Stained Pages - Finale

Two days later, I type out a memo regarding the romance manuscript and send it to the other editors and assistants. I glance at the time. 12:30. Break time. My stomach grumbles. 

“Alright, alright,” I mutter. I glance around the room. Michael is in a meeting, but most of the others are finishing their work. I spot Jane at her desk, typing on her computer. She’s pretty nice. Always smiles at everyone. Besides, you can’t make friends without putting effort in yourself. I got this. 

I walk over, but the closer I get, the twisty feelings in my stomach feels more pronounced. 

“Hey, Jane,” I say shakily. “I’m going to grab lunch at the Greek deli, take one home for my roommate. Do you want to come with?”

Jane’s face falls into somewhere between awkward and genuinely regretful. “I’m so sorry, Poppy, but a group of us are already planning to go somewhere else.”

I clench my fingers around the fabric of my pants. “Oh, yeah, no worries. I get it.”

“Next time, I promise.” 

“Sure, totally. I’m looking forward to it,” I say. Looking forward to it? Who talks like that? “Well, I’ll see you around, then.” I make a quick exit before I say something else stupid. 

As I walk back to my desk, I stifle the urge to hide my face in my hands. My face grows hot. Typical. I open myself up, and I slam right into the wall.

“Poppy.” My body freezes at my boss’ voice. Harriet marches toward me. Other employees jump out of her way. I try not to do the same. Multiple possibilities of what I did wrong whirl through my mind. Did I come in late again? Forget to schedule an important meeting? 

“I was very impressed with your recent edits,” Harriet says. 

That throws me for a loop. “Really?”

“You showed strong attention to detail, your critiques were specific, and you submitted them in a timely manner,” she says. 

“I do my best,” I say, beaming. 

“Keep up the good work.” Harriet doesn’t smile, doesn’t look all that thrilled either, but she pats me on the arm. 

As she walks away, I spot Daniella tracking her like a hawk. When she looks back at me, her face is mutinous. She’s gripping her pencil so hard, her knuckles are white. I smirk at her, and for extra measure, I mime writing on my palm.

The pencil snaps, and the top half falls to the ground.

I turn away to hide my laughter. Then I bump into Michael again.

“Careful!” he says. “Man, we have to stop meeting like this.”

“Sorry.” 

He taps my nose. “I told you to stop saying that,” he teases. “What’s so funny?”

My cheeks are blazing now. Damn it. I clear my throat. “Nothing. How was the meeting?” 

“Fine, boring as usual, though,” he says. “You heading out?”

“For lunch. Although I think it’ll just be me.” 

“Well, I’m pretty hungry—“

“Michael, want to grab lunch?” It’s Daniella. Even though I should expect it, there’s a sinking feeling in my gut.

“Actually, I was going to go out with Poppy,” Michael says. He glances at me. “If she’d like me to.” 

Daniella and I both stare at him. I’m in shock; she looks peeved. He gives me a questioning shrug, sheepishly smiling.

“I–I’d love for you to come,” I stammer out. 

Daniella folds her arms. “Have fun. If you notice that one of your new assignments was reassigned to me when you come back, don’t feel too bad, Poppy. There’s only so many editors to work on manuscripts.”

I bristle. 

“Leave her alone, Daniella,” Michael snaps. “Come on, Poppy.” He attempts to grab my arm, but I yank it away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask her.

She gives me a look so smug that I want to punch it off of her. 

“Daniella,” Michael warns. “That’s not cool.”

“I don’t know what your problem is,” I say slowly, “but I work just as hard as anyone else at my job.”

Daniella opens her mouth to say something, but I’m not done yet. 

“It’s not my fault that your ego is so small when Harriet complimented me on my work,” I continue. I don’t know that I’m getting closer to her until I can see the muscles in her face tighten.

“And,” my voice rises, “it’s not my fault that I wanted was to eat lunch together with my coworkers, so I’m not sitting alone during my first week. And, don’t worry, I don’t want to steal your future job or whatever, so you don’t get to be a bitch to me!” The last part is screamed in her face. 

Daniella looks shocked. The office is dead silent. My heart is pounding.

“And that is our cue to grab lunch,” Michael cuts in. He succeeds in grabbing my arm this time, and feeling numb, I let him pull me out of the room.

Michael offers to drive, so I open the side window and feel the wind glide over my skin and through my hair. It calms me down enough to feel my heart slowly even its pace. He pulls onto the main street.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, fiddling with the radio. Soft jazz fills the car.

“Not better, but not worse either,” I mutter. 

“Yeah, you really laid it on her,” he says. 

I groan. “I’m gonna have to apologize to her, aren’t I? If she hasn’t already reported me to HR.”

“She antagonized you first. Besides, she had it coming. Daniella needed a bit of humbling.”

“I’m still gonna have to deal with Harriet,” I say. “Just when I got on her good side, too.”

“If Harriet gives you any trouble, I’ll back you up,” Michael says firmly. 

I smile. “Call me crazy, but I think you’re my only friend.”

We stop at a red light. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he says.

“It’s true,” I scoff. My eyes prickle with tears. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Every time, I try to make a friend, it never gets past casual acquaintance or school friend.” Michael stares at me silently.  

I fold my arms across my chest and curl into myself. “Maybe, I’m just not mean to have any.” I look up. The light is still red.

“Poppy—“

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” I say quickly. “It’s probably a good thing. There’s so much drama in friend groups. You have to commit so much time and energy to other people. In this economy?” I laugh, and I make a choking noise. I realize that I’m crying. “But, I’m so lonely. God dammit, is the light still red?”

Cruelly, the light switches to green. Someone honks behind us, making Michael start. He presses the gas pedal.

“Poppy, I’m so sorry you’ve been struggling with this,” he says quietly, “and I’m sorry I didn’t do more to make you feel included.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him.

“But I should’ve,” he says. “I was new too. I was in the same place you are. And I didn’t change anything.”

He grabs my hand. I swallow thickly, staring at it.

“Maybe we should start over,” he says. “I’m Michael. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like to be friends?”

I wipe my eyes and squeeze his hand. “I’m Poppy, I’d love to.”

The car behind us beeps, and we both jump. I giggle as Michael sheepishly waves his hand in the rearview mirror as an apology. We’re moving again. 

“I’m feeling something greasy today,” he says. “You want some fast food?”

“Only if you’re okay with me getting back inside your car with gross fingers,” I shoot back.

Michael makes a show of thinking hard. “I guess I can live with it,” he says, as if admitting defeat.

I laugh. His hand finds mine and squeezes it. I lean back into my chair, feeling the light pressure of his warm hand, and thinking the world looks so bright and cheerful.