by Kelly Myers
Sometime between Michael Barnes counting my smiles and the moment we first kissed, something within me shifted.
Not that the change is doing me any good. Maybe at some point, long after I’ve recovered from the trauma of the past few weeks, I’ll be grateful that Michael showed me what it means to want someone enough to get a little reckless. I’m not grateful right now though. I’m just angry and sad.
I try to dispel some of the anger. I don’t want to sound furious over the phone with Dean. He doesn’t deserve that.
After taking a few deep breaths, I pick up my phone and call him. Dean picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, Zoe, how are you?”
He’s surprised but not upset. He almost sounds happy to hear from me. Great.
“Dean, I’m well.”
I sound like I’m calling a colleague to discuss a client. I clear my throat to try and relax my tone a bit.
“I actually wanted to tell you something,” I say.
“Yeah?”
I chew on my lip. Like a band-aid, I remind myself.
“I’m very sorry about this, but I’m not really in a position to continue dating you.” I wince at the formality of the sentence. “You’ve been great, I just think I need to focus on myself right now. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
There. I’ve apologized twice, that should be enough.
“Oh,” Dean says. “That’s ok, I understand.”
I’m slouching on my couch, but I straighten up at his even words. I guess he’s not that into me. Or at least he’s not going to put up much of a fight. I’m almost offended.
I tell myself to stop being absurd. Of course he’s not that much into me, we barely know each other. In any case, Dean’s not the type of guy to put up a fight. He’s mild-tempered and even-keeled, which was why I thought he was such a good match for me. Apparently, I don’t know what’s good for me.
“Well,” I say. “I wish you the best.”
“Same.” His voice has a definite chill to it. “I did have a good time while it lasted, but I get it if there’s just no spark for you.”
He says “spark” in this disdainful tone, like it’s a dragon or unicorn or some other fairytale creature that only stupid little girls believe in. He thought I was more practical than this. Maybe he even thinks that I’m never going to do better than him. He might be right.
I have to stick with my guns though, and I scramble to come up with a good way to end the call.
Have a nice life? No, that sounds cruel and blasé.
I tip my head back and stare at my ceiling. “Um, thanks for picking up.”
“Sure, I’ve gotta run.” Dean puts me out of my misery, and I heave a sigh of relief. “And Zoe, good luck with whatever you’re looking for.”
He hangs up, and I’m left staring at my phone.
Good luck?
He didn’t say it in a nasty tone, but there was definitely a hint of snark. Like my standards are too high. Like I’ll never find someone as good as him.
I let out a huff of frustration and stand up. I’ll make myself an early dinner. Something delicious and savory and filling.
Maybe I’ll even order from my favorite Indian restaurant. Of course, this isn’t a real break-up, but I deserve to indulge myself.
I cast my mind back to previous break-ups. There’s probably a pattern that would teach me something, if I’m willing to look for it.
I do believe in learning from relationships, even the ones that end. I like to journal after a break-up and record my lessons. Then I move on. No sense crying over spilled milk.
Now I think that maybe I move on too fast. Or rather, I have never even gotten that invested in a relationship so I make it easy for me to move on quickly when it ends.
I decide that tonight is not a cooking night. I don’t have the energy to find an exciting recipe.
I call up the Indian restaurant and place my order. Then I return to the couch and clasp my hands.
I’m tempted to just turn on some mindless TV show, but instead I force myself to do some introspection.
I start with Gary. My first boyfriend. Scary Gary, that’s what Marianne called him. He was tall and on the basketball l team, but he was a softie at heart. I liked him. I enjoyed attending basketball games, and Gary was happy to spend time with me whenever I wanted. I was busy with classes and clubs, so it was nice to have a guy who fit so conveniently into my schedule.
It was nice. I frown. Did I seriously choose a boyfriend based on how convenient he was?
Gary and I lasted about a year. When the semester ended for summer break, we split. Neither of us really feel like taking phone calls all summer. I had a really important internship, and it seemed time-consuming. Plus Gary had started making comments about how intense I was. When school started again, Gary had moved on with a cheerleader. That did sting a bit, I’ll admit. Choosing a cheerleader over the ambitious brainiac? How much of a stereotype could Gary be?
After Gary, there was no one serious until Phillip. I dated him during my first year living in Chicago. He was five years older (which I thought meant more mature), and we met on a dating app. Phillip was quiet and easy-going, and I was thrilled to have found such a pleasant boyfriend. I could work all hours and blow off dinner plans, and he would barely bat an eye.
He ended it after six months. He said he had thought that a girl my age would be a little more fun. Not so uptight.
After that, with the encouragement of my friends, I swore off serious relationships for a bit. I dated around, hooked up on occasion, and focused on my job.
Then along came Eric. My last boyfriend. We met at an old co-worker’s bridal shower. He was a doctor, 29 years old, and liked the Chicago Cubs. I thought he was my soulmate. I told my friends that. I actually used the word “soulmate.”
