guy in a beanie and thick black-rimmed glasses and said, “Clarence.” And the two people sitting next to them she introduced as, “Tina and Ashley.”
A few of them looked fairly familiar, and I was certain the girl in the polka dot dress had given me mad side-eye when I was in Brogan’s coffee station yesterday. “Nice to meet you.” I clutched my salad harder and forced a smile, praying that I’d have a warmer welcome than the one I’d had when Jackson gave me the office tour.
They all chimed in at once with, “Welcome,” and “Great to have you on the team.”
Relieved at their greetings, I pulled the chair out and sat down, digging into my salad.
“Thanks.”
“Did Jackson not tell you about the staff room again?” The guy with the goatee shook his head and gave a knowing look to the other people in the room. “Typical.”
I nodded, and they all groaned. That made me feel infinitely better than I had a few seconds ago. At least I wasn’t the only person to be duped by him.
“Number one tip—besides don’t listen to Jackson’s negative garbage, obviously—is to get on Glinda’s good side. She is the copy guru and can fix any problem.”
The guy nodded toward Zelda and said, “She’s the tech queen. Any glitch in your system, she can have it fixed within an hour.”
Zelda blushed and repositioned her glasses on the bridge of her nose.
“Just don’t surf porn on the work computers. Someone did that last month and caused a system-wide virus. Starr wasn’t too happy when he turned on his computer and found a bunch of vaginas on his screen.”
They all laughed at this.
“Good to know.”
I sat back, finally feeling comfortable, for the first time in a week.
Chapter Five
Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #2
Never trust Betsey.
The bustling chaos of tourists, businessmen and women, and locals getting in a midday workout flooded downtown. As I’d only commuted to the office before and after standard working hours, I avoided most of this traffic. There was something satisfying about being lost in the shuffle, just another person with somewhere to be, something to do. Here, I could be anonymous, discard the label of Professional Worrier over my mom’s health and financial spiral, and just let go for a few minutes.
I’d successfully made it through the two-week mark at Starr Media, a miracle that I think took Jackson by surprise. Heck, I was surprised.
The conversation with my mom last week still lay heavy on my chest, and I’d wished there was something I could do besides work my unpolished fingers to the nubs. Even with Zelda’s protests, I’d decided to do lunch on my own today. Thirty sacred minutes to sort through my thoughts about Mom.
She was scheduled to be in a doctor’s appointment during my lunch, so I sent off a quick I love you and am thinking about you text as I navigated through the heavy foot traffic. The early October sun warmed my face even with the biting chill in the air. I cinched my favorite Chanel belted cardigan tighter around my waist and snuggled into the warm fabric. The fog had burned off and left a cloudless, blue topaz sky in its place. This was the first time in the past few days I’d been able to really breathe, deep breaths that didn’t feel like tiny holes punctured my lungs.
After finding a bench in Wyatt Park, I pulled out my salad leftovers and scanned the expanse of lush greenery. A guy wearing tweed sat on the bench across from me, yelling into his Bluetooth about stock portfolios. Two moms with newborns made loops around the park area before disappearing into a coffee shop. And a pair of street vendors shot each other evil glances when they thought no one was looking.
This area of Seattle was feeling a lot like Portland, minus the eccentric flair—nobody could beat the “Keep Portland Weird” mentality. Plus, they didn’t have Voodoo Doughnuts, which was a shame, because everyone should experience a Cock-N-Balls at least once in their life.
A calm blanketed my frayed nerves, and I gave myself this brief moment to believe that everything would be okay. I slouched down in my seat and took a second to close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the bench.
Everything was going to turn out fine. Mom would get through chemo like the champ she was. The only thing that worried me was her being alone during this process. In a desperate attempt, I’d tried calling my father and telling him about Mom’s diagnosis, but he’d brushed me off, too busy with his new family. His other life. It was still hard to stomach the idea of having a half-sibling almost the same age, and to think that every time he’d been on a “business trip” he was actually spending time with their family. His family. Someone who’d claimed he was an open book had hidden chapters riddled throughout. Seriously, it sounded like something from a soap opera, not a downtown Portland neighborhood.