by Kelly Myers
There’s nothing. He’s gone for good now. It’s what I wanted. No, it’s what I needed. I should be celebrating.
Instead, I’m numb. I have the strangest urge to run after him. I want to sprint down the street in my bare feet and beg him for forgiveness. I want to convince him that I am better than this. I can be whoever he thought I was.
That’s not my life though. I don’t do wild things like chase after some guy in the cold.
Besides, what else is there to say? Everything I told him is true. And if he would just think about it for five seconds, he would see that. People will talk. The whispers will run rampage through the office. They won’t even just be about me. People will judge him as well for seducing a coworker.
Michael is the type of guy who sees the glass half full. He envisions an amazing relationship with me. We would understand each other. He would tell jokes that make me laugh, and I would plan great dates and weekend trips. He would never question the amount of hours I work. I would tease him for not doing as much cardio as I did. He would never say that I was too intense or too bossy. I would know there was more to him than just the joking charmer.
It’s a beautiful picture. I yearn for it as much as he does.
I’m not blind to reality like he is though. I know that it wouldn’t be all smooth sailing. There would be fights and disagreements, and work would be tense. There’s a reason people say you should never date your colleagues. We would wake up together, have breakfast, then take the train to work together. Navigate our cutthroat careers in the same office. Deal with all the rumors flying around about us and our relationship.
It would be a nightmare.
Would it be worth it?
The horrible part is, I don’t have an answer. I can’t say yes, it would all be worth it, but I can’t say no for certain. Because Michael is different. Special. We had something special.
My whole life, I was excellent at taking standardized tests. I didn’t get scared of the little booklets or the scantron sheets with all the bubbles. I work best under time limits and pressure.
And I always had a strategy: if I didn’t know the answer, I skipped the question.
I didn’t agonize over whether it was A or C. I didn’t waste time hemming and hawing and chewing on my pencil. I just moved on to the next question. Then, at the end, I would go back. Either the answer would come to me, or I would be calm enough to make a calculated guess.
I don’t know the answer to Michael’s Question. I’m not sure if dating him would be worth the trouble. So I’ve skipped the question. Again and again.
Today, my time was finally up. I had to give an answer.
The test is over, and he’s gone, and I’m left wondering if it was the right choice.
I shudder as I realize that I can still smell him. He didn’t leave anything, but there’s a faint scent lingering on my skin.
I know I should shower. I need to wash away the memories of this evening. I can’t bring myself to do it though. I want to cling to the remnants of him just a little bit longer.
Instead of showering and scrubbing myself clean, I just walk to my kitchen and pull out some cheese and crackers.
As I’m chewing, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from my dad. He says he’s so excited to see me tomorrow.
I gasp. In all my agonizing over Michael, I forgot my parents were coming to town for a quick visit.
I groan in frustration. Now I’m not only going to have to see Michael’s face when I called him a mistake every time I close my eyes, I’m also going to have to fend off my mother’s questions about my impending spinsterhood.
Great.
This is shaping up to be the absolute worst week of my life.
23
Michael calls in sick to work. I almost did as well. In fact, I even tried to convince myself that I had a sore throat before getting out of bed this morning. Eventually I gave myself a stern talking to and rolled out of bed.
I was steeled for an unpleasant interaction with Michael first thing in the morning, but then I got a message from a colleague on my computer that he was sick so I would have to do the meetings with our client without him. I actually pumped my fist in celebration.
I’m glad that at least now I can show that I’m not the coward.
I move through the day like a zombie. We’re almost done with the Meyers and Blunt merger. That’s one small blessing in this whole mess. Another few days, and Michael and I will no longer be teammates.
I only wish we hadn’t done so well. I even consider sprinkling a few issues into my final reports so Nick won’t pair us up again. I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m too proud of our work.
We really were a good team while it lasted. I’ll just have to come up with some excuse if Nick ever tries to put us together down the road.
If I’m lucky, Michael and I will never have to talk to each other again. Then again, I think it’s safe to say that luck has not been by my side these last few weeks.
Every hour, my mom texts me about dinner plans or updates me on their drive from Indianapolis. They like to visit Chicago (which they call the “big city”) every other month or so. We go out to dinner, and then they see a show or attend a concert. It’s nice, and I usually look forward to their visits, but I have no idea how I’m going to get through this one.
I’ll need to fake it. I’ll have to act like I’m in a good mood, and everything in my life is going grand. If my parents sense that something is off, they’ll be relentless.
I won’t mention Michael of course. And I better not mention Dean either. My mom will probably start planning our wedding if I do.
I’ll have to stick to work. That’s the only safe conversation. Only I’ll have to talk about work without mentioning Michael. I can do that. And when that topic runs dry, I’ll just talk about my friends. My parents love them all. They never get tired of stories about Marianne’s antics.
