Twitterpated

by Jacobson, Melanie

I couldn’t read anything in his voice.

  “It’s hard to say. It depends on how much overtime my team is willing to give me. It will be at least through the weekend,” I said.

  “I see.” He fell silent again, but I didn’t hurry to fill in the gap. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Okay. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Was that a real okay?”

  “No.” He sighed. “This totally stinks, and I don’t understand, but I’m trying not to whine.”

  “I know. I’m so, so sorry. It’s Craig and a stupid clerical error . . . and now it’s getting ugly.”

  “Craig again? Maybe I could beat him up for you,” he offered.

  “You shouldn’t tempt me like that,” I said.

  “All right, but I would even put on my shining armor and find a horse.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but Craig is more of a fly who needs swatting than a monster.”

  “Are you sure about that? Because if he’s behind this crisis, I kind of think slaying him wouldn’t be that bad.”

  I laughed. “Unfortunately, he’s only a contributing factor. This is a multilayered mess.”

  “I’ll let the offer stand,” he said.

  “I appreciate it. Maybe I could call you when I need a brain break from the craziness around here.”

  “You mean squeeze me in when you’re not too busy?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I guess that didn’t come out right.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s what you meant. And as much as I don’t want to be just a convenience in your life, I’ll take what I can get.” He hesitated. “You should take care of business, Jessie. I know it’s important to you. But maybe . . . don’t take too long, all right? I’m trying hard to be patient, but it bums me out not to spend time with you again.”

  I settled on, “I understand.” And then I felt stupid as the words hung out there, an unfinished thought. “I’m sorry again for canceling tonight. I was looking forward to it. I’ll blow through this project as fast as I can, but it’s gnarly, and it’s going to take time.”

  “I get it. I’ve been there, done that,” he said.

  “I’ll call, Ben. As soon as I’m done.”

  “I’ll answer.”

  We said our good-byes and hung up, but I kept the phone in my hand and sat staring at it for a while. Ben deserved more than my leftover time and energy, but I had no idea how to fix this current mess without giving it my all.

  I found myself tapping out a text message. I really am sorry.

  It’s okay. I’m patient. Kind of.

  I guess that’s all I can ask, I sent back.

  Wrong guess. But it’ll do for now.

  Huh? I saved the message, not quite sure what it meant, and then reread it several times, puzzling through his cryptic remark. Wrong guess? What did that mean? That I should ask him for more?

  * * *

  I dragged through Thursday and Friday with the energy and enthusiasm of a summer school student repeating algebra for the third time. I showed up, I did my work, but I didn’t have to like it. Even the friendly bickering between my workmates during our pizza-fueled late night sessions lacked entertainment value. I doubted anyone noticed since I laughed along with the others, but I felt like my laughs were the equivalent of verbal golf claps.

  Since most of the people on my team were working their first post-college jobs, Mike convinced all but two to commit the extra time. The two who didn’t stay after both had small kids at home, and no one blamed them for clocking out at the end of their eight-hour workday. But the three other employees besides Katie and Mike were content to put in the time for free as long as Mike picked up the bill at the bar afterward. I had overlooked a couple of morning “headaches” bearing a striking resemblance to hangovers in light of their hard work. As long as their job performance stayed sharp, I wasn’t going to stir up trouble. Sandy had once told me a hangover versus a headache was hard to prove anyway as far as personnel issues went.

  Saturday morning dawned with anemic sunlight filtering through my window, but it was more than I’d seen in a week. I wanted so badly to get out in it and bike around the nearby lake or wander through an outdoor market. Stupid work. Even bribery couldn’t induce most of the team to give up their Friday night and Saturday, so today it would only be Katie, Mike, and me.

  I schlepped into my office right before nine, but neither of them had arrived yet. I busied myself getting the proper spreadsheets sorted for the next fifteen minutes until Mike showed up. I greeted him and asked about Katie.

  “She’s not coming. She said it’s either take the weekend off or she’ll quit in defense of her mental health. Should we get started?” he asked, a notable lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

  I felt his pain. “Yeah. We’ll make shred and copy piles for Katie and hope she doesn’t kill us on Monday,” I said.

  “Do you find it at all ironic that we’re spending massive amounts of overtime trying to figure out how to get departments to trim their payroll budgets?”

  “No, because we’re not getting paid for this overtime, thanks to someone in this room who isn’t me.” I gave him the stink eye.

  “Right. So like I was saying, I’m glad we have such a great work rapport that we can devote every last spare second of our free time to fun projects like this,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought I heard.”

  For the next three hours, we worked with minimal conversation beyond occasional requests for documents from the other person. The silence grew too loud after the first hour, so I hooked my iPod into my computer speakers and let The Aggrolites fill in the blanks. When the minute hand dragged itself past noon, I called for a break.

  Even working efficiently and producing a massive stack of audited documents for Katie to shred, we had barely made a dent in the work we had left. I dipped into my energy reserves and found them empty. The deserted Macrosystems office spread outward, a sea of gray cubicles.

  “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  Mike turned down the speakers. “What?”

  I looked at him. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t think I’m going to be good for much more today, even after lunch.”