They used other words for him, over the course of the year we were together. Marianne called him the human equivalent of a saltine cracker. Beatrice said he wouldn’t know a joke if it hit him over the head. And even Elena used to grimace when she was forced into conversation with him.
Nevertheless, I clung to Eric. He just fit into my life. That was my argument. I worked long hours, and so did he. I liked to order food to be delivered, and so did he. It’s true, I didn’t really love how he used to watch every single inning of every single Cubs game, but I could catch up on my pleasure reading while he did that, so I felt like it worked.
When he broke up with me, he told me that I was a “perfunctory girlfriend.” Apparently, he realized that I was just a placeholder until he met the person he was supposed to be with. Not only that, but he said I was too bossy.
Marianne had been furious when I told her.
“He’s the one who did whatever you told him to!” she cried.
“So I am bossy?” I asked in horror.
“Of course you’re bossy,” Beatrice said. “And bossy people shouldn’t date pushovers. That’s your problem.”
I shake off the old memories and check the time. My delivery is due in 10 minutes. Perfect.
Maybe it’s good I’ve ended things with Dean. He was too easy. He did whatever I wanted. Maybe I’ve dodged another bullet.
Then again, I don’t see who my friends think I should date. I’m too bossy for nice guys. And assertive guys don’t like bossy girls. Do they?
A small voice whispers in the back of my head: Michael liked you.
I dismiss that thought. Nothing good could come from me and Michael. Besides, he doesn’t like me anymore. He needs to think I’m still with Dean. He needs to know we’re over.
It’s quite possible that I’m destined to be alone. I over think, and I overplan, and I’m scared to take the risks that might pan out.
I hate the thought of missing out on something amazing because I’m too fearful, but I’m not that torn up about being alone. I figured out a long time ago that I am perfectly happy to stay independent for the rest of my life. I realized back in high school that no guy ever made m
e feel as good as an A+.
It would be good to have someone to grow old with. I want a family. But I’m not going to settle for anyone just to avoid being alone. I’m pretty sure, no one is going to settle for me either. If my past relationships have taught me anything, it’s that I’m not exactly an easy-going girlfriend.
I’m not going to change who I am though. I’ve read enough about divorce statistics to know that never works.
The buzzer startles me from my faults. I run to the door and grab my food.
As I settle down to eat, I know I’m going to be alright. I’m going to get through this horrible patch in my life. I’ll show up to work on Monday, and I’ll be professional, and I’ll push all the complications with Michael aside.
Maybe I’ll meet someone who wants me forever, but if I don’t, I’ll survive.
It would be nice to find someone though. More than nice.
Then, because there’s no one around, and because I have had a long week, I cry a bit.
I let the tears course down my cheeks, and I promise that this is it. I’ll mourn this situation, and then I’ll get a good night of rest, and then I’ll be done being sad.
That’s the plan, and I’m sticking to it.
20
On Monday, it’s easier to ignore Michael. He makes it easy by joking and chattering with the guys and altogether acting like our conversation at the 3k never happened.
He actually has the audacity to show up fifteen minutes late to the meeting I call in the morning, and then, instead of apologizing, he just smirks at me. He reverts back into everything I used to think he was. A pompous, arrogant jerk. It’s worse now because I know he’s not always like that. He’s just acting like this to annoy me.
Then, he proceeds to spend the entire meeting interrupting me. He’s good at it too. He never does it with too much disrespect. He just makes little remarks here and there. Jokes at my expense.
“We know, Zoe, you’ve said it ten times.”
Or: “How did you even fit that much text on a slide?”
I almost throw my pen at him when he says that. He knows how hard I work to ensure that my slides are the perfect balance of text and image.
He knows because I told him. Over the past few weeks, I’ve confided in him. He’s become my friend. And now the joke’s on me. He’s turned against me.
I grit my teeth and somehow endure the meeting and then the next few hours of his flippant behavior. He’s not even trying to get work done.
I remind myself that this is my fault. I trusted a monster. This is what I get. I have to endure this punishment for my actions.
Even so, by lunchtime, I’m hoping he takes that $200 I made him win and shoves it up his ass.
My only comfort as I carry a sandwich into my office so I can eat alone is that at least it’s over. He’s no longer interested in me. He may have wanted a fun and secret fling, but now he’s moved on. I scared him off. Like I scare every guy off.
I settle behind my desk and unwrap the sandwich. Ham and brie on a baguette, my absolute favorite from the little shop around the corner. Not even the delicious treat can lift my spirits. Not today.
I decide that I need to turn around the situation. I need to adjust my perspective until I see it as a good thing.
Marianne says no one is a better spin doctor than me.
Beatrice agrees but then always mutters: “Zoe spins to the point of vertigo.”
Well. I’ll suffer through some vertigo if it means I can get through a workday without hurling objects across the conference room.
Michael’s behavior is a good thing, I tell myself. It’s a good thing because any lingering feelings or attraction I might have harbored are now banished. He’s reminding me of why I spent years disliking him in the first place.
