by Katie Fox
Walking quietly to the door, she reached for the handle, and I called out to her.
“Elle.”
She twisted on her heels. “Yes.”
“At the very least, there are a quarter of a million words in the English language. I want one of them from you. I don’t want you to think about your answer. I just want the first word that enters your mind. Okay?”
Brief confusion floated across her face, yet she stood anyway, ready to take part in my little game for the second time. “Okay.”
“How do you think I feel right now?”
A moment of hesitation ensued, but I didn't take it as her contemplating her answer. No. This was her questioning whether to give it a voice.
Come on, Elle. You've never held back before, don't hold back on me now.
“Lonely.”
Lonely?
The word soared through the air, hitting my chest like a ton of bricks and knocking the wind right out of me. I sat up a little straighter, the way one would when preparing to defend their dignity. Incredulousness furrowed my brow, and my eyes remained on hers. My rules didn’t demand an explanation, but instead of turning away and disappearing out the door like I fully anticipated her to, she stayed.
She faced me, her tense body language a sure indication of the nervousness now flowing through her. “You seem tired, that's all. And if you’re tired, then it must mean you’re having trouble sleeping at night.”
And how exactly had she come to that conclusion? I wasn't sure how lack of sleep correlated to loneliness. “So what if I am? What does that have to do with being lonely?”
She pressed her lips together and lifted her shoulder in a shrug, looking at me in a way that had my entire body stiffening. “It’s always the lonely who can’t sleep, isn’t it?”
Our eyes held each other's for a beat too long, and as mine narrowed, her hand slipped off the metal knob of the door. Taking ahold of it again, she turned quickly, yanked opened the door, and then stopped.
Her body did a slow pivot. “Owen?”
My pulse quickened, and my voice sounded a hell of a lot weaker than I’d intended. “Yes?”
“Are you coming out tonight? To McGrady’s?”
My immediate response was to ask her if she was going herself, because if she was, I wanted to be there. I wanted to keep her away from the vulture that was Kyle Lawson and I wanted… God. I don't even know what I wanted or expected.
I shook my head. “Nah. It's not really my scene.”
Frowning, she gave me a small, understanding nod. “Yeah. Mine either.”
And then she disappeared.
She walked out the door, and for a split second, I wished she'd walk right out of my life. It's one thing when somebody close to you knows your ins and outs, what makes you tick. It's sort of expected. But when someone you hardly know at all leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed with one simple word, it’s a whole new level of terrifying.
Left alone in the silence of my office, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my desk. At least my headache had subsided. I’d be able to function at normal capacity for a few hours, get some more work done, and then sink into a sleep that was destined to be riddled with frivolous thoughts. Sliding open the top drawer, I pulled out one of the yearly planners I kept tucked safely inside and flipped to today’s date. Every day before it had been crossed off, a reminder that even though I wanted time to stand still, it kept moving. It always kept moving. Grabbing a Sharpie marker from the pen holder, I uncapped it and dragged the felt black tip across the box, creating a large “X” along its center. As the ink bled across the thin white paper, a sadness bled into my veins. It twisted my chest and stole the air from my lungs, clogged my throat, and pricked the corners of my eyes.
“Everything all right?”
I looked up, my gaze traveling across the room and following the sound of the warm, familiar voice. Millie stood in my doorway, and I inhaled a shaky breath through my nose, swallowing any sign of emotion. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
She stared at me, her face contorted with the same sadness I was feeling, and began to walk toward me, her arms folded over her chest. As she sat on one of the leather chairs, she pressed her lips together, hesitating.
“What is it, Mill? Please just spill it. I’m too tired to play mind reader.”
“Your mother called. She wants to speak to you. She misses you. I think you should—”
“No.” Adamant in my response, I shook my head as I recapped the marker and tossed it next to my keyboard. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. It’s better this way.”
“Don’t you think that’s their choice? For goodness’ sake, they’re your parents, Owen. Don’t shut them out. You have no idea how bad this is hurting them.”
“Well, then they can consider it a favor.” Sliding the desk drawer shut a lot harder than I meant to and watching as Millie physically winced, I rose to my feet and retrieved my jacket from the back of my chair. I shrugged it onto my shoulders, feeling guilty but desperate to remove myself from this broken record of a conversation. My fingers shook as I fumbled to fasten the buttons through their holes, and as my impatience grew, I gave into defeat.
Fuck it.
Leaving them be, I grabbed my keys and strode to the door. My hand was mid-reach for the knob when Millie called out to me.
“Owen.”
I glanced back at her. This conversation was done. It needed to be done because my mind had been made up. There was no use in arguing or making it a discussion. “Trust me. It’ll hurt more if I let them in. I'm doing this for their own good.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t remain long enough to offer her comfort. I turned on my heels and disappeared out the door, the sound of her sobs following me as I made my way hastily down the hall. I tightened my grip on my keys, and as the sharp, jagged edges of the metal cut into the skin of my palms, I welcomed the dull pain. It was a distraction. A means to take my mind off the things I couldn’t control. Rather than veering to the right and taking the elevator, I turned left, slipping into the stairwell. The door swung closed behind me, and I stopped.
