Page 48 of You'll Love it Here

Ah, right. Jamie had to open his big mouth and say it stunk in here. No, actually, he was agreeing thatIsaid it stunk in here.

“Hey,” I start. “Thank you for doing all that, but I should’ve handled it better. Really, I didn’t expect the electrician to be so rude.” I consider that for a moment, then add, “Though, honestly, I should’ve after the first ten minutes of being in his presence.”

Norm’s lips quirk up a bit at this. “I don’t want to be a bother.” His voice cracks again, and this time I realize it’s not concern about being caught—he’s embarrassed. “I guess I sort of sunk into a gaming hole when my mom passed.” His jaw clenches around his words, stiff with fresh pain. “Things got away from me.”

His mother? I gaze around the apartment, taking in all the little figurines and old-lady furniture. The décor is starting to make a lot more sense.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” I say softly. “So, she liked birds, I take it?”

His eyes follow mine to the china cabinet. “Yeah.” He smiles like he’s recalling a memory. “My mom collected them. When I was little, I actually thought they were pretty creepy.” He looks around himself, as if he’s just now realizing what his apartment looks like.

“At first it was nice to feel like—to have her stuff. And it was during Covid, so buying new things felt too hard. But it’s probably time...” His voice fades off. He sounds a little haunted.

Norm is surrounded by his mom’s belongings, and I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to lose a parent in the way he has. Is the grief more open, perhaps simpler?

Or is it harder to have a parent like mine, who left nothing but a hole I can’t close? That lingering hope for a chance, only to realize it will never come. I force those thoughts back down, swallowing them before they can ignite the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

I can feel Norm’s eyes on me, and I can’t help but wonder what emotions must be written across my face. But something in my gut tells me he’s not Jane’s panty thief, though I have no proof to exonerate. He just seems kind of... alone.

I suppress the vision of him tediously unpacking each bird from bubble wrap and setting them out all by himself.

“Losing a parent is tough,” I say, my voice steady at first. Then, after a pause and a deep breath, I quietly admit, “I recently lost my dad.”

He nods like he already knows this—or perhaps he sees something in me, a shared understanding I’ll need to recognize now that I’ve become part of this unspoken club. “It’s the little things they don’t prepare you for, eh?” he says. “Like grieving is one thing,but going through expired prescriptions and old recipe books is another.”

“Yeah.” I nod, like I understand, but of course my mom must’ve dealt with all that stuff (or simply left it). My mind drifts to theonebox my dad gave me when I last saw him. And still, it’s buried deep in my closet, unopened.

Just then, Norm’s laptop dings on his desk. He meets my gaze, his fingers tightening around his napkin. “Thanks again for the lunch,” he says, his voice sincere. “It was nice having a... talking to you.” There’s a warmth in his eyes that makes me believe he means it—that he appreciated the company. He glances toward his screen and exhales. “I should get back. Time to log in—our colleagues are waiting.”

His words halt me.

Norm walks over to his desk and jiggles his mouse. The logo on his monitor’s background is for Westmore Communications.

It’s been a long time since IT moved fully remote post-Covid. A long time since Norm worked in person at my office.

I can’tbelieveI missed this.

A memory floods my mind from six years ago, when I was still newish at Westmore and needed some help setting up my laptop. An IT guy—Norm, I realize now, with longer hair that hung over his face—came by to help. It was awkward, or rather,hewas awkward. Shaky, sweaty. He was wearing too-large jeans and a wrinkled polo. Corbin came to my desk while Norm was working on the installation to gossip with me about some client he was helping our boss Carolyne with, and I didn’t even give Norm a second glance until he interrupted us to let me know he had finished.

After he left, Corbin said, “God, it must be nice to just be the computer guy—working nine to five and not giving a fuck how you look. Imagine if we showed up for a client meeting like that?”

He looked at me expectantly with a smirk on his lips.

I didn’t say anything, but I smiled.

I didn’t think Norm heard. He was far enough down the hall by then. But what if he did?

All these years later, I’d totally forgotten about him, even when he was living in my own building.

It’s like I’m talking to a ghost as I stand. “Hope you have a good afternoon. If you ever want to vent about work, call me.”

“Thanks.” He smiles insecurely before turning to his desk. “And let me know if the... if there are any other issues I can help with.”

I pause at the doorway. He’s IT. He must have access to everyone’s emails. Does he know about my current situation?

As I open the door, Norm answers his cell phone. “Hello? Yep, I’ll be working on your data recovery.”

Norm’s right there, working for the office I love, while I’m about to go eat soggy fries in front of Alice.