by Claire Adams
“You met someone?” he asked dumbly.
I stared at him. “Did you hear a word I just said? Yes, I met someone, but he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him! And that doesn’t mean I’m going to start skulking around outside his apartment building and following him around in the hopes that he’ll suddenly have a change of heart. In other words: the same thing that you need to do. This is the last time I’m going to say this, or acknowledge you. If you decide not to listen to me and I find you hanging around here again, I’m just going to walk right by you and not say a thing.” Even as I was talking, I knew what I was saying wasn’t getting through to him, but I didn’t know what else to do. He just had this look on his face like he was one hundred percent convinced that I would eventually change my mind.
I left him standing there and hurried into the apartment building, glancing over my shoulder as I shut the door. He was watching me, his hands in the big front pocket of his sweatshirt. Why was he always wearing a sweatshirt? It was the middle of summer. Maybe he had something in the sweatshirt, like a knife, and he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab me and hold the knife up to my throat and keep it there until I promised I would be his girlfriend. Such an idea should’ve been laughable, but the more he persisted with this, the crazier he seemed. And what would I do if that happened? What would I have done right now if he had rushed up behind me as I was opening the door and pulled the knife he most certainly had hidden in his sweatshirt out and told me I had to do exactly as he said, or he was going to plunge it into my heart? I would’ve been completely helpless to do anything, I realized, because I had no clue what to do in a situation like that, other than run away screaming.
I didn’t want to be completely helpless though. I wasn’t going to rush out and buy a gun or anything, but maybe some sort of self-defense class would be a good idea.
Once I was inside my apartment with the door locked and the deadbolt on, I went over to the window and peeked out. No one was there, just a guy walking by talking on his phone. Where did Noah go? Had he gone home? Or had he slipped out of sight somewhere, but was still close by? He had only been a nuisance until now, but I was suddenly overcome with the idea that something bad was going to happen if he didn’t stop this.
The next morning, I woke up and made coffee. I looked out the window again as I drank my first cup, watching people exiting their apartment buildings, heading to work, cars driving past, two girls out for a morning run. Noah wasn’t anywhere in sight, though I knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there lurking somewhere. There was still that part of me that hoped against hope he’d just lose interest, find some other girl to stalk.
I went over and sat down on the couch and opened my laptop to check Facebook and Instagram quickly before I started to get ready for work. I’d deleted my original accounts after this whole thing with Noah started, but opened another using my middle name in place of my last name. So instead of Daisy Conklin I showed up as Daisy Mae. I had about a third as many friends on here as I did on my original accounts, but I actually liked that better.
I scrolled through my feed on Facebook, and then there it was, people I may know: Ian Roubideaux.
I’d looked at his page before and had decided not to friend him; and, so far this morning, I’d been doing a decent job of not thinking about him, but now here he was, right there on my computer screen. I clicked on his page and scrolled through some of his pictures, of which there weren’t a ton. He was very photogenic and just seeing his face made my whole body ache.
I forced myself to stop looking at his page after I finished my cup of coffee. I needed to get ready for work, and I also needed to get myself ready to face a day with Ian. It seemed so strange that you could go from being beyond excited to get to see someone to actually dreading it with every fiber of your being.
When I got to the office about an hour later, he wasn’t there yet, so I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d be out all day. It was just Jonathan, stirring sugar packets into his coffee. Jonathan was easy to talk to, like Billy.
“Hey, you,” he said. “How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen much of you lately, which is funny since we work in the same office!”
He laughed, and I laughed too, wondering why, if I was going to get involved with a guy that I worked with, it wasn’t Jonathan. He was so nice; I could tell that the first day I met him at the gym. Just one of those really nice guys who you could tell of your problems to and he’d listen—really listen—and probably be able to offer some pretty good advice.
“I’ve been okay,” I said. “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Oh yeah? What’s up?” he asked, looking at me attentively.
“Well, since this is a security company and all, I was wondering if you had any recommendations for a good self-defense class. For someone like me, who’s a total beginner and doesn’t have any experience with that sort of thing at all.”
He smiled. “It’s funny you should ask that, because as a matter of fact, I have taught self-defense classes before. I did it mostly in college, but all the employees here have mandatory self-defense training they have to complete. I don’t teach that class, but it’s something I’m still pretty knowledgeable on. I’d be more than happy to give you some pointers if you’d like. Or you know, I think they also offer a class at the gym. Wasn’t there a flyer hanging up for it in the lobby? I can’t remember.”
“It’s been a while since I was last at the gym,” I said. “I don’t remember seeing it, though. And . . . if you wouldn’t mind showing me, that would be great. I’d probably just end up embarrassing myself if it was in a group setting.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Nah. I doubt that very much.”
“Well, thanks for saying that.”