  He nodded. “I hate to say it, but me neither.”

  “So should we bag it and get out of here?”

  He grinned. “Try to keep up!” And he hustled to sort the last of our work into the shred or copy files.

  When we had everything separated, he grabbed his water bottle and waved it jauntily at me on his way out of the door. I eyed the phone. Suddenly, I had half a day of nothing to do. If I was a very, very lucky girl, I would find Ben equally available.

  I punched in his number.

  Chapter 29

  WE’D TEXTED BACK AND FORTH since Wednesday and exchanged e-mails too, but I wouldn’t let myself pick up the phone to call him until now, afraid of lacking the willpower to keep the conversation to a few minutes when I so badly wanted to talk to him for hours. I listened to the ringing, hoping he’d pick up, hoping I wouldn’t giggle like an idiot at hearing his actual voice.

  He answered after the third ring. “Hi, this is Ben. You’ve reached my live voicemail. If this is Jessie calling to tell me your major project is done ahead of schedule, press one. If this is Jessie calling for any other reason, press two.”

  Amused, I asked, “Isn’t it going to hurt your ear if I press a button?”

  “This is Ben’s live voicemail,” he replied. “You have to follow directions.”

  I pressed two.

  “Ow.”

  “I did warn you,” I said.

  “Yeah, but it’s all going to be worth it if you pressed one. Turns out, I have no idea what the beeping sound means.”

  I laughed.

  “So what is it? Did you press one?” he demanded.

  “Not exactly,” I hedged.

  “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? One is one, not kind of one.”
/>   “Well, two is made up of one plus another one, so it’s kind of the same thing.”

  “You accountants and your funny math. You can’t run a business like that,” he said.

  “Thank goodness I’m not running a business, then. Just trying not to run this one into the ground.”

  “So you’re still in emergency mode?”

  “I will be on Monday. I called it quits for today though.”

  “Good for you. How many hours does that make for this week?”

  “Seventy-five, maybe.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “Unfortunately. We have a huge report due to my boss by this coming Friday, and we’re working like crazy people to get it done.”

  “Wow. That does not sound fun.”

  “Uh, hold on . . . Nope, I can’t think of anything less fun.”

  “So is this a brain break for you?”

  “No. Like I said, I’m done until Monday. I thought maybe if you had some free time before then, we could hang out or something.”

  “Hang out or something, huh?”

  I held my breath while he paused, hoping he’d take the offer. But when he spoke again, my heart sank.

  “I’m sorry, Jess.” He sighed. “I would love to, but I think I’d feel like you were squeezing me into your schedule, and I don’t want to go there again. I want to be with you and not wonder if your mind is on all the work stuff you’ve got to deal with or could be dealing with if you weren’t with me. I’ll wait out your deadline and see if things calm down for you.”

  All I could come up with was a lame, “Oh. I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, but even in my best weeks, I put in more than forty hours. I don’t know what to do about that,” I said.

  “You’re generous with your time, considering you don’t get paid for the extra,” he said.

  “I guess. It’s just that I’m a new manager, and I don’t want them to regret promoting me, so . . .”

  “That translates to a lot of hours?”

  “Basically.”

  “Has anyone suggested that you shouldn’t have been promoted?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of stressful.”

  “Who said that? Your boss?”

  “Well, no, not Dennis,” I conceded. “Actually, it was—”

  “Craig?” he finished for me.

  “Craig.” I sighed.

  “So you’re working yourself into a stroke because Craig said ‘Nanny nanny boo boo?’” Ben sounded frustrated. And condescending. It irritated me, and I didn’t say anything.

  Ben didn’t say anything either for a moment and then mumbled, “I’m sorry. That was lame.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  He sighed. “Do you ever feel like Craig’s pushing your buttons just to see if he can?”

  “It’s not like that. Craig is obsessed with climbing the corporate ladder, which is fine, but Dennis Court watches our teams pretty closely, and I need to make sure I’m staying on top of things so I don’t look bad by comparison. And I need to set a good example for the people I manage too. It’s not just Craig,” I said, hating the defensive note in my voice.

  “Does Dennis require anyone else to work so many hours?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone else work so many hours on their own?”

  “Sure, sometimes,” I said, feeling like I was standing on more solid ground.

  “But not all the time? Not as often as you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Jessie?” he coaxed. “Does anyone work as much overtime as you?”

  I wasn’t in the mood to hand him my psyche and have it returned sliced and diced. “What’s your point, Ben?” I bit out, despite the fact that his questions were both patient and reasonable. “That I work too much? You’d have to stand in line behind my mother, all of my sisters, and Sandy to take your shot at beating me over the head with that news flash.”

  “Whoa. I’m not trying to pick a fight here. I’m trying to understand why you push so hard,” he said.

  “I told you, I like to be the best,” I said.

  “The best overworked and underpaid accountant at Macrosystems?” he asked.

  “Why is this such a big deal to you?” I asked him. “Didn’t you say you had to put this kind of time in when you first started out?”