I try to think of something funny Marianne has done lately, but I realize that I’ve been so preoccupied with all the Michael drama that I haven’t been focusing on my friends as much. Every time we’ve seen each other in the past month, I’ve been in crisis.
I know I’m not a bad friend, but the thought that I’ve been less attentive recently puts me in an even worse mood.
By the afternoon, I’m just going through the motions and snapping at anyone who dares to approach me.
The silver lining is that I’m usually so serious at work, people barely even notice my mood as being out of the ordinary. For about the billionth time, I wonder how someone as charismatic and cheerful as Michael was ever attracted to a storm cloud like me.
Nick calls me to his office at about 4.
I whisper a silent prayer that he doesn’t ask me about Michael. A sudden fear jolts through me that someone saw us on the train. Maybe someone from the office even heard our furtive conversation.
That could be disastrous. My harsh rejection of Michael would all be for nothing if the rumour still got out.
Nick seems not bothered though when he ushers me into his office.
“Sit, sit!” He grins at me and points at the chair.
I sit down and try to paste a pleasant expression on my face.
“I just wanted to touch base with you on the Meyers and Blunt assignment,” Nick says. “I wish Michael were here so I could commend both of your good work!”
“Yes, I hope he gets better soon.” I clear my throat. I sound so insincere. “We’re pretty much done, just tying up loose ends this week.”
“Excellent!” Nick gives me a little wink. “I’m sure you of all people know how much we like to see hard workers excelling – makes us think of spots to be filled among the higher ranks, eh?”
Yes, I do know what he’s talking about. I think of nothing else but my ambitions, because I’m a cold-hearted snake who craves professional success above all else. At least that’s what Michael probably thinks of me.
I banish the thoughts from my head and focus on Nick.<
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“Thank you,” I say. “I really love working at Hastings, so I’m just happy to see what’s next.”
It’s a solid answer. I’m clear about my loyalty to the company, but I’m vague and not too desperate. I can tell from Nick’s nodding that he’s eating it right up.
He’s feeling me out. He does it every now and then, especially since I’m at the point where many consultants move on to other jobs. After a few years, people get tired of the long hours and the travel. They have enough experience to pivot into something else. Nick needs to know that I’m not going anywhere.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Nick says. “Pass on my commendations to Michael of course.”
I give him a nod and exit the office.
My mind runs through the possibilities. Hastings definitely has a few manager positions open. I’m a little young to be promoted to oversee a team or potentially multiple teams, but it wouldn’t be unheard of. Nick makes it clear that there’s always room for high performers at the top.
Of course, if I’m up for a promotion, that means Michael is as well.
We’re back to where we started. We’re two rivals vying for the same thing. I want to scream at the irony.
Once I’m back in my office, I pace the floor and consider. This proves I was right to shut down Michael’s fantasy of dating. If we were together, even if it was cleared by HR, neither one of us would have got the promotion. Nick would have frowned upon us mixing our personal and professional lives. And as soon as one of us had a superior position, the other couldn’t work directly under us.
At least now we both have a shot at this promotion. Although, I’ll be pretty pissed if it goes to Michael.
I can live with that though. I can watch him get promoted as long as I know that I still have a chance. I know I haven’t shot myself in the foot.
Once I’m done for the day, I head out to meet my parents at a restaurant near the river. It has great tapas, and my parents never tire of watching the boats drift by.
They’re already there, waiting by the hostess stand.
“Sweetheart!” My dad greets me with a big hug when I walk in.
My mom hugs me next.
“You could have sat down,” I say. “I made reservations.”
“Of course you did.” My mom grips my arm, as we follow the hostess to our table.
It’s easy enough to act like my life is going great with my parents. They chatter about their hotel and our neighbors back home and the show they’re going to see later and which museum they want to check out the next day.
I sit and just enjoy the cheerful company. I remember what Michael said about having a single mom who did her best but sometimes struggled. It was only a few weeks ago that we shared the dinner in New York, but it feels like much longer. He would adore my parents.
They would love him too.
I frown and take a big glass of wine.
“How’s Claire?” I ask. “And Tom?”
My parents launch into all the updates on my younger siblings. That gives me time to compose myself and banish all thoughts of Michael from my head.
Who cares what my family would think of him? They’ll never meet him.
When they finally tire of discussing Claire and Tom, they ask me about work. I see a glimmer of angst in my mother’s eyes, as if she wishes she could ask me about things besides work.
I tell them about the big merger and how well it’s been going. I stick to my resolution to never mention Michael, but my dad has an inconveniently good memory.
“Weren’t you teamed up with some jerk on that?” he asks. “That awful guy you hated.”
“Oh, yeah.” I shrug and act like the last few bites of my mashed potatoes are fascinating. “He wasn’t so bad in the end.”
“Well, that’s good,” my dad says. “And shows your boss you can play well with others.”
“Yup,” I say.
I try to think of something else to say fast. I need to move the conversation along before my parents ask more questions about my horrible colleague. I’m good enough at evading, but my parents know me better than anyone else. They’ll know I’m dodging something.