“Just let me know when a good time for you is, and I’ll teach you everything I know.” He looked at me closely “You sure everything’s okay? You sound a little down.”
“I just . . .” I let my voice trail off. It wasn’t going to change anything to talk to Jonathan about all of this, I knew it—if anything, it might make him look down on me for getting involved with a boss—but I suddenly found the words spilling out of me before I could do anything to stop it.
“It’s Ian,” I said. “I thought that he had these feelings for me, but I was obviously so, so wrong about it. And I feel like such an idiot now. I only found out because I was waiting for him at Failte and he ended up having to do something first, so he was late, and Billy McAllister was there, and he started telling me about the other admin that worked here . . . Annie? And how Ian was involved with her . . .”
I stopped talking, because Jonathan was getting a really weird look on his face. It was hard to read; some cross between utter confusion and abject horror.
“Wait . . .” he said. “What?”
“Did you not know about Annie?” I asked.
“Yeah, I knew about—” He stopped. “No. I didn’t realize that Ian had a relationship like that with her. I guess that explains why he fired her.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m the sort of person who sleeps around with her boss,” I said, even though that’s exactly what I was. “It was a mistake. He just seemed so . . . interested in me, and I’ve never had a guy like that show any interest in me before. Aside from my crazy stalker, I don’t think any guy has ever really had an interest in me at all.”
“That’s not true,” Jonathan said, a pained expression on his face. He looked really caught off-guard that Ian had been sleeping with Annie, and I felt bad that I’d been the one to break the news to him. “Have you . . . slept with Ian, too?”
“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t realize that was his M.O.; sleeping with his secretaries. I’m not going to do it again, though. Really, I should just quit and get another job, but I had no luck after I got fired from the salon, until you got me this interview. And I know that you probably played a big role in me getting hired, so I apprecia
te it, and I don’t want to do anything else to mess that up.”
“Of course not,” he said. He took a deep breath, his shoulders going almost all the way up to his ears before he exhaled loudly and they relaxed again.
“And listen . . . maybe you don’t have to mention to Ian that I told you any of this. I’d just like to forget all about it. I’m going to focus on my job, and I’ll probably start looking for work somewhere else, but in the meantime . . .”
Jonathan’s expression was still hard to read. I wondered if he thought Annie had been fired for a different reason, or if he was now looking down on me because he knew that I had slept with Ian, too.
21.
Ian
I’d been sleeping like shit ever since Annie told me her news, plagued by these dreams where I was being chased around by an infant the size of Godzilla. I didn’t stand a chance against the thing. At work, I tried to just go about my day like nothing was amiss, but I knew I was giving off some pretty tense vibes; everyone else could sense it, too. I told Daisy I was sorry I had been so late the other night to meet up with her, but that I’d sent a few texts once I got down there. She nodded but didn’t really say anything about getting the texts or why she hadn’t bothered to respond. Another day that sort of thing might have annoyed the hell out of me, but I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to really be fazed by it. As the day wore on, though, I noticed that Daisy was steering clear of me, and Jonathan couldn’t seem to wait to get out of my office after he came in to talk about Martin’s upcoming boat extravaganza. I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror reflected back a tired-looking face that needed a shave. Or a good stiff drink.
Daisy was quick to rush off right at five o’clock, barely even saying goodbye, saying something about having to go meet up with that friend of hers, Caroline. Hanging out with Daisy was probably the one thing that might have had a chance at improving my mood, but I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be around me right now; I didn’t even want to be around me. I’d leave here and go for a run—obliteration of thoughts through exercise seemed to be the only hope I had now for a good night’s sleep.
But I’d kept catching Jonathan throwing me these weird looks all day, and I knew he was wondering what the hell was going on with me. Normally, I wouldn’t be one to share my problems like some teenage girl, but I hadn’t told anyone yet and maybe talking about it would help.
“You’re not going to fucking believe this,” I said to him as I came out of my office. “I’m not looking for sympathy or anything, but I’m telling you because I want you to hear it from me, not her.”
“Sure,” Jonathan said. “What’s up?”
“Annie’s pregnant.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Is it yours?”
“No, it’s some other guy’s, but I thought we could pool our resources and throw her a baby shower . . .Of course it’s mine. Well, that’s what she’s saying, anyway. That’s not a surprise to you, is it, Jonathan? You knew, right?” We hadn’t talked about it by the water cooler or anything, but I’d always assumed that Jonathan had known that I was banging Annie; it wasn’t the sort of thing that she would be quiet about.
“Of course I knew,” he said. “Anyone walking into this office could tell that. So she’s pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“And she’s keeping it?”
“I tried to convince her otherwise, but . . .”
“You tried to convince her to get an abortion?” he asked skeptically.
