The saddest word
in the whole world
is the word almost.

He was almost in love.
She was almost good for him.
He almost stopped her.
She almost waited.
He almost lived.
They almost made it.

- Nikita Gill

"Rachel, are you ready? We have to go soon!" Chloe calls from the hallway. "You might want breakfast on your first day!"

I lean over the bathroom vanity, a wand of black eyeliner in my hand. A few weeks have passed, allowing me to settle into the apartment and find my way around Columbus, plus stock up on groceries and summer professional clothes. A trip to Goodwill did a lot to rejuvenate my wardrobe.

"I'm coming, just give me a second!" That one statement is enough to wreck the black line across my eyelid. I sigh and widen the line on my left eye to match. That'll have to do.

"Rachel!"

"Just hold on!" I scream back, pulling away from the mirror to check my appearance.

I've already visited The Columbus Post to sign all the paperwork with Human Resources, but today will be my first chance to meet my new boss and coworkers. Chloe has raved endlessly about how wonderful my boss is and how much I'll love him, but honestly, my standards are pretty low. As long as he's better than Tina, I should be fine.

"Let's see you!" Chloe says, grabbing onto the doorframe and looking into the bathroom.

I turn around and throw my arms out, showing off my outfit. I went with a knee-length black jersey skirt and a button-up white shirt with gold buttons plus a pair of wedge sandals.

Chloe grins at me. "Very professional. I made you some oatmeal," she urges, glancing at her watch. I check the time on my phone; we have 25 minutes to get there, and since it's only a ten minute drive away, I'm not too concerned.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I say, turning around and grabbing my lunch box and work bag from the toilet cover.

In the kitchen, Hina has set a bouquet of carnelian dahlias on the table and Chloe put a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with almonds at my seat. Hina lounges on the couch with her laptop, and since she works from home, she's still wearing pajamas while Chloe and I prepare to leave.

"Thanks, Chlo," I say, sliding into the cross-back chair and scooping the oatmeal into my mouth.

I inhale the oatmeal without tasting it, and Chloe and I head for her car, a turquoise Prius. I climb into the passenger's seat with my bags on my lap and sigh. Nerves tingle up my spine. What if my boss hates me? What if my coworkers think I'm some nerdy weirdo with too many Jane Austen books? What if I spill my tea all over the hottest guy at work? These fears may seem irrational, but at least one of them has happened before, so they're entirely valid.

Chloe slides the car away from the curb as I ask, "So, you're sure your boss will like me?"
"I swear. He read some of your pieces from the Bee and from the paper in Pennsylvania. He said you had talent, and when Griffin Fitzpatrick says you have talent, that's good news."

The way Chloe talks about this guy makes him sound like some sort of journalistic god. Apparently, he's renowned throughout the Midwest for his advances in online news reporting, something at which Tina and The Morning Call failed tremendously. Despite my youth, I'm a little afraid that I'll be too old-fashioned for The Columbus Post's approach to journalism.

"What if I'm not good enough? What if he hates my very first article and fires me? What if I actually suck at this?"

Chloe laughs, her black curls swishing as she turns to check for oncoming traffic. "I was your editor in the college paper. I know you don't suck."

I shrug and look out the window at a cluster of college kids laughing over ice cream cones. Maybe I don't suck, but I don't feel that reservoir of excitement at the prospect of jumping back into writing. I like the act of writing itself, of expressing something with feeling and putting a new spin on an old concept, but I weary at the process of having my work shredded and reformed again and again by section editors and senior staff. If this Mr. Fitzpatrick runs as tight of a ship as Chloe implies, then I doubt I'll be free of that constant performance pressure that I felt with Tina.

Ten minutes early, Chloe pulls into a parking spot. We both climb out and approach the gray four-story building with the title of the newspaper etched across the front in white block letters. A bevy of bustling reporters and photographers run in and out, clutching notebooks and camera bags to their chests. Everyone has some place to be, and I know I'm about to be sucked into the chaos as well.

"Let's go!" Chloe calls, already five steps ahead of me and ascending the stairs to the sliding doors.

We enter the first floor and Chloe and I flash our badges to the administrative assistant at the curved front desk then get in the elevator. The elevator is empty besides the two of us and I suck in a breath and smooth down my shirt. Here we go.

When the elevator doors slide open, I paste an over-eager smile on my face and march out beside Chloe, who needs no help in appearing confident. Although she's a few inches shorter than me, she has this natural assurance to her step and the tilt of her chin that I envy. She walks a few paces ahead of me and I scuttle to catch up, my eyes skimming over the room but not taking anything in. I feel a wave of anxiety, that feeling of being caught up in a crowd of people but completely invisible, and I swallow it down. Not now.

"Morning, Alaina," Chloe says, greeting this floor's Administrative Assistant with a ready smile. "This is Rachel Evans, she's the new reporter."