My mom ends up saving me.
“How are your friends?” she asks. “Is Marianne performing anytime soon? And Elena and Beatrice, are they ok?”
I straighten up and grin at her. Even if I’m not super up to date on everything, I can talk about my friends until the cows come home. I launch into a story about Marianne’s latest show, purposely playing up the drama in order to make my parents laugh.
I don’t want them to know that anything is wrong. I don’t want them to worry. And I’m a little embarrassed to have made such a mess of things. I’m not a kid anymore; I should have known better. In fact, one could argue that I was way smarter than this when I was a teenager. I never slept with someone wildly inappropriate when I was sixteen, that’s for sure.
We finish our meal, and my mom runs to the restroom as we wait for the check.
I twist my napkin in my lap and glance at my dad. I can count on him to tell me the truth, but I also know he would never judge me. He’ll be as kind and understanding as possible.
“Do I follow the rules too much?” I blurt out the question without giving myself time to chicken out.
My dad glances up in surprise.
“You’ve always had a healthy respect for the rules of society,” he says. He gives me a little chuckle, and I roll my eyes.
“That wasn’t the question,” I say. “Do I follow the rules even when I shouldn’t? When it’s against my best self-interest?”
My dad is befuddled. “Where is this coming from? Are you taking a philosophy class or something?”
“Just something I’ve been wondering about.” I toss my napkin on the table and stare straight ahead.
My dad pauses a moment as he considers. I tell myself that I don’t really care what he says, but I know it’s not true. I’m nervous. What if he agrees with Michael.
“I think you’ve always been thinking,” my dad says. “You have gut instincts, you just don’t use them as much as you use your head. And that’s a good thing, until it isn’t.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not really helpful.”
“It’s the truth,” my dad says.
My mom returns, and we gather our coats and head out.
After saying goodbye and heading home, I keep thinking over what my dad said.
Using my brain over my instinct has served me well. It’s a good strategy. Until it isn’t.
And my gut keeps telling me that he was right.
24
I have to apologize. I know I spoke out of anger the other night. Michael deserves to know that I don’t think of him as a mistake.
I won’t take back anything else I said. I know we still can’t date.
I just want to smooth things over and say sorry because I do respect Michael. I even care for him. I care what he thinks of me.
I have done him wrong, and I’ve misled him. Apologizing is the right thing to do. It’s not even for the sake of the project. We’re pretty much done with the client. A day or two of wrap-up meetings, and then a check-in a few months down the road, and that’s it.
I won’t have any reason to see him everyday. I won’t have to talk to him about anything.
As I grab my morning coffee, I consider that I could very easily just not apologize. I could deal with any awkwardness between us for the rest of the week and then just spend my entire career avoiding him. It’s doable.
It’s also cowardly. I don’t want to be afraid to show any emotion. I’m going to be better. I’m going to treat Michael better.
I can’t fix the mess of a situation we’re in. I can’t change the fact that we’re co-workers, and that we can never be together like he wanted. The only thing I can do is let him know how sorry I am.
As soon as I’m at my desk, I start scanning my messages to see if he’s called in sick. I don’t know what I wa
nt. Part of me hopes that maybe he won’t show up so I’ll have an extra day to prepare, but another part of me just wants to get this over with before I lose my resolve.
We have a meeting to discuss the final few tasks with the client, and Michael is there, waiting for me in the conference room.
Our last conversation flashes through my head like a lightning bolt. His words about me being scared to take risks and my words about him being a mistake set my teeth on edge.
He looks up at me, and his eyes are so somber that I want to cry. There’s no teasing glimmer, no hint of a smile.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Morning,” I say.
I sit down and go over my notes. I summon all my strength and turn off my emotional side. I put myself in autopilot mode. That’s the only way I’ll get through the meeting.
Michael seems to have the same strategy. Although he is much worse at faking cheerfulness. Half the time, my perky greetings are fake, so when we get on the call with the clients, I probably seem my usual self. Michael, on the other hand, is noticeably glum. He tells fewer jokes, and he smiles less often. It’s nothing problematic, and we still get through the call without any hiccups, but it feels like someone is shredding my heart into pieces. I don’t like seeing him like this.
I know my apology won’t fix everything, but I have to do what I can.
Once the meeting is over, and we start to gather our things to exit the conference room, I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.
“Do you want to grab lunch somewhere?” I ask. “On me.”
I cringe at my attempt at a casual invite. My voice is strained and weak.
Michael looks at me with undisguised surprise. He must see something in my face that tells me that I need this. I need him to say yes so I can try to make things alright between us. Or, since “alright” might be impossible, I need to make things at least bearable.
His eyes soften as he takes me in.
Then he nods. “Sure.”
“Good.” I clasp my hands in front of me to stop myself from fiddling with a piece of paper. “I’ll meet you at noon down in the lobby, ok?”