“I don’t think she’s really ready to be a mother, to be completely honest. I sure as hell am not interested in being a father. Nor am I interested in getting together with her, as I’m sure she was initially hoping. Pregnancy is not a cure-all for any relationship woes, and we weren’t even in a relationship.”
Jonathan pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll say. Well . . . what are you going to do?”
“Pay child support, I guess. Be involved when I can. But if she thinks that we’re going to be going to the playground together and holding hands while we push Junior on the swing, she’s got another thing coming to her.”
“Is she going to take you to court? For child support?”
I stared at him. “Why would she do that?”
“Sometimes that’s how it happens. Some people want to get everything drawn up legally, so there’s no gray areas. Court can be expensive.”
“I’m aware.”
“My cousin went through something similar. They were married though. Dan, remember him?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah, well. He and his wife got divorced, she tried to get custody of the kids, it was a big fucking mess.”
“Annie and I weren’t married. And will never be married. So that’s one whole can of worms we don’t have to deal with.”
“She’s going to have your kid, though,” Jonathan said. “That’s going to be the tie that binds you guys for the rest of your lives.”
Was I mistaken or was he deriving some sort of enjoyment from this? A little bit of schadenfreude, perhaps?
“Eighteen years,” I replied, trying to keep my voice light even though my stomach was turning as I said it. Eighteen years sounded like a long ass time.
“It’ll be forever,” he said. “Yeah it’s eighteen years until you’re a legal adult, but if there’s grandkids or anything like that—”
“Let’s not even go there,” I said. “Grandkids? Please. This thing is the size of a sesame seed.” Confiding in Jonathan was obviously not the way to go. Not that I was expecting it to make me feel better, but his assertion that this was just going to bind Annie and me together forever was, well . . . not helpful, to it mildly. “Anyway,” I said. “Have you finalized the list with Dan about who’s going to be working on the Paradise Breeze?”
“I looked it over; Dan should be giving me a call any minute to go over a couple things. There was a conflicting schedule with Chapman, and Baker said something about not being able to stay the whole time in Nantucket, so we’re trying to figure out if it would make more sense to let him do the first leg of it or just take him off this completely. I know he and Martin have rapport. Oh, and Billy McAllister called and Ghanizadeh is going to be back around at some point next week; they’re not sure when exactly, but they’re going to want three or four more guys down there than normal.”
“Yeah, sure, great,” I said. “He must really like it there at—”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said.
It opened, and Daisy poked her head around. “Jonathan?” she said. “Dan’s on the phone for you.”
“Daisy,” I said. “I thought you left.”
“I did—I forgot my purse. I just came back to get it.”
“I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, it did. Just once, though, I was right there at my desk when it rang. I figured I might as well answer it.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. You’re heading out?”
“Yeah.”
“Going down to Failte?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’m going to get in touch with Caroline after I leave here. Anyway, I better go, bye!” She rushed out as though just being in the office was excruciating.
And she hadn’t looked at me throughout this whole exchange.
22.
Daisy
I didn’t actually have any plans to meet up with Caroline; I knew she was in the middle of a big project, but I didn’t want Ian to ask me to hang out after work. The whole work day had been rather unbearable, though I’d done my best to just do my job and not let myself be affected by his presence.
Which was difficult, because I could feel his gaze on me, feel him watching me from his desk as I crossed the room to get some water, or as I answered the phone, or as I sat, with my back to him, typing things into the computer. And I knew, when I’d gone back in to get my purse, that he wanted to hang out,
and that it would be difficult for me to say no to him if he asked.
Since I didn’t have any plans, I went home. There was no sign of Noah, and I breathed a little sigh of relief as I let myself into the building, then into my apartment. I changed out of my work clothes into yoga pants and a t-shirt, made some tea, then got my computer and went and sat on the couch. I resisted the urge of Facebook and instead opened up my resume and looked at it, then started browsing a few jobs sites. I had spruced up my resume after I’d left the salon, but I tried to tinker with it a little more, hopefully making it as enticing as possible. I decided to leave my time at Hard Tail Security off of it—I’d just pretend that I’d never worked there. It would be better than trying to explain why I was leaving after such a short time.
But that got me wondering: was I a horrible employee? Was this how it was going to be for me for the rest of my life? I’d go from one job to the next, either getting fired or having to leave because I’d gotten myself into an unbearable situation in the workplace?
I sent my resume to a few places, offices looking for admins, a hair salon looking for a receptionist with experience. A few of the job postings were ones that I had applied to before I got the job at HTS, and they were still open and looking for people.
After a little while of this, I put the computer down and went out to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I needed to go to the grocery store, but that could wait until tomorrow. I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While I ate, I started wondering if perhaps I really was having a quarter-life crisis, as my mother had suggested. A colleague of hers had been writing a book about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk to him. Maybe he’d have some insight for me.
After I finished my sandwich, I found my phone and called my mother.