Inferno

twenty eight | the meet and greet

I pat over the crease on my pants, while going over the progress review once again to present it to the editorial head today. Amidst pulling my shit together, piled over the bed in the form of clothes, papers, and a guilty family size pack of chips, I come to find something pushed out of my sight since long. Through nightmarish slumbers and sometimes days, the thought has struck me multiple times, but the will's always been missing. It's still not dug in stone, and I don't know if this will make it go away, but  I know Harvey struck a chord with me with the hanging question. And that I owe myself to at least try. Past dreary feelings, I dial the number printed on the card. "Good morning, how may I help you?"

"I... I want to book an appointment for tomorrow. Is seven in the evening possible?"

"Let me check," she puts me on hold, and my nerves are anything but calm. "Sure, I can book a session for seven. Please tell me your details."

I provide her with everything necessary, the after thought of not being able to recoil now, both pleasant and disconcerting. "Thank you, I'll forward it to Delilah. Have a good day."

I'll try. Among other things, my gaze lands on Harvey's stuff, the box heavy in my hands as I carry it with me. It's scary he's still not noticed he never brought his belongings back, and that given our history, I haven't tried messing with him over it. It's difficult to, when at the office, Naina and I both find him asleep in his rotating chair, dangerously slung to the side. "Someone had a rough night," Naina quips, chuckling. "You know anything about it?"

"Me? No, I've got no idea, not even the slightest," the mediocre cover is coupled with my voice going unreasonably flimsy, and not a help at all.

"Okay... I just thought you might know," she shrugs, adjusting her purple rimmed glasses. "It's surprising because he's never out unless we drag him places. I can't even remember the last time he went on a date or something like it."

"Really?" I muse more to myself than ask her. And here I thought it's only me who's not an imprint of her past self anymore, bounded by a shell that's finally cracking. I'd conveniently turned a blind eye to anyone's suffering other than my own, and what hurts is that it's not anyone.
"Mrs. Montague is here, Leia," Naina taps my shoulder, turning me in the direction of her cabin, where she's seated with a coffee in hand. "You must be nervous?"

"I... I guess not," I realise too late how hubristic I'm coming across, unable to frame it other ways now. "I mean, the writers have done a great job, so I'm not stressed as such. Yeah."

"Cool, I'm sure you'll rock it. All the best."

"Thanks," I part ways with a smile, my folder clutched in my arms where in I maintain notes aiding me to edit the material that comes my way. I lightly rap on the door and she nods at me from her chair, her attention then diverting to the laptop in front of her. It casts a bright light on her face, framed by auburn layers falling down her pastel tux. She seems familiar for some reason.

"Ms. Callahan," she points me over to the seat across the table, and I lower myself down, eyes still scanning her. "I've already received the writers' final draft based on your inputs, and I must say you've brought a sense of engagement to the article that's never been there previously. I'm curious, what organisation were you with, before?"

"I... This is my first stint in non fiction and journalistic writing," I say, my feet nervously tapping against the table in front. "Before I was engaged in commissioned content writing and a little bit of fiction."

"Little bit. A concealed statement, don't you think?"

A light laughter, most of it being disarrayed breaths breaks out of me. "I had a novel called the lay woman's romance published years ago, and that's pretty much it."