Page 3 of I Hope This Finds You Well

“Maybe I left my computer logged in?” I mutter.

Nobody on the panel will look directly at me.

My ancestors overcame plagues, poverty, and war so that I could be here. My mom separated from her family and risked everything to emigrate from Iran to Canada without even knowing English, because she wanted more for me. All those sacrifices, all those brave acts, just so this could happen. All of it leading up to this moment, to this boardroomat my verymehjob, so my managers can address how much of a fucking weirdo I am.

My legacy was taken down by a bowl of trout soup heated for one minute and thirty seconds on high.

An unfortunate phlegm sound tears through the silence as Gregory clears his throat. “We know you wrote it, Jolene.” His jaw ticks twice. “And as this was an alarming message, we considered having our IT coordinator track your computer activity for instances of threatening behavior.”

“What?” I blurt out. “That wasn’t a threat. You can’t search my—”

I cut myself off, probably my first wise move since I entered this meeting. I’ve always felt like someone at corporate was watching everything I did on my work computer anyway. I imagined they could see my search history and were plotting little dots on some graph to show the higher-ups how absolutely disturbed I am.

I never expected it to be true.

A chair creaks as Anna, who has never been one to show solidarity, adjusts herself and stares stonily at my forehead. Maybe it’s some type of corporate head office protocol on how to look at an employee you’re about to fire.

Gregory rubs his chin, every scratch of his nails against his stubble audible. “Our new HR analyst has looked things over, and although the letter contains a threatening tone, he agrees that it isn’t a threat.” I now understand the presence of the coach, who flashes another small grin my way. His smile has far too much sympathy tinting the edges. In his line of work, he should be as unfazed as a three a.m. Uber driver.

I nod automatically like a keen employee engaged in an important business discussion, instead of whatever the hell this is. Gregory slides the printed email away from me and shuffles it back into a manila folder as he winces the next words out. “We know you don’t often, uh... socialize with other employees, and that you aren’t one to participate in team-building activities.”

Heat rushes up my neck, my humiliation hitting new peaks.

“But when you start to engage in actively inappropriate behavior,” he continues, “we have to get involved for the comfort of all.”

I nod again. Now would be an appropriate time to inquire if NASA has any rockets scheduled to launch, so I can hitch a ride directly into the sun.

Anna shifts higher in her chair. “Miss Joffrey came to us feeling quite jostled and rightfully emotional.”

I’ll bet. I focus all my energy into controlling my ocular muscles, as my body is physically overcome with a need to roll my eyes. The only emotion Caitlin felt was glee over an opportunity to get me in here.

Something shifts behind me, so I turn slightly toward the still-ajar boardroom door. I catch Armin, the other accounting admin, darting out of view as he pretends to scan something at the printer. He is the fourth member of our cubicle pod, sitting next to Rhonda, Caitlin, and me. The very fact that he’s standing at a printer and repeatedly pushing buttons gives him away. The guy is a serial printer breaker who walks away when faced with any adversity from IT equipment—or any minor challenge, really.

Gregory continues where Anna left off. “We want this to be a comfortable environment for all.” A fresh wave of bitterness washes over me. If Caitlin had shown the most basic regard for communal microwave etiquette, we’d all be sitting at our desks right now, trying to ignore our thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

Gregory was right. I’m not one to engage with these people. I haven’t spoken to anyone in the office unless absolutely necessary for most of the eight years I’ve worked here. I spend more time with them than anyone else in my life, yet I remain hardly visible, like my name plate.

“Since this is your first incident of this nature, you won’t be terminated as long as you meet certain conditions.” My head swims with his words, trying to decipher their meaning. “There will be mandatory security restrictions on your computer, including flagging of emails with certain key words, and”—he glances toward the coach—“Clifford will assist with your progress through an anti-harassment course.”

The Clifford guy gives a small wave, which accidentally knocks his pen out of his hand. It rolls onto the floor, and he disappears under the table to retrieve it.

Gregory lets out a heavy breath. “If you agree, the restrictions willtake place immediately upon your signature, and you’ll be scheduled to attend five sessions with Clifford over the next few weeks.”

“Do you agree?” Anna pipes in with a breathless monotone.

I try to steady my hands into fists on my lap.

I can’t lose this job—I’m barely making rent as is.

And my lifestyle can’t take another hit. I’m down to seven-dollar wine and one singlemacrofiber towel. I can’t move in with my parents and become the shame to my worldwide network of aunties. There will be a tongue clucking heard far and wide.

But it’s more than that. If I have to live under my parents’ roof again, it could literally end me this time.

The room and the world compress in on me as the panel of shame stares me down.

I nod stiffly. The only one to smile is Clifford.

Gregory claps once. “Great.”