Page 21 of Cava with My Colleague

Something else clicks in my brain. “Did you not do a single bit of investigating? Because now it’s obvious to me that it’s Andrés from accounting.” My voice is shaking now. Not from fear—from rage. Pure, white-hot rage. “I just thought you both had the same orange-lidded containers—but it’s your container he’s eating out of, isn’t it?”

Carlos’s face has gone very still.

“But sure,” I continue, the words tumbling out now. “I’m the unprofessional one. I’m the lunch thief. I’m the one who can’t be trusted. I’m the one who asks colleagues to coffee and then wages a months-long campaign of lunch theft when they say no because I’m just that unstable and petty.”

“That’s not⁠—”

Two.

“Is that why you’ve been so cold to me? Why you look at me like I’m constantly on the verge of doing something inappropriate? Because you thought I was stealing your fucking tortilla?”

“I was wrong⁠—”

“Yes, you were!” I’m almost yelling now, and I don’t care. “You were wrong about the lunches, and you’re wrong about me, and you’ve been wrong this entire time. But you decided who I was the second I asked you to coffee, didn’t you? Some unprofessional American who doesn’t understand boundaries. Who shops at sex stores and can’t handle a simple presentation⁠—”

One.

“I never said you couldn’t handle⁠—”

“You didn’t have to say it! It’s in every look, every comment, every correction during training.” My chest is tight, and I realize with horror that my eyes are stinging. I am not going to cry in this elevator. I’m not. “I have worked my ass off for this position. I’ve published papers. I’ve led teams. I’ve spent the last year of my life running trials, arguing with regulatory bodies, redesigning protocols at midnight when the data came back wrong—all of it to develop a treatment that could spare cancer patients from losing their hair during chemo. That’s not a small thing. That’s my actual job. And I’m good at it. But none of that matters to you, does it?”

Ground floor.

The elevator dings, cheerful and oblivious. The doors slide open to the bright, bustling hotel lobby.

“Because somewhere along the way you decided I was too much. I’m not going to lower myself to your standards, Carlos, so go fuck yourself.”

I step out, needing to escape this box, this man, this entire situation. But I turn back, just for a moment.

Carlos is still standing in the elevator, his hand on the door to keep it from closing. His expression is something I can’t read—shock, maybe, or guilt, or both.

“For the record,” I say, my voice steadier now but still shaking around the edges, “you never gave me a chance.”

I turn and walk away, heading not toward the restaurant but toward the hotel exit. I can’t eat breakfast. I can’t sit in that dining room knowing Carlos might walk in. I can’t⁠—

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out without stopping.

It’s a text in the group chat with my friends.

Tessa

Can’t wait to see you in Vienna! We’ll take you out for the best schnitzel of your life and you can tell us all about the tour. Love you!

Something in my chest loosens slightly. One more day. Just one more day until Vienna, until my friends, until people who actually know me and love me.

My family.

I can survive one more day.

I have to.

I spend the rest of the morning walking around Berlin. Not sightseeing—I barely register what I’m seeing. Just walking, trying to clear my head, trying to figure out how I’m going to get through Vienna without completely imploding.

I’m so distracted, I forgot my Polaroid. It’s one of my favorite things to travel with and on this whirlwind tour schedule, I will rarely have time to myself to explore. I almost go back to the hotel to get it, but I’ve already been wandering for too long. I guess I won’t have any shots from this Berlin trip to add to my collection.

Berlin is exactly the kind of place that rewards the slow look—the gap-toothed buildings where the Wall used to be, the graffiti that’s been there so long it’s become architecture, the Turkish bakeries and the record shops and the staircases that lead nowhere. I would normally have three alleys bookmarked for later and a coffee from somewhere I found by following my nose.

Instead I walk in a straight line and don’t see any of it.