Excerpt: The Single Housewife (reprise)

I went through my usual routine on this typical Monday morning, arriving at work at 7:40 AM, then taking the elevator up to the ninth floor. The CDF building had a very sterile decor: white walls and grey tile flooring, with the occasional potted plastic plant. Framed motivational posters hung on the walls, praising the merits of things like “Teamwork” and “Diversity.” Sometimes I walked down the hallway and imagined what I'd do if I could totally redesign the place. I'd start by ditching the posters and fake foliage, then either repaint the walls or put up some trendy wallpaper. Maybe I'd get rid of the fluorescent ceiling lights too, and put in track lighting with shades in all different bright colors.

Down the hall, in a cluster of identical cubicles where the analysis department worked, mine had a hand-made cushion on the office chair, and framed pictures of my friends and family on the desk. I had tried as much as I could to make it feel like home away from home.

I didn't drink coffee, so I skipped right to my email. My high hopes for the day disappeared, as soon as I saw an email with the subject: Our new Senior Analyst: Henry Smith.

The boss had picked Henry over me for the promotion. Not even 8 AM, and this day was effectively already ruined, too.

I read the email, which congratulated Henry and thanked him for his years of service to the company. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and I suddenly had an urge to get away from my desk. I went to the cafeteria downstairs and ordered an egg and bacon bagel sandwich, reminding myself to work on those ten pounds later. I ate in the cafeteria instead of bringing breakfast back to my desk and working while eating. I felt like I needed a break, even though my day had just started. And I wished Al were at work already.

Al Harper was my only coworker at CDF, Corp. who I could actually talk to about things. I liked him because I could actually have a conversation with him about something other than data analysis or company policies. He was about ten years older than me, and we didn’t have that much in common besides a lack of passion for our work. Al only cared about two things in life, neither of which I knew anything about: motorcycles and the electric guitar.

He usually came into work an hour or two later than me, after staying up late either jamming with his heavy metal friends, or drinking at the local biker bar. Knowing I couldn't just stay in the cafeteria for the next two hours waiting for Al, I trudged back up to my office and sat down to my computer to open some work files. But I mostly just stared at them until Al finally showed up.

He stopped by my cube on the way to his, wearing his leather jacket and carrying his helmet. “Hi Catie”, he said. “How was your weekend?” Under his open jacket, Al wore a pale blue button-down shirt, just thin enough to be able to make out the outline of a white skull and cross bones on the black T-shirt he wore underneath. At least his facial hair was trimmed neatly, and his shoulder-length dark hair was combed back today. But in his leather jacket, he really just looked like a biker wearing a business man’s costume. As I understood it, that’s how he preferred it, except for the business clothes.

“Pretty bad,” I answered, barely looking up. “How are you?”