Although, I don’t really have a clue why he’s acting this way. Why does he need to be so rude to me?
Maybe his feelings are hurt. Rejection sucks, everyone knows that. Even when the rejection is for a good reason. And I did reject him more than once.
Only because he asked me out more than once.
I did rub my new relationship in his face.
Only because Beatrice told me to do that.
I press my fingers against my forehead and close my eyes. I’m actually getting a headache from all this.
If I’m the one who rejected him, why are my feelings hurt? Why am I regretting dating someone else, even if it was short-lived?
I hate going in circles like this, but something about Michael pushes me to question every resolution I make.
I sigh. It doesn’t matter if I question my decisions. I know why I made them. I had to make them. There was no way for us to be together, not in the manner I wanted.
And that’s something I can only confess to myself: I did want Michael. I wanted to date him, to pursue whatever was between us. Only I wanted it all. I couldn’t have been satisfied with just a piece of him. I didn’t want just sex. And I didn’t want to date a bit, but then have it end.
I may not be an expert on love and relationships, but I do know when someone has the power to destroy me. I know that Michael could shred my heart into a million pieces if I gave him the chance.
And that’s terrifying. More terrifying than my career being ruined by an ill-advised dating choice.
Tears prick at my eyes. As if I didn’t already cry enough last night.
Michael and I have both been backed into corners. And animals backed into corners bite. Everyone knows that. I hurt him, and he’s hurting me.
I crumble up the napkins and bag from my lunch and toss it in the waste bin.
The lunch hour is almost over, and there’s no good way to spin this. It’s a dreadful situation.
At least we’re almost done with Meyers and Blunt. After this, I’ll find a way to never be put on a project with him. I don’t care if I have to pass up good clients, I need to focus on self-preservation.
We made our choices. Now we have to live with the consequences.
21
When the afternoon is finally over, I walk towards the train station as fast as I can. The rest of the day I have some more snarky remarks from Michael, but it’s over now. I can go home and recharge. Then I’ll wake up and face the same thing all over again.
I frown as I reach into my pocket for my Ventra card. I used to look forward to going to work.
I will again. Someday.
I dash up the stairs since I hear the brown pulling in. I slip through the sliding doors just in time.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I turn and see Michal pushing through the doors just behind me. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes are fixed on me.
My mouth hangs open, but before I can say anything, the train lurches into movement, and Michael stumbles toward me. He grabs the metal bar. I look around to see if there’s anywhere to sit, but it’s rush hour. Every single seat is taken, and my back is pressed up against all the other standing passengers. For the next four stops before my station, I can’t go anywhere.
Michael’s grey wool coat is unbuttoned, and his hair is sticking up from the wind outside. He must have rushed out of the office after me. I stare resolutely at his left shoulder.
“Zoe, I need to talk to you,” he says.
“This is not the place.” I keep my voice low and nod at all the other passengers. Why would he ever think I would want to be trapped in a crowded train car with him? What has possessed him?
“You know there’s something between us.” Michael leans down so his face is only inches from mine. He tries to keep his voice quiet, but we’re in such close quarters, I just know we’re giving some other passengers some unexpected public transit entertainment. “It would be stupid to not see where this goes.”
I cringe at his words.
“You are being ridiculous.” I try to keep my words at a very furious whisper. I want to scream at him, but I’m mortified of making a scene in public.
The train comes to an abrupt stop at the
Merchandise Mart, and people stream in, pushing us deeper into the car. I shift, trying to wiggle away, but Michael remains right next to me. So close, I could reach out and touch his chest.
I consider running out of the car at Chicago or Armitage and just wait for the next train.
Then again, with the way Michael is staring at me, he would probably just follow.
The train picks up speed again, and I grit my teeth. Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes, then I’ll get off at Fullerton. He won’t follow me home. Not if I tell him to stop. He knows where the line is.
“You’re the one who’s being ridiculous,” Michael says. “This is agony, pretending like I don’t care, when all I want is to be with you.”
My stupid traitorous heart flutters with joy at words. Fortunately, my brain springs into actions.
“It’s against company rules,” I say. “You know that.”
The train stops again, and this time we manage to move right near the window. It’s not much space, but at least I’m not crushing myself against a stranger in order to keep whatever distance I can between me and Michael. I lean my shoulder against the cold glass and stare at the darkening streets. The brown line never goes underground like the red line. It stays elevated the whole route. It’s one of the reasons I love it.
“It’s not against the rules.” Michael’s voice is so intense, it almost sounds like a growl. A shiver runs up and down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the rush of cold air from the open doors at the next stop. I can smell him, I realize. I’m inhaling his scent of deodorant and musky maleness.
“You’re not my superior, and I’m not yours,” Michael says. “We would just have to tell HR, do it by the book, that’s it.”
He doesn’t get it. There are more rules than what the company puts in writing. Unspoken rules, and there are more of those silent rules for me than for him.
Fullerton is next. My stop. I force myself to look him in the eyes.
“It would be a lot of trouble for nothing,” I say. “It’s not worth it.”