a baby, and a few less of Hank, but my parents didn’t bother taking out the camera for special occasions. Come to think of it, I don’t know that they even owned one. I guess they had to have, but I don’t remember seeing one around the house.

Anyway, my parents’ faces becoming less and less crisp in my memory has been traumatic. But I might welcome forgetting what Jude looks like. And what he smells like. And tastes like. And feels like. And sounds like. I wish I could forget every sense related to him. But my memory seems to be holding onto every detail as if my life depends on it. I can’t erase him.

I get through Monday. And Tuesday. By Wednesday, I’m feeling like I might not have to quit my job. Heath has taken over Jude’s position as Lead Architectural Designer, and he’s slowly settling into that office, which he’s rearranged to suit his preferences. I’m getting used to turning around and seeing a profile that features a beer gut and a big nose. It’s actually comforting. I hope he never closes his blinds so I’ll always know that Jude’s not a few steps away.

I make it all the way to Friday without having a nervous breakdown, without any messy scenes. I come to work, I do my job, I go home, I sleep. Repeat process four times. Somewhere in there, I feed the cat. At least he always seems to have food, so unless he’s learned to serve himself, I’m still managing to fulfill some of my responsibilities. But I’m doing it all on autopilot.

Now I’m walking away from the plotter, rolling up a set of blueprints that I need to take to the mailroom, when I hear his voice. Clearly. His voice.

“Things are brilliant here. We’re all set up; everything’s sweet as a nut. Now we merely need some accounts.” He laughs nervously. “Only kidding. That is, it’s true we need some accounts, but I’ve been told our name has already been mentioned in very promising circles, so it’s only a matter of time. I think if we focus more on restoration instead of new construction, at least to begin with, we’ll really build a reputation for ourselves.”

And there he is. He’s a little pixilated, and his mouth isn’t moving in time with his words, but he’s right there on the other side of the glass, on the big screen in the videoconference room.

I lurk out of sight as Gary asks, “What do you need from us? What resources would help you get off to a running start?”

“I have everything I need, actually. I can’t think of a single thing I’m lacking. It’s early days yet, and I’ll let you know as soon as I notice anything, but I really think it’s good. Nothing missing at all.”

“How about admin support?” Gary presses. “Seeing any gaps in that department yet? I’m not sure it was wise to send you guys off without someone to do all the day-to-day stuff that no one else wants to do, if you know what I mean.”

They laugh about that for a second or two, then Jude says, “Nah. I can always ring Leslie if something comes up that I can’t handle. Meanwhile, I think I can manage opening my own post and making my own coffee.” They laugh again.

Fuck them, I seethe, stomping away.

My blueprint has come unrolled as I’ve stood there, slack-jawed, listening to their pompous chatter. I walk and roll at the same time, giving myself a giant paper cut in the process. When I get to the mailroom, I grab a shipping tube from the rack, stuff the drawing into it, and rattle off the name of the recipient to Bruce, one of the mailroom technicians.

“It has to get there tomorrow, unfortunately,” I gripe. “Once again, someone created an emergency for the rest of us by procrastinating on a job that wasn’t that big a deal.”

“I hate that,” he commiserates. “Those guys are lucky to have you when it comes to shit like this, Libby. If it was up to them, they’d never meet deadlines.”

I snort and say sarcastically, “Oh, Bruce, don’t you know I just make the coffee?”

“Who said that?” he asks indignantly, printing the label for the tube.

Catching myself just in time, I say, “Never mind. I’m just feeling a little sorry for myself.” I touch his shoulder, barely, careful not to get any blood from my paper cut on his shirt. “Thanks for getting that out today. I know Jake won’t thank you, so I will.” I absently suck on my injured finger.

He laughs. “Oh, I’m not in it for the recognition.” The mailing label goes on the tube, which he tosses into a basket of other parcels on their way out the door. “So, uh… don’t take this the wrong way, or anything, but I was wondering… I don’t know… If you’d like to, sometime, maybe soon… have a drink after work? Or something?”

His question catches me completely off-guard. I blink at him a few times and recover. “Really? Well…”

I’ve never paid much attention to Bruce or any of my other male co-workers, but I quickly size him up during the pause before my answer. He’s always been really nice to me. And he’s pretty funny. As far as looks are concerned, he’s okay. He shaves his head, I suspect to take a proactive approach to a receding hairline, but it looks good on him. Very smooth, in any case. He wears a style of glasses that make him look smart and trendy, rather than nerdy. Kind of a younger Stanley Tucci, I suddenly realize.

But… I can’t go there. Yet.

I bite my lip.

He accurately reads my body language. “Never mind. It was just a suggestion. You know, now that he’s gone. His loss, by the way.”

I swallow loudly. “Oh.” Giving him a shaky smile, I back toward the door. “Well, maybe some other time. Just not now.”

“Sure!” he says cheerfully, but I can

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