by Lucy Lambert
Easy to project your own feelings onto.
But did that mean that he was flirting, or did it mean that I wanted him to be flirting? Both?
I looked around my cubicle. Saw the three gray walls, one obscured by the painfully glowing computer monitor. The one on my right had a cork board pricked full of pushpins holding in various memos and forms. The left hand one remained blank.
I’d intended to get one of those cheesy pick-me-up posters. The one with the kitty hanging onto the branch with the caption that went something like Hang in There, Babe! had been my top choice.
A shelving unit ran around the three walls, mostly full of office stationary and supplies.
When I first started I thought my cubicle had been large. But I lost that illusion quickly. It pressed in around me.
A three-walled prison. The fourth wall was imaginary put possibly the most dangerous.
I thought of it as the You’re Fired wall. The one that if I broke I lost my job. The one that kept me at this desk for hours every day of the week.
Like where?
I sent my reply and waited. When he replied this time I experienced that same jolt of excitement. Not lessened, maybe even intensified.
The two of us on the town. Come out with me.
I started tapping out a reply.
Ok, just tell me what time and pl
I stopped. Scanned the words again. What am I doing? I can’t! Because I know if we go out we’ll probably stay in, too. And as nice as that sounds I just can’t afford to.
I tapped the little delete key until my well-intentioned but ill-formed message disappeared.
I replaced it with a much less exciting but far more practical one, which I sent after some hesitation.
Can’t. Too much work to get through.
Again, I braced myself for the barrage of texts calling me ungrateful. Telling me to smile more. Telling me I was being stupid.
And just like before, those messages never materialized. Instead, he sent a joke about New York.
I actually heard someone say Hey, I’m workin’ here! Today.
I laughed, then covered my mouth. I was the only person in the office again and it always surprised me how loud any noise was. I guess on a normal day all the sounds just kind of blended into general office noises.
I bit down on my bottom lip to stifle any future giggles and sent my reply.
There’s no way. No one actually says things like that.
He replied that it was God’s own truth. The conversation was easy and fun and before I knew it 20 minutes slipped by.
When I noticed, I told him that I really needed to finish some things up.
OK. Send me another text to let me know you got home safe.
I bit down on my lip again, this time to stop a smile instead of a laugh. I was only halfway successful. There was something very sweet about that. About him being concerned with me.
That evening, when I got home, I did send him a text letting him know I was home and fine.
Well, not fine, but safe and sound. My eyes throbbed. My body ached. And I could barely stand the thought of getting up to do it all again on Sunday.
But I also knew I would have felt worse if he hadn’t texted me again.
WE TEXTED BACK AND forth like that the rest of the weekend and into the following week. It seemed like every time the weight of my work dragged me down there was a message waiting for me on my phone to lighten things up, at least a little.
By the following Thursday our little text conversations became the highlight of my work day. Which really meant the highlight of my whole day, since I didn’t do much but work those days.
He told me how he did a lot of his growing up and school over in Europe. I told him I’d never been over there. Maybe in a few years when I had a lot of vacation time (and pay) banked.
I learned that he had no brothers or sisters, and that Neil and his parents had never been close.
You’ve heard of helicopter parents, right?
He asked in one text. When I answered that I had he replied with another message.
My parents were more like astronaut parents. High above, never really seen. But I knew they were there. And that every now and then they deigned to look down on and at me.
I told him that I tried to be close with my family. My dad the bricklayer. My mom the receptionist at a dental office called Family Smiles. My brother the failure-to-launch nerd currently attending community college for some credits he needed for his computer programming degree.
Neil told me he was pretty high up at a downtown firm. But not exactly how high or for which firm. Only that he’d found that he liked keeping his personal life and his work life as separate as possible.
Work life and personal life? There’s no difference for me.
I sent that back to him, smiling at what seemed like dim memories of college and high school when work didn’t consume pretty much every waking moment.
In short, we got to know each other over the span of a week. I started to realize that it really did help to talk to him like that. That it made getting through my long days that much easier.
That I had come, in part at least, to need him.
Then he sent me this one:
Do you actually enjoy your job?
I sat back in my chair, frowning at the screen. I had to say that no, I didn’t. But it wasn’t about enjoyment or having fun. It was about building myself up, becoming the person I wanted to be, getting the life I wanted to have, all that.
I shot the same question back at him. He replied.
I used to.
And then that Thursday came. It was late, coming up on nine. I was just about done. Then he sent me this message:
I’m going to call you.
Not can I call you. Or would it be okay to call you. Just that statement of fact. My first reaction was to type out a message saying I was still at work, that calls weren’t okay. But I’d already told him that there was no one here but me and the janitor.
And I knew him well enough now that I knew that he’d call bullshit to any excuse like that.
Besides, he didn’t give me much time to reply either way.
My Samsung started buzzing on my desk. So much that it rotated against my keyboard and that started rattling, too.
