The Sphinx of Human Resources

The company retreat was at a resort in Palm Springs, because of course it was. Elena stood by the pool at 11 PM, nursing her third complimentary martini, watching her colleagues stagger back to their rooms like members of the walking dead.

"You look like shit, El."

She turned. Mark, the senior VP who'd once propositioned her in a supply closet, stood too close. His breath smelled of expensive scotch and desperation.

"We're all zombies, Mark. Some of us just hide it better."

He laughed, a dry rustling sound. "That's why I like you. You see the rot." He grabbed her hand, turning her palm upward in the moonlight. "You know, my grandmother read palms. She'd say this life line—" his finger traced the crease "—means you survive everything that tries to kill you. But the head line..." He tapped it. "Too much thinking. That's what ruins us."

"I think it's the mandatory team-building exercises, Mark."

"No." He stepped closer. "It's the knowing. We know we're living lies, and we keep showing up anyway." His thumb pressed into her palm. "We're working ourselves to death to afford vacations where we decompress from work so we can return to work to afford more vacations. It's a sphinx's riddle with no answer."

Elena pulled her hand away. "The sphinx ate people who couldn't solve her riddle."

"Exactly." Mark's smile was sad. "We're already being eaten. Just very slowly."

The pool reflected constellations that had already died by the time their light reached Earth. Elena thought about her mortgage, her therapist's advice to practice mindfulness, the promotion she'd accepted despite swearing she wouldn't compromise anymore. She thought about the way her mother had looked at her last Christmas—concern mixed with recognition.

"I'm going to bed, Mark."

"Sleep tight, zombie." He raised his glass. "See you at the breakfast keynote on resilience."