Pink Slip at the Tropicana

The pool water glittered with the same false promise as the company mission statement. Maya sat on the edge, her legs submerged in the chlorinated blue, running her thumb over the folded paper in her pocket. Twelve names. Twelve lives she was about to dismantle.

'This seat taken?'

She looked up. A man in his forties, maybe early fifties, stood there holding a drink. His straw hat was ridiculous—wide-brimmed, the kind tourists wore, completely at odds with his expensive suit. Something about him nagged at her memory.

'Please,' she said.

He sat. 'You're with the acquisition team?'

'HR. You're—'

'David. Marketing.' He sipped his drink. 'I know why you're here.'

Maya's stomach tightened. 'It's not—'

'Your hair.' He set his glass down on the concrete. 'You cut it.'

The words landed like a stone. Maya's hand went to her chin-length bob automatically. 'I'm sorry, do I know you?'

David's smile was sad. 'Chicago. Four years ago. The merger. You were the one who called me into the conference room at 4 PM on a Friday. I was wearing a gray tie. You said, "David, this isn't personal."'

Maya stopped breathing. The pool suddenly seemed very far away.

'I grew it back out,' David said, touching his hair, now silver at the temples. 'Got divorced. Started over. And now here we are again.' He gestured around at the corporate retreat, the facade of team-building, the inevitable reckoning. 'Different company, same Friday afternoon energy.' He stood up, adjusting his ridiculous hat. 'I suppose you have a list.'

Maya's throat was so tight she could barely speak. 'Twelve names.'

'Am I on it?'

She looked at him—this man she'd destroyed once, who'd somehow put himself back together, who was now looking at her with more compassion than she deserved. 'No,' she said. 'But I think that makes it worse.'

David nodded slowly. 'Yeah,' he said. 'It usually does.' He touched the brim of his hat. 'Good luck, Maya.' He walked away, leaving her alone at the edge of the pool, holding twelve lives in her pocket, wondering which of them would remember her four years from now, and what exactly they would remember.