I smoothed my annoying and errant lock of hair from my forehead to back behind my ear. Why? It’s not like he can see you.
I answered, “Hey. Why are you doing this? What’s wrong with texting?”
“I wanted to hear your voice again. Why are you whispering?”
I realized he was right.
“Because... Because I don’t know why,” I said, forcing my voice up to its regular volume.
I couldn’t help pushing my chair back a little and leaning out of my cubicle, searching for accusing eyes.
“It is nice to hear you again,” he said. I got the distinct mental impression of his smile. It was a nice smile.
“You, too,” I tried to sound begrudging, but I thought my own smile, which I couldn’t repress, also came through in my voice.
“Listen, I’m not going to keep you long. I know you just have a few things left over to do and then the train ride home. I have a couple things I want to say to you. Actually say and not just type,” Neil said.
I perked up in my chair, my spine stiffening. I found myself holding my breath, and I swallowed hard against that urge.
“Oh? What’s that?” I said, trying to sound casual and probably failing miserably.
I found the cable connecting my keyboard to my computer and I fidgeted with it between my fingers.
That spark of excitement that normally confined itself to my stomach shot upward, surrounding my heart and sending it into a beating frenzy.
Get a hold of yourself! It’s not like he’s asking you to marry him or something.
“First,” he said, “That it’s really come to mean something special to me, our talks this past week. And second, I have a favor to ask.�
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“No, we absolutely can’t go out again. You know how busy I am...” I started.
“It’s not that. Though it sounds to me like maybe you’re protesting just a little too much.”
Heat rushed up my neck and into my cheeks, and I became very glad that no one, especially not Neil, could see.
“Then what?” I asked.
“Instead of a text tonight, give me a call instead.”
“Oh,” I said, relaxing a little. I pulled myself closer to my desk so that I could prop my elbows on it. My phone started getting quite warm. I hated how cellphones did that.
“Tell me you will,” he said. I could still hear that smile.
“Okay, fine,” I replied. Then, because I had to get a joke in to relieve some of that tension, I added, “So long as it isn’t past your bedtime or anything.”
That earned me a chuckle from Neil. “It won’t be. Now hurry and finish up so that you can call me. Bye.”
The call ended.
I worked quickly.
Chapter 10
NEIL
I looked out over Central Park, my iPhone held low in one hand. I kept the thumb of my other hand hooked in my pocket.
There was only a tiny smudge of light left in the world at that moment. A distant redness that I couldn’t view directly because my condo was in a building on the Upper West Side, and it faced east into the park.
I could see the remnants of that sunset dappling the waters of the lake. Mostly the trees and the fields swam in ever-broadening shadows.
I looked out at all this but didn’t really see any of it. I didn’t see it because even just speaking to Rachel over the phone left me feeling electrified.
Like I’d just grabbed a live wire.
I could have kept talking to her. I didn’t have to let her go, I thought. But I did, I knew.
Because work was so important to her. If I kept her on the line she would have resented it. Resented me. And I didn’t want that. Couldn’t have that.
I reached up and tugged the half-Windsor knot of my tie loose, so that I could then pop the button on my collar.
My pulse beat quickly in my throat, which I rubbed. The skin was rough and stubbly against my palm.
My phone buzzed and popped an alert. A text alert. My heart slammed hard for a second in false excitement and then calmed.
I checked the screen, found a reminder notice for tomorrow’s board meeting.
My phone constantly hummed and vibrated with a million little reminders and emails and texts and calls.
Nothing after nine in the evening though, unless it meant do-or-die for the company. I’d made that clear in my first year after making it really big. After receiving a stock valuation and going public.
A line needed to be drawn somewhere. Not a line, a wall built. People just stepped over lines. Usually without even seeing them.
So I watched the electric lights of Manhattan come to life while the sunlight drained out of the island, the whole time marking in my mind where I thought Rachel might be, tugging up the cuff of my sleeve to check the time on my Mariner.
She’s likely at the station now. That train is usually on time...
Must be over the river...
Next stop, Bushwick...
I didn’t go so far as to pace back and forth in front of the window. But I did wait. I rarely waited for anyone, these days. I would wait for her, though.
My iPhone trilled in my hand. Incoming call. I thumbed the answer button that appeared and lifted the phone to my ear. I could already feel my smile starting to pull at my cheeks.
“Did you doubt me?” she said.
“Doubt you? Never. Doubt the train schedules or the traffic lights? Yes.”
I walked over to an overstuffed leather wingback and sank down onto the cushion. I didn’t lean back, though. I was too energized. Another restless night for me.
It had grown pretty dark in my condo by then, but I barely noticed and didn’t mind.
I didn’t care.
She laughed, the sound slightly tinny but still wonderful over the phone. “Why the call? Too tired of dealing with autocorrect?”
“Oh, I turned off autocorrect as soon as I got the phone,” I said.
“Can’t stand someone trying to put words in your mouth? Or on your screen, I guess. You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I replied.
