Mallory sat next to her, the bright screen of her phone throwing a blue glow under her chin as her thumb flicked over the glass.

Patricia turned her head, and her eyes dropped straight to my worn pumps and the dark gray skirt I’d bought three years before for my administrative interview at the distribution center.

“I don’t understand why she’s even here,” Patricia said to the receptionist, without lowering her voice one bit.

The young woman behind the desk didn’t look away from her computer screen.

Patricia got to her feet, twisting two heavy gold rings on her left hand until the stones sat in a straight line across her knuckles.