The Double

𝒪𝓃𝑒

My day is already laid out on my new Checklist app. It's a work of art, to be honest. Here, the Life of Suzy Bae-Prime is beautifully organized and color-coded in neat little rows, a guarantee against indecision and inaction.

This Suzy has it together. This Suzy is a boss. Totally unlike the real, pathetic Suzy who just stepped out of the lawyer's office and promptly started blubbering like a seal. You waited until you're outside, I congratulate myself. You didn't cry in front of him. Small wins are still wins.

I tap my phone screen so that meet with lawyer is checked off, which makes me feel a teeny bit better even though nothing's actually changed. But according to my latest self-help read, just saying the word done is supposed to deliver a shot of that sweet drug dopamine, and I'll take all the satisfaction I can get.

It's not yet noon so I decide to sneak in a coffee break, which is not on my schedule and is therefore verboten by the Checklist app people. Their whole premise is that each minute of your day should be allocated to predetermined tasks without wavering or add-ons. You only do what you log admonishes the tagline. In an effort to keep me on my path to success, the app sends me chipper reminders of where I should be at particular points of the day—and usually am not.

Fuck it. I deserve sugar and caffeine. I toss my phone into my purse, put on a baseball cap on my head, and head over to my favorite café

"Looking glum, girlie." Yulisa looks up when I enter to the doorbell. "Want your usual?

I could actually go for something special as a pick-me-up—maybe one of those frappes with fancy flavors like red velvet cheesecake or sage caramel—but since she's already started making the latte, I nod before leaning over to inspect the shelf of muffins. "I need chocolate, too."

"Oh, we're at chocolate levels of glumness." She wrinkles her nose. "Sorry, babe. Danell took the last one for her kid."

When Danell sees me look over, she gives a friendly wave , so I hastily attempt to morph my involuntary death stare into a matching reciprocal smile. I don't succeed in time. her eyes widen and she unconsciously leans against her wife as if seeking protection against my disproportionate muffin wrath. Her wife wraps a loving arm around Danell's shoulders, and I suddenly feel stupid for thinking that baked goods would make me feel better.

"Can't be that bad," says Yulisa, cleaning the espresso machine with a cloth. Then she frowns. "I have to stop saying that," she scolds herself. "It can totally be that bad. You might have a broken heart. You might have received a terrible diagnosis. You might have been catfished or lost your true love or witnessed an accident." She pauses as if considering the vast opportunities for sadness the world has to offer, then shakes her head.

It's none of those things, but it's still pretty awful. Thirty-eight minutes ago, I took my courage in hand and gave Frank the Employment Lawyer several hundred dollars to tell me exactly what I suspected: I didn't have any proof my boss, Ben, was a fucking sexual predator, and without proof, I had no case.

"Have you gone to your HR department?" he asked after I'd outlined the situation.

"No." Why would I have bothered when I already knew they wouldn't believe me?

Frank looked at me over his bifocals. "That's usually the first step unless you fear retaliation."

"I did. I do." Ben is malicious, and I don't want to take the risk of having more of his nastiness and spite focused on me.

"Did you tell anyone at all?"

"No."

He nodded. "Then we need proof. Emails. Voice recordings. Witnesses."