“So why the call?” she reiterated, “Oh, I’m home safe by the way, if you didn’t figure that out already.”
“Because texting can be so cold and impersonal. I wanted to know you as more than just words on a screen,” I said.
“Hey! There weren’t just words. Are you impugning my ability to string emojis together like hieroglyphs?” She put on a tone of mock offense.
It was my turn to laugh, “No, you’re a master with those. I wanted to talk to you, not type something at you. And you haven’t hung up.”
“Yet,” she said.
“So I’ll get to the point. I wanted to tell you that I’ve come to look forward to talking to you every day pretty much more than anything else. I wait all day, running through a thousand different anecdotes and jokes that I think you’ll like. And sometimes I’ve worried that we have nothing else to talk about but then we do.”
“I like our talks a lot, too,” Rachel said. I caught the guarded tone in her voice right away.
“I want to see you again,” I said, “Tell me that you don’t want to see me and we’ll stop this. All of this. Because I thought I was okay with just talking but now I know I’m not. And I think that you’re feeling the same.”
“We shouldn’t,” she said, “See each other. You know that.”
“That’s not an answer,” I replied. I pushed up from my wingback chair and went back to the window. I put my hand against the cold smoothness of the glass and glared out at the park.
“Goodnight, Neil,” Rachel said.
“Goodnight,” I replied. I killed the line.
Chapter 11
RACHEL
Week Two of what I liked to call All Work and No Play Makes Rachel Okay. I know that wasn’t how that line really went, but I was trying not to be self-defeating.
Wednesday came and I was still alive. Still sane, too.
Are you sure about that? Yeah, pretty sure.
Except that my eyes felt about ready to drop out of my head and roll, forever lost, under my desk.
And it was only about 2:00. It wasn’t miles I had to worry about going before I could sleep but hours. Hours and hours.
And right about then I thought I could feel the passage of every second.
I pushed the heels of my palms against my lidded eyes until the pressure granted me some relief. Then I pushed away from my desk, snagging my empty coffee cup with two fingers as I did.
It was all a matter of adequate caffeination.
That, and I didn’t know how I could get through the hours until Neil texted me that night.
I made me way between my row of cubicles and the one behind it. Made a left at the end of that narrow path.
“Rachel! Still burning that midnight oil?”
It was Dot, a secretary for some middle management executive whose last name I couldn’t quite remember. Evans? Tebbins? Something like that.
She was an older woman with bottle blond hair. We spoke sometimes when we ran into each other, just in that way acquaintances do.
“Burning the midnight oil. Burning the candle at both ends. Single-handedly drinking every last drop of coffee in Manhattan. All that.”
She smiled, watching me while I filled my mug from the pot on the narrow kitchenette counter. I mixed in one packet of sugar, making sure to avoid the false promise of Splenda and its ilk, then a dash of whitener.
“Just don’t try smoking,” Dot said, “It’s not worth it. So I hear you’ve been staying late, coming in early?”
I glanced at the clock over the break room lintel. A few minutes past two. I nodded at her.
“
It’s admirable. And I don’t think there’s more than a couple men in the office with the willpower for it. But you’re going to burn out.”
I took a nervous sip of coffee. Still too hot. It burned a line down my throat. “I can’t stop, not yet.”
“Don’t stop, then. But take a break. Even the President takes breaks, and if he’s allowed to, then I think that you’re entitled to one every now and again, too.”
I knew I had to get back to my cubicle. My cubicle with my computer with the bright monitor. My eyes started aching again just thinking about looking into that brightness. And for at least another six or seven hours before I could call it a night.
“Well, if the President takes them...” I said, feeling like I was persuading myself.
“Just go ahead and do it,” Dot said, “You’ll feel better and you’ll be able to get more done.”
I went back to my cubicle thinking about what Dot told me as I walked. I only managed to slosh a little bit of coffee over the rim of my mug, too.
I sat down at my desk and spared a glance for the time. 2:10. I still had a few minutes left in this break.
Yeah, I’m going to do it. I’m going to take a break. I’m going to leave the office early tonight. I need it. I’ll get more work done instead of less. Recharge and all that.
If it sounded like I was still trying to convince myself, I was. It didn’t seem right somehow, letting myself have some time off. Even if it made sense to.
I still felt like Mr. Diehl would still somehow become aware of any little slip up. Construe any break as laziness. Something like that.
I looked at my screen again, winced, and looked away. I just couldn’t stare any longer.
That clenched it. Tonight was my night off.
I decided to risk adding a few extra minutes to my coffee break. I grabbed my phone and brought Suzy up in the messenger.
Hey. Free tonight. Want to do something? Just no movies. Eyes too sore to watch anything... Drinks? Food?
Suzy managed an H&M just off Fifth. She always had her phone on her for calls from corporate, dealing with long term clients, that sort of thing. It didn’t take her long to get back to me.