The heaviness of the last five minutes crashed down. My shoulders sagged, and I collapsed against the adjacent wall, pressing my back to the cool surface for support.
Red-hot anger built fast in my veins, and I couldn't stop the burning behind my eyes or the collection of tears that quickly formed. I couldn't stop the rise of emotion that tightened my fist and had me whirling around, slamming my knuckles into the wall.
Nothing about my life or my situation was fair, and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs to anyone who would listen. There were many nights when I had, but in the lonely emptiness of my condo, and it had proved to be futile.
Tears and pleas don't have the power to erase your regrets; they can't change the outcome of tomorrow. Sadly, I’d learned that far sooner than most people in this world ever would.
And Elle had been right.
Goddamn it, she’d been right.
Only lonely didn’t begin to describe it.
“OKAY. WHO ARE you and what have you done with my best friend?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I walked down 3rd Avenue, one hand on my cell and the other stuffed in the rear pocket of my jeans. “Oh, stop that, would you. I told you, I’m just meeting up with a few people from work.”
“That’s exactly my point. Elle Callihan doesn’t do “meeting up with a few people from work.” What happened to my introverted friend who preferred burying her nose in her book or sitting with a notepad and pen in hand?”
“I’m still that friend. Just think of me as a new and improved version.”
“A new and improved version, huh? So, the version with a social life?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s one way of putting it.” My head lolled back between my shoulders as my feet continued to move. The sky was darkening, a dusky mix of blue and purple with subtle shades of orange, and the air was warm. A ge
ntle breeze blew, kissing my cheeks and exposed arms, and as I rounded the final street corner, my gaze bounced along the row of stores and shops lining the block. I pulled in a deep breath, hesitating. The pub was up ahead, groups of friends filtering in and out of its wooden and wrought iron door, and a sudden onset of insecurity gripped me by the chest. “Grr. Why do you have to do that? Why do you have to make me suddenly doubt myself?”
Drew was right. I didn't do “meeting up with people” in any sense, and not because I suffered from social anxiety or disliked the company of people but because I’d moved on from this stage of my life. I wasn't a party animal, and boozing it up in a bar to impress my coworkers in the hopes they’d like me and I’d somehow magically fit in was the last thing on my mind. The sole purpose of being here was to turn over a new leaf, and knowing Owen wouldn’t be around to make the task difficult made the idea much more appealing—or so I told myself.
Drew’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Stop that right now.”
“What? I'm not doing anything.”
“You’re standing there with your head tilted to the side, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth, and your hand in your back pocket as if you’re contemplating whether or not to walk through the entrance of McGrady’s or dive into the first cab that drives by.”
“I am no—wait, how do you know—” My eyes narrowed, and my body quickly did a one-eighty.
“Now you’re spinning around like a crazy person.”
I glanced around, wondering if he had somehow managed to get the night off and was secretly following me. He wasn’t, from what I could see, but a woman beside me was staring at me as if I was in fact crazy.
I whisper-yelled into the phone. “Stop being a freaking creeper, and maybe I wouldn’t be apt to making myself look like one!”
His obnoxious chuckle I loved on most days floated through the line. “Oh, honey. As much as I’d love to take credit, that is all you.”
Giving him an exaggerated eye roll that he couldn’t see, I let out a pent-up sigh. “Remind me why I’m friends with you again.”
“Because you love me, and I tell you how it is.”
I shook my head, frustrated that he was right, again.
“Listen. Go out and have a good time. Forget about boss man, and call me later tonight to tell me how it all goes, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Good. Now go. Just no finding my replacement.”
“Please.” I scoffed, much to his pleasure. “Like that will ever happen. The world can only handle one Drew McFadden.” We both chuckled, and as I disconnected the call, I pulled in a deep breath and shoved my phone into my pocket, walking in the direction of the pub.
As I stepped through the door of McGrady’s, I was instantly bombarded with cheerful laughter and muffled music, and my stomach performed an array of somersaults. I’d been here a handful of times while in college, and the atmosphere was as alive now as it was then. The small hole-in-the-wall location was like many of the bars and pubs you’d find in and around the city. Dark hardwood floors met red brick walls. Low lighting and decor that ranged from vintage pictures to sports memorabilia. An oblong U-shaped bar sat off to the right, its varnish in need of a few new coats and every one of its hard, high-backed stools occupied with a warm body. People, young and old, sat or mingled, a drink within reach and smiles on their faces, and I imagined their chatter involved a recap of their day or maybe even their entire life.
Who could blame them? A bar was usually the ultimate place to let loose and relax, to welcome a new tomorrow or simply wash away the sorrows of yesterday.
Weaving around a group of girls dressed in tight jeans and what could pass as toddler-sized tops, I dodged a roaming bartender whose tray was stocked full of shots and alcoholic beverages. A heavy, muscular arm fell around my shoulders, and I turned to look at the strange body that had suddenly invaded my personal space.
