After leaving the doctor’s that morning, I spent the drive to work in a daze, going through the motions at a distance, a spectator of my own life: stop at red, take the next turn, keep to the speed limit, pull into the parking slot, walk through the door. The blast of the air conditioner wakened my senses a bit, brought me back from the hot stupor I had been stewing in. Before I knew it, I was standing at reception on the twenty-third floor. A dozen or so faces, talking, immersed in business, walked past as I approached the glass and marble counter.

The incomprehensible buzz in my head sharpened into separate distinct sounds: the elevator dinging, papers shuffling, shoes clomping on wooden floors. Only the voices remained incoherent, loud murmurs blending into each other until—

“Hey, Martin, how can I help?”

It was Katharine. The receptionist.

“Well hello, beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She laughed. “Martin, you seem… different this morning. Brighter. Is it a girl?”

“Ah—I—” I stammered. Hello, beautiful? Why’d I say that? 

“I’m sorry? Didn’t catch that.” She looked at me expectantly.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Pretty nice. Dry sense of humor, but really funny. Solid figure with legs that go on for ages.”

“I knew it.”

I placed my briefcase on the glass counter before leaning in close. “Yeah, I mean, she’s well-educated too. Sometimes I can hardly keep up with what she’s talking about but it’s good, you know? Like I’m getting into something new every day.”

“I can tell. You never linger this long at reception,” she laughed while straightening a pile of papers and slipping it into a drawer. “You seem happy with her. How long have you been—”

“Seeing each other? A week. We’ve only gone out twice.”

“A ways to go then. Does she have a name?”

“Cindy.”

“Sounds sweet.” Katharine looked me up and down. “I hope you—Martin, are you all right?”

“Fine. Why?”

I looked down to give myself a once over. It was then that I noticed how white my knuckles were, gripping the handle of my briefcase; how fast my heart was beating as I leaned hard onto the counter.

“You lost a bit of color there all of a sudden.” She looked concernedly up at me.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I tried to mollify her while my insides were screaming anxiety. I was breaking out in a cold sweat. “I’ll check in with the nurse if I start to feel funny.” I picked up my bag, gave her a brief smile, and walked to the hallway on the left. “Thanks, Katharine. Till next time.”

“Yeah, nice chat. See ya, Martin!” she called back.

The hallway leading to my office was lined with frosted glass rooms on the right. I could see silhouettes of people sitting around a long table, a person in front talking; in another room, a group of heads bunched together, crowding around something laid out on a table in the centre. My palms were still sweaty, and the air felt so thin my breaths came in short gasps. Who are you? Who are you? resounded in my head.

I turned a corner and grabbed the knob of the third door on the left, opening it. My office. My space. I leaned into the door and slipped inside, my shaking hands gently shutting the door and turning the lock.

Finally.

I collapsed onto the bottle green couch to the right of my desk, taking deep, calming breaths. My heart began to slow. One terrifying thought simmered in my brain: Who the hell is Cindy?