  “I did. But it was totally different. I was working for myself, building a big enough client base so I would never have to work eighty-hour weeks again. And I don’t. I work a regular week now, and all the money goes straight to my company, not someone else’s. I set my hours and my terms, and that’s exactly how I want it. But I paid a price to get here because I’m looking around at friends who are married and having kids and trying to figure out how I let that pass me by. Don’t you worry about that?” he asked softly.

  “No. This isn’t going to go on forever.”

  “Let me ask you this. When is the last time you worked only forty hours in a week?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember.

  “How about a vacation?” he pressed. “Have you taken off a week or more in the last year?”

  “Sure. I visit my parents a few times a year.”

  “For how long? Over holiday weekends?” he challenged me.

  Yes. I never missed more than a day or two of work if I planned it that way. But I didn’t want to admit it.

  “Why is this a big deal?” I asked again. “We barely know each other. There’ll be plenty of time to get this figured out if we’re still hanging out later.”

  “You keep using that phrase, ‘hanging out.’ Or calling us friends. Or talking about later like it’s the distant future.” He sounded frustrated, and I heard him draw a deep breath and sigh. “I didn’t want to do this, but I’m going to lay out my reality for you. I’ve been in Seattle for almost five months, and I have a six month contract. All my stuff and most of my clients are back in Arizona. I came up here to get a job done and clear my head, and I have. I’m as clear as I’ve ever been on one thing: I don’t want to be your friend or your hangout buddy or your side project or your part-time boyfriend.”

  “What do you want?” I almost whispered. Ben was leaving?

  “You,” he said. “Not your leftover time and energy. I thought you felt the same crazy click I did from the first time we talked on the phone. I hoped that meant you would want to spend as much time with me as I do with you. I feel like an idiot even having to tell you I’ve only got a month left here so that maybe you’ll want to hang out with me more instead of giving this thing between us time to do whatever it’s going to do on its own. I just—”

  He paused for a breath, but the revelation of his contract expiration had stolen my breath, and I didn’t say anything.

  “You say we barely know each other, but I disagree, Jessie. Big time.” He sighed, and it sounded so frustrated. “I know you make me laugh, and you make me think. You have an amazing mind, and you’re incredibly disciplined. But when you relax, something different happens, and I see something inside of you that drives me to know more. I could spend months learning new things about the way you work and look at the world. But I don’t have months. I have one month.”

  “Ben . . .”

  “I’m a risk taker with good instincts, and every one of them is telling me that time with you is the best investment I’ll ever make. Tell me how I convince a risk-averse accounting genius to see it the same way.”

  “Ben . . .” I trailed off again. I had no idea what to say. Funny, laid-back Ben had disappeared, replaced with this intense Ben who unnerved me and fascinated me at the same time.

  “I know you want time to think this over. And as much as I want to hoard every free hour you have, I do respect that you have a deadline next week and a job to do. So how about this? Don’t answer. Think about what I said. And if you’re feeling even half the impulse that I am to explore whatever is going on between us, come to dinner at my place next Saturda
y, after your deadline is done. You don’t even have to call and let me down easy if you decide this isn’t what you want. If you don’t show up, I promise to leave you alone, and if you do, we can talk this out and see if there’s even any reason to worry about where I’m going to be at the end of the month. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Bewilderment swirled in my brain, like when my sisters used to twirl me too fast on the death trap of a merry-go-round at the playground near our house. Even as I begged them to stop, I reveled in the giddy, dizzy thrill of whirling out of control. As a kid, as soon as they let me off and I caught my breath, I’d screw up my courage and hop right back on, spinning around like mad again. It was tricky though. They never slowed down, so I had to pick my moment to leap.

  This time, though, Ben had stopped the ride to give me a breather. And I already missed the thrill, but I didn’t know if I had the guts to make the leap again.

  Chapter 30

  I DON’T USUALLY PAY ATTENTION to the passage of time. I work until the job is done, or I fall asleep, whichever comes first. Then I start again the next day. Watching time drag by on a clock was a Ben-related phenomenon. The last twenty minutes before I knew I’d see him were always the worst. Imagine, then, how painfully slowly the weekend passed. The seconds stretched like pulled taffy, time morphing beyond recognition. I couldn’t even imagine enduring the rest of the week.

  Saturday after I got off the phone with Ben, I went home and collapsed, sleeping the afternoon away and then hitting a movie with Sandy, an independent film she had picked to “expand our cultural horizons.” It was mostly independent of a plot or good acting, but chock full of people sitting around and staring at each other meaningfully. Oh, and the director had included at least two dozen artistic shots of rain. Rain on a child’s face, rain on a car window, rain on a beach, rain on a dog.

  I live in Seattle. I was over it.

  I tolerated Sunday only because I threw myself into my Primary lesson and taught it with so much energy and enthusiasm that one of my kids offered to share his ADD meds with me. At home, I tried to do the thing where you lose yourself in service so you can forget your problems, but when I baked cookies for my visiting teaching sisters, I burned the first batch while I mooned over Ben. The second batch looked fine, but a nibble revealed I had oversalted the dough, so I pitched the batter and spent the rest of the day trying to work through Jane Eyre for the fourth time. Not my fourth time finishing it, my fourth time trying to get past the halfway point.