by gard, marian
In the end I couldn't be angry with her. What did I have to offer her? I was purposefully going nowhere, squandering everything I had available to me, and she knew that better than just about anyone. How could I have thought who I was at the time would've appealed to her? As vapid as Spencer was, he was—at least outwardly— far more in line with everything she'd been working for in her life. I made myself say goodbye to her, always picturing her happy in the life she'd relentlessly pursued since I met her.
Tonight I was face to face with her again, and the pull I felt for her was terrifyingly parallel to what I had felt all those years ago. She was feeling something too, that much was clear, but what it was, I couldn't tell.
The cab pulls up to my home, I pay the fare and then Leighton and I slip inside. While getting ready for bed she suggests having dinner with Beckett and Rachel sometime. I'm noncommittal in my response.
"No matter what, you should at least buy that woman coffee sometime, and make up for standing around like an idiot while she was drenched in your cocktail." She yawns.
Thinking back on all the ways Rachel has impacted my life, even after she was gone from it, I reply, "You're right. I do owe her."
"Good," she murmurs into my chest as she rolls on top of me. "As much as I love having you to myself, I think you'd be happier if you had people to connect with from your past." She sounds like she's quoting a textbook. She probably is. I kiss her neck, distracting her; I don't want to have this conversation. Her answering moan is muffled and I can tell that her fatigue will dominate over her desire. I feel relieved to avoid intimacy with her tonight. It isn't long before her breathing turns deeper and rhythmic, and I roll over, gently moving her to her side of the bed. I close my eyes, and drift off to sleep with thoughts of Raven saturating my mind.
Chapter 10
Rachel
The text that comes from Collin is both expected and surprising, if the two can coexist. I knew there was a chance of this after the whole exchanging of cell phone numbers routine, but mostly I doubted he'd bother, especially after a few weeks passed. He'd made it pretty clear he wanted our connection to one another severed. I don't think my re-entrance into his life was a welcomed one.
I'm leaning against the kitchen counter this morning, staring at my phone, when Beckett strolls in and accuses me of looking perplexed. Panicked or stricken might have been my chosen adjectives, but will go with Beckett's interpretation because I'm not up for explaining any of this to him, at least not right now.
"Seriously baby, what's with the look? Another cryptic text from Tim?" He takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear as he leans in closer and glances at my phone. "Rachel? Hello? Anybody in there?"
I look up at him as I click off my phone and set it on the counter. "Um, yeah, sorry. I'm out of it this morning."
Beckett stares into my eyes for a beat. "Well, are you going to tell me what's wrong or not?"
"Nothing is wrong. I'm just thinking. I got a text from that guy, Collin, from the charity thing. He wants to meet me for lunch. I guess our offices aren't far from one another," I say. I'm curious how he came to know that. Perhaps he google-stalked me, as I did him, after seeing one another, or maybe his energetic blonde sidekick did all the work…Hard to tell.
Beckett's features shift from concerned-curiosity to arrogant problem-solver. He takes a bite of his breakfast bar. "No brainer. Have lunch, do a little catching up, and then casually pump him for as much info as you can get. Tim will be drooling at anything you can give him that might be insider info, I'm sure."
I don't respond to him, instead I just stare at the TV, which is muted on the morning news. I hate the news, but Beck insists on it. As much as I resent having it on, I always end up reading the closed captioning. I can't resist. A young woman was murdered in a home invasion last night. The thought of something that awful happening to someone should ground me, but it doesn't. I'm still stuck in a worry cycle about this text.
"When does he want to meet?" Beckett asks, while he sips his coffee and stares at me.
"Today," I say, returning my gaze to his.
"Do it," Beckett replies, kissing my cheek. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?" He leans backward and appraises me once more.
I sweep my hair up into a bun and walk down the hall toward the front door to check it in the mirror. "Yes. I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind. I think you're right, though. I'll text him back and tell him yes." I lean down and grab my messenger bag. "See you tonight, then?"
Beckett strolls down the hall with his bag slung across his shoulder. "Looking forward to it." He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips and then swats my bottom. "Go get ‘em tiger." I laugh and look away in attempt to mask my feelings of confusion and guilt. Why am I making my history with Collin a secret?
Collin
Today is a down day. It took me years to admit I even have these. I lived in fear for so long that someday the wild tumultuous wave of mania would sweep me away—like it had my father—that I failed to notice depression had been drowning me for years. I tried to explain it once to my mother when I had a really tentative conversation with her about Dad's illness, but she was of no help. "I'm sorry you're so sad, dear." She'd touched my cheek gently and then turned away, as though I was a scary part in a thriller film that she didn't want to watch. Close your eyes and it's not real.
The thing is that I'm not sad. I'm not happy or sad. In fact, most of the time I'm nothing at all. I feel disconnected, as though someone has pulled the plug on me. Or just turned my emotion dial all the way down. Yes, there's a sadness that surrounds existing this way, and it can be painful at times, but mostly I just feel like I'm floating in space while everyone else is on earth, running around.
On days like this getting up and out of bed is incredibly difficult. As I've learned about my illness, I've realized that letting the call of sleep suck me back in is about the worst thing I could do, though my body seems to work against me, ceaselessly trying to pull me back under. When I'm at my lowest, no amount of sleep feels like enough. I could sleep twelve hours a day or more and still feel like I‘ve had no rest at all. I run my own business, so I could just not show up today and face no scrutiny for it—but that isn't who I want to be, and I'm through with letting depression win.
Exercise helps, so I get up and run on the treadmill for twenty minutes and then have a kale smoothie for breakfast. I'm sitting at my kitchen table checking email and sipping my one cup of coffee that I allot myself a day, when a text buzzes through on my cell phone. It's Rachel. I'd texted her last night asking her to a last-minute lunch and then spent an hour regretting it. Her reply: "sounds good. what time?"
The thought of her is like a light at the end of a long dark tunnel. I almost hate how wonderful the idea of her is to me. When she and I were close, I didn't understand that the emptiness I felt had a name. I would never say she was a cure for my depression—that would be both melodramatic and ridiculous, because I was still plenty depressed then— but her presence in my life was like a life raft. When it ended I spent a lot of time drifting out at sea before I realized the answer was not to find a way to keep floating, it was to learn to swim. Still, there's quality about her, or at least there was, that ignites something in me; and when it's lit, I feel alive.
Chapter 11
Rachel
When I tell Tim I'm meeting Collin for lunch he lights up like a Christmas tree and tells me to take as long as I like. Just before noon I'm shrugging my coat on when he leans into my office. "I