Alaina smiles up at us, her eyes round and blue beneath thick lashes. "Oh, hello! Welcome to the Post! You already have your badge and everything, right? I'll show you to Mr. Fitzpatrick's office."
Chloe waves me goodbye and mouths, "See you at lunch" as I follow Alaina's retreating form down a row of cubicles. She chatters as we walk but I zone her out, scanning the cubicles that fill the open space. Finally, Alaina jerks to a stop in front of an office and I nearly collide with her.

"This is Mr. Fitzpatrick's office," Alaina says, pointing to a huge corner office with several windows and a Mac at a wrap-around desk. I'm too nervous to even look at the guy behind it.

She knocks on the door before I can gather my unraveled wits and then opens it. "Good morning, Mr. Fitzpatrick! Miss Evans is here. You mentioned you wanted to see her when she arrived."

I force myself past Alaina and look towards my new boss. He's a tall, middle-aged man with silver hair and sharp eyes, a professionally tailored suit, and a set of black-rimmed glasses. He smiles at me and waves Alaina away, her heels clicking as she closes the office door and retreats down the hallway.

"Miss Evans, please, come in."

I nod and try to give him a smile, offering my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He shakes my hand and then motions to the seat across from his desk. "You as well. Miss Cassidy has raved about you for months, so I'm very excited to have you as a part of our team. Tell me, what is it that made you want to work at the Post?"

For a moment, I draw a blank. I can't say, "Because I broke up with my almost-fiance and desperately needed a job outside of my hometown so Chloe convinced you to hire me." I flounder.

"Um, well, I think journalism is a great opportunity to explore and present differing viewpoints to a wide audience in a way that attracts thought and attention."

The answer sounds like something out of one of my textbooks, but I didn't expect this meeting to feel like an interview. I already got the job, right? Mr. Fitzpatrick tilts his head and studies me; I can already feel my face growing hot. Great. You've already managed to screw this up.

"That's a great answer, Miss Evans, but I was curious as to why you personally have chosen journalism. How does it speak to you?"

Again, I stumble for words. If I'm honest, journalism has been more of a job and less of a passion for me than it used to be, but I try to make something up anyways.

"I love language and words and the power they contain, and I also love sharing diverse perspectives and unknown information. Journalism is the perfect intersection of these passions, a chance to educate others and broaden their worldviews."

I catch my breath and look up at him. His pale eyes study me before nodding. I feel like I've been admitted into a secret society with his approval. "I look forward to seeing you use your skill with words to change people's hearts and minds, Miss Evans. Now," he rises and steps to the door, "for the first two weeks, I have set you up to shadow our best senior reporters before giving you a piece of your own. After following them for the next few weeks, let me know what sections you think will be the best fit for you and we'll go from there. Alaina will show you to your cubicle."
Alaina escorts me out of his office before I even realize the meeting is over. My answers run through my mind and I can tell they were sorely lacking. Where's the drive I used to have? It flickered out during the four years I spent under Tina's thumb, but now I have to find it again. I doubt Griffin Fitzpatrick will put up with mediocrity for long.

"Here's your cubicle, Miss Evans!" Alaina announces, gesturing to a four-by-four gray walled cubicle with a desk and a PC.

I force my gaze up from the floor and jerk myself out of this daze. "Oh, uh, thanks. You can call me Rachel, by the way. Um, who am I shadowing today?"

"That would be me." From the cubicle across from mine, a guy a few years my senior pops up and rests an elbow on the partition between us. "Quentin Rounce. Welcome to the Post."

I stand up and shake his hand across the partition. "Rachel Evans. It's nice to meet you."

He smiles at me, his eyes and skin the shade of warm hickory. "How's the first day treating you?"
I wipe sweaty hands on my skirt and glance back at Mr. Fitzpatrick's office. "Honestly? He's kind of terrifying."

Quentin laughs, throwing his head back and revealing a set of perfect teeth. "He put you through the ringer, did he?"

"You know, he just made me doubt all of my career goals. No big deal." I grin back at him.

"Well, good thing is, you can learn the ropes from me."

"What section do you work in?"

"Business. I'm heading out to do a report on a new tech start-up downtown. You ready?"

Quentin comes around the side of my cubicle so we're a few feet apart, a gray messenger bag slung over his shoulder. I take in his pressed navy pants, leather brogues, and navy plaid button-up with the sleeves rolled up, showing off a tattoo that disappears up his bicep. He catches my gaze and my face reddens. Am I seriously so socially inept that I can't even check a guy out with some subtlety?

"Uh, sure. Will we back for lunch?" I ask while grabbing my own bag and keeping my eyes away from his.

"Nah, I'll treat." He gives me a disarming wink. "It is your first day, after all."  

~~~~~

Introducing Rachel's new job at the Post! Can you relate to Rachel's first day nerves? I always get stressed when starting something new, but I promise she'll have even more reasons to be stressed in the weeks to come ;)

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