70

I turn to look at her. Taylor seems particularly irritated today.
Matty leans back, hands behind his head like he owns the place. “I finish by the deadline.”
“Barely,” she hisses.
“Lay off, dude. You might be the project Lead, but you’re not the one signing my paycheck. Only Andy can lecture me about punctuality.” Or lack thereof.
“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll have Andy do it.”
“Ah, come on,” he protests.
“You compromise the whole project with your minimal effort,” she lectures, towering over my desk and turning it into a war zone.
This is all I need, to be caught in the crossfire of their escalating fight.
“Hey, I work hard,” he argues defensively.
Hmmm. Not sure I’d agree with that one. Matty’s a good User Researcher, and we work well together, but the guy has zero motivation.
“I finished the user research in time for Luce to do the designs; what’s your problem?” he challenges. He turns to me. “Back me up, Luce.”
Shit.
Taylor’s glare bores into me, waiting.
I cave. “Yeah, he does.”
“Because you work all hours to compensate!” she shrieks, throwing herself into her chair in a rage.
“Fuck’s sake,” Matty mutters, but rolls his eyes and goes back to YouTube. There’s a cat playing a piano on the screen. I can tell the cat has a better work ethic than Matty.
I watch as Taylor abruptly stands from her desk and stomps off to the restroom, every step like she’s stomping on Matty’s balls. I can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her. As tough as Taylor tries to appear, Matty’s jabs seem to be taking their toll.
I glance over at Matty. He doesn’t even look up from his screen. It’s become a running team joke that Matty’s a slacker. But that’s his role, right? We’ve all fallen into our roles in this absurd office play, and Matty has claimed the role of the jester. He’s capable of delivering results when the situation calls for it, but those moments seem to be becoming less frequent.
Still, as Taylor walks away, something niggles at me. Sure, Matty’s full of laughs and jokes, but even he admits he has the motivation of a tranquilized sloth.
Maybe Taylor has a point. Maybe I’ve been seeing Matty through rose-tinted glasses, conveniently overlooking his lazy tendencies.
The thought is interrupted by the sound of a cat hitting piano keys.
“Matty,” I say sharply, startling him. “I don’t want to stay late tonight. Come on, man, can you put a pause on the cat videos and finish the report?”
“You people are wound up today,” he grumbles. “Chill, Luce. I’m nearly finished.”
He isn’t.
Matty chuckles at the piano cat, lost in the music.
A lump gathers in my throat as I scowl at him, wrestling with the urge to cry. When did I evolve into this spineless creature? Fixing the clogged sink after Spider, always carrying the lion’s share of the workload so Matty doesn’t have to? Was I always this way or did I deteriorate in the lost year?
Picking up the dunce-of-the-day hat, I launch it toward his head with a vehemence that would make a football player proud.
“Christ! That’s a bit extreme!” he protests, rubbing his head.
“Matty,” I hiss. “I’m not joking. I’m sick of doing the majority of the work. If you are a proper friend, you won’t let me deal with all this by myself.”
“Hey, don’t guilt-trip me…” He tries to deflect, but his voice trails off as he catches my hardened expression. “All right, Luce. Sorry.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as he finally diverts his attention to the user research report, although I notice his YouTube tab still winking at him from the corner of his second screen.
It’s a start, at least.
Usually, I’d scoff at Taylor, dismissing her as the office tyrant. But something feels different today. I follow after her to the bathroom.
When I open the door, it’s quiet. Did I imagine seeing her come in here? But then I hear it-a soft, sniffling sound.
Shit, she’s crying? Matty and I always thought she was made of stone.
“Taylor?” I call out tentatively.
“What?” she snaps. I picture her glaring at me from inside her stall. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I come in peace. Just checking in, I wanted to see if you’re okay.”
“Whatever, Lucy. Just get lost.”
That’s a burn. Not entirely unexpected though.
A part of me wants to turn on my heel, leave her to her own devices. But something, some newfound compassion, stops me in my tracks. I can be the better woman here.
I gently knock on her stall door. “I mean it. I’m not here to make fun or anything,” I insist. “I’m trying to help.”
There’s a silence that seems to last forever. Then, the door swings open. She’s standing there, not looking like she’s been crying. But she has.
“What do you want?” she demands.
I shift, uncomfortable. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences. I’m dealing with this memory loss issue, and I really don’t need extra stress,” I confess. “I thought, you know, maybe we could try to get along.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I’m not trying to trick you,” I add hastily, raising my hands in surrender.
“Suddenly, after six years of constant taunts, you’re turning a new leaf?”
Her words hit me like a gut punch. Me? I’d always seen her as the one throwing jabs, not the other way around.
“Taylor, you’ve always been the one with the sharp tongue. Constantly prodding me about my work, my lack of promotion, my outfits… pretty much anything.”
She dismisses me with a scoff, checking her face in the mirror. “Any time I try to be friendly, I’m met with sarcasm. This team feels like a high school clique. It’s all about banter and fitting in. And God forbid if you want to better yourself. All you and Matty do is laugh at me.”
I fall silent, taken aback.
“I guess it escalated between us,” I say quietly. “It’s not me and Matty against you. Or the team against you. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”
“It’s not just about you two against me,” she continues, “it’s the whole suits vs. us narrative. We all have to work together in this company. But you and Matty act like you’re somehow above the sales team.”
“The IT department gets made fun of all the time,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “How often does a sales guy tell me to ‘Just make it pretty pronto’? They’re dismissive.”
“Maybe rise above it then? Not everyone’s like that,” she retorts, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Steve from marketing called you ‘Wonder Woman,’ remember?”
I give a small smile. “I’ve been tempted to make that my email signature.”
She turns to me seriously. “You’re a hard worker, Lucy, and your output is excellent, but you worry too much about blending in with the team. You don’t even notice that Matty is holding you back. This is why you haven’t been promoted.”
I bristle, about to snap back, when her words hit home. A lump lodges itself in my throat.
Is she right?
I’ve been afraid to rock the boat, too busy trying to fit in, to make everyone like me. I’ve let Matty’s antics slide too many times.
I nod. “Okay, maybe I have been a bit of a doormat when it comes to Matty.”
Perhaps Angry Andy’s right. This place is like the Wild fucking West.
“Anyway, what do you really want? A promotion? A leadership role? You know it comes with more responsibilities, right? Matty will never take that leap. But do you want to?”
Her question strikes a chord. The truth is I don’t know what I want.
But I know one thing.