Turn up the Heat

thoroughly bad.
    Blythe shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Well, okay, a little maybe,” she admitted with a small smile. So much for my garlic vinaigrette warding off Snacker. “But nothing serious. I like Snacker, but he’s probably too much of a playboy for me. Anyhow, can I use the bathroom? I have a class that I’m going to be late for.”
    I stepped into the hall. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. I have to get going, too, so I’ll see you at the memorial thing this afternoon?”
    “Oh, God. That’s right,” Blythe said with a sigh. “I’ll be there.”
    I filled a plastic bag with tamales, sped home, breaking a lot of traffic laws on the way, and, in an attempt to look professional, threw on good pants and a blazer. With no time to dry my still-wet hair, I slicked it back into a tight ponytail, grabbed the term paper that I had to drop off at school later, and fought my way through traffic to make the ten o’clock meeting with Naomi.
    “Your last day!” Naomi’s voice bounced off the concrete office walls. She spun around in her chair and looked at me with a mix of what appeared to be pride and sadness.
    This was my last day. The reality hadn’t hit me before. Now it did: I wouldn’t be coming to this gloomy, window-less cell anymore. I wouldn’t be staring at the phone waiting for it to ring, or taking lunch breaks that were too long, or fretting over how to transfer calls from my phone to Naomi’s. Maybe I would miss these two cramped rooms, the cafeteria tables that served as desks, the smell of Naomi’s patchouli incense. Probably not.
    But I would miss Naomi. Although we were polar opposites, I had grown to like her. Her die-hard social worker style had initially put me off, but I’d learned to appreciate how great she was at this job and how many women she rescued from horrendous harassment.
    “I can’t believe it’s over. I’m going to miss you,” I said to Naomi. God, she did look weird today, though. Her long hair was, as always, done up in clumps of braids that hung down her back. She wore her favorite Birkenstock sandals and a bizarre peasant dress patterned with purple and orange swirls. Her chunky wooden-bead necklace was such an unfortunate fashion choice that I had to restrain myself from reaching out and yanking it off her neck.
    “And I am going to miss my favorite intern! Come sit down. Let’s get this evaluation over before I fall apart!” Naomi’s eyes glistened slightly.
    I took a seat on a dining room chair that Naomi had bought for three whole dollars at a yard sale. My supervisor opened a thick binder and leafed through page after page of irrelevant letters, flyers, notes, and articles before she eventually found my evaluation form.
    “I have to say, Chloe, that I was a little skeptical when you first started here last fall. But I’m happy to say that I have seen such growth in you! I feel that you are really on your way to becoming an exceptional social worker.” Naomi beamed at me.
    Was she kidding?
    “You and I have very different work styles, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t able to do anything you want in this field. It’s taken you some time, but I can see that you are really beginning to define yourself in this profession. I’ve given you very good marks in most areas.” When she held out the evaluation form, I could see that she had, in fact, scored me high. “We don’t have to go over all of this. I think we have spent enough time each week discussing your performance in our staff meetings.”
    Another thing I wouldn’t miss: staff meetings! With only two of us working at the BO, we could hardly have avoided meeting, but Naomi nonetheless insisted that we hold regular staff meetings to discuss the organization.
    “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me, Naomi. You have really been great, and I’ve learned a lot from working with you, and—”
    Before I could finish my sentence, Naomi threw her arms around me and started rocking me back and forth. Luckily, my hangover was subsiding. Otherwise, I might have hurled all over the horrid industrial carpet. I should have known there was no way I’d escape one of Naomi’s hugs. In her view, this stressful line of work demanded that we offer support and express our solidarity by reaching out to each other. In other words, she was incessantly engulfing me in hugs and insisting on holding hands. I vaguely wondered whether I’d spent the year being harassed at an