Chapter 5
Thursday morning I put the gray blazer and skirt back on. Same suit I’d worn at Gate 6, but now it smelled like the closet and not like sweat and bus exhaust. I steamed the white V-neck in the bathroom while the shower ran, using the steam from the hot water because the sublet had no iron. My hair was still in a low bun, my heels by the door polished with a wet paper towel.
The temp agency was on 47th and Madison, 14th floor, glass and gray carpet. Marcy had given me the contact— “data entry, three weeks, Midtown publishing house, they don’t ask much”— and I’d done a phone screening Tuesday that felt like someone checking my pulse.
“I see you had a gap,” the woman on the phone had said. “2023 to 2024?”
“I was married,” I’d said. “I did administrative support for my spouse’s program. Then we separated.” It was the cleanest version I had.
“References?”
“One,” I’d said, and given Marcy.
Now in the lobby at 8:40 I checked in with security. The guard gave me a sticker that said VISITOR in red. My hands were damp inside my palms. I wiped them on my skirt and hoped it didn’t show.
The office was open plan with low walls and too much light. A woman named Denise met me at reception. She was around fifty, soft cardigan, quick smile.
“Elise?” she said. “We’re glad you’re here. It’s just backlog, nothing tricky. You’ll be at the end near the window.”
She walked me past rows of desks where people were already typing. I tried not to look at anyone too long. At the desk she showed me the system— an old database, green text on gray, Enter to save, F2 to flag an error.
“Forty words a minute okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She left me with a stack of author contracts to enter. I sat down, logged in with the temp password they’d written on a sticky note, and started. The keys made a muffled sound. My blazer felt tight across the shoulders. I typed and my breathing slowed until it matched the rhythm of the work.
Around ten-thirty Denise stopped by with coffee she didn’t have to bring. “Doing good,” she said, looking at my screen. “You’re fast.”
“Thanks,” I said. I realized I’d been holding my shoulders up. I dropped them.
At lunch I ate a sandwich at my desk because I didn’t know where the break room was and didn’t want to ask. The woman next to me ate salad and scrolled her phone. No one asked about my gap. No one asked about my suit. It was the first time in weeks I felt invisible in a good way.
At 2:15 the receptionist appeared at the end of my row.
“Elise? There’s someone at the front for you. He says it’s personal.”
My stomach dropped before my head caught up. I saved what I’d typed and stood. My heels caught on the carpet.
Julian was by the elevators, not past security, holding a manila envelope and not his suitcase. He wore a lighter shirt than at the bus stop, sleeves rolled to his elbows, charcoal pants. No sweat this time. He looked like he’d tried to not look like he’d rushed.
Denise was behind her desk watching with a polite curiosity. I could feel the office listening without looking.
“What are you doing here?” I said, quiet but not whispering. I kept my voice low so it wouldn’t carry.
“I tried your phone,” he said. “It went to voicemail. I brought the papers for tomorrow. Thought you might want to check them before Marcy.” He held the envelope out. “I didn’t know where else to find you.”
“You can’t come to my job,” I said. The words came out flat. I felt my face get hot. “We have a meeting tomorrow. That’s the place.”
He looked past me at the office and back. He lowered his voice. “I know. I’m sorry. I just— I didn’t want you to think I’d forget. After Gate 6.”
Denise stood. “Everything okay, Elise?”
I turned. “Yes. He’s my—” I stopped. The word stuck. “He’s my husband. He was just leaving. We have an appointment tomorrow.”
Husband in present tense in front of a new job on the first day. I felt the lie and the truth in it at once. Legally it was true for thirty days. Officially I was still something I was trying not to be.
Julian took a half step back. He set the envelope on the low table by the elevators instead of handing it to me, so I’d have to choose to pick it up.
“I’ll see you at ten,” he said. “I won’t come again.”
He left before the elevator came, taking the stairs. I watched the door close and stood there until Denise said “you good?” again.
May you like
I picked up the envelope. It was sealed. His name and mine typed on the front. I carried it back to my desk, slid it under my keyboard, and typed until my fingers hurt. At five I logged out, took the envelope, and left the Visitor sticker in the trash on 47th.
Outside, Midtown was too bright and loud. I walked to 81st instead of taking the subway, envelope in my bag banging against my hip. My feet hurt in the heels I’d worn to look employable.