“Hey, beautiful.” With a beer in hand, some of its liquid sloshing over the side of the glass, Kyle leaned in closer, his warm breath in my ear, and an unsettling shiver slipped down the back of my neck. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”
I resisted the urge to wince and politely ducked myself out of his hold, spinning so I could face him and put a measurable distance between us. “Yeah. Figured it would be nice to get out and meet everyone.” I rocked onto the sides of my flats and stuffed my fingers into the front pocket of my jeans. “Are they here?”
“Yeah. They are sitting at a table in the back.” He glanced in the general direction and then again at me, a sly grin on his face. “We can join them, or perhaps you and I could get out of here and—”
“Don’t even think about it, Lawson.” The thin figure of Jill appeared around a tall man in a suit, and I discreetly breathed a sigh of relief.
I could handle Kyle Lawson. Sure, I could. He was your typical office manwhore who thought he was God’s walking gift to women. And maybe he was to some. He was tall and attractive. He had dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes, and the smolder behind his stare was intense, but it had no effect on me—no hitch in my breath at his closeness and no dancing of butterflies in my stomach when he was near.
“Ignore this loser. You can come join us at the cool kids table.” Smirking, Jill laced her arm through mine, guiding us both over to the bar, where we each grabbed a beer, and then back to the round booth where a few of our other coworkers were gathered.
An exchange of introductions and pleasantries ensued, and as we all fell into easy conversation, the tension frazzling my nerves dissipated. I learned what there was to know about my fellow colleagues: how long they’d worked for Caldwell Publishing, the degrees they held, and if they had families or were enjoying the single life.
I came to discover Jill had been happily married for six years and was a mother of three under three. She enjoyed being a mom but loved her career as well, and I had a hard time grasping the idea of how she juggled so much responsibility. Nevertheless, I admired her strength and determination and her positive outlook, even if I was a bit envious. Only five years older than me, and she had it all together, while I floundered to make ends meet, ignoring my own dreams while trying to keep my parents from being buried under a mountain of debt.
Kyle Lawson was exactly who I'd expected him to be: a bachelor who enjoyed sharing his bed with a different woman every week, especially the college interns who dedicated their summers to Caldwell Publishing. He was twenty-eight, good at his job, and one of the best designers in the industry, which from my understanding, was the only reason why Owen kept him onboard.
The discussion continued around the circle of working friends, all of us occasionally laughing and joking as I learned about the rest of the editorial staff, the other people who worked at the firm who I'd probably never see, much less interact with, and all the latest workplace gossip. I tuned myself out at that point, not interested in the drama nor wanting to be involved, and my thoughts floated to the one person I’d secretly hoped would’ve made an appearance.
“What about Owen?” I picked at the corner of the label on my beer bottle, the condensation slowly tracking down its brown glass surface causing the sticker to peel.
Everyone else was deep in conversation except for Jill, who my question had been directed at, and she leaned in closer. Her red hair fell around her as she rested her cheek on the heel of her palm. She lowered her voice. “What about him?”
“I don't know.” I shrugged, completely unsure as to where I was even going with this or why I’d chosen to bring him up. “He’s so…”
“Moody all the time?” She finished my thought for me.
I nodded, pressing my lips together. “Yeah.”
“He hasn't always been like this. I've been with the company since I graduated college, eight years ago now, and it was Owen who had made me less anxious when I first started. He was kind, humble. Always willing to help. Anything to make me feel comfortable. And no, it had nothing to do with
attraction, even though he is quite the looker.”
A rush of heat concentrated in my cheeks at her words. That thought hadn't even crossed my mind, but there was no denying the attraction I felt toward Owen. He was a looker, and I hated that he was, because it made being around him that much harder.
“He was in a serious relationship at the time. Not that he is anymore.”
“Really?” Why my heart skipped a beat at this piece of information was beyond me. I’d known he wasn’t married, judging by the lack of wedding ring on his finger, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dating or engaged. And as curious as I’d been, I tried not to think about it, because not knowing meant the glances I’d stolen as he sat and worked beside me were merely that—innocent stolen glances which amounted to nothing. Knowledge that he wasn’t romantically involved with someone made them so much more. “Do you know what happened?”
“As far as I know, he loved her, but he loved his career more. She wanted a family and a future. He didn’t want to be bothered with such things. At least not at the time.”
Was that what he still wanted? I wondered if perhaps their breakup was the reason behind his moodiness. Maybe he regretted losing her. “Did his attitude change after that? After the breakup, I mean?”
“No. Not at all. Of course, he was saddened by the fallout. They’d been together throughout college from my understanding, but he carried on, wore a smile on his face most days. It’s only been recent, the last couple of months or so, that he’s been miserable, and no one knows why.”
“Hmm. What about Millie? They seem close, has she said anything or given any reason?”
Jill shook her head. “Nope. And I imagined if she did know, she wouldn’t tell a soul. She is loyal to Owen, protective. Always has been. She’s more family than employee.”
“Owen?” Lawson chose that moment to step right into our conversation. “Why in the hell are we talking about that miserable prick? I swear the asshole thrives on ruining other people’s happiness just because he can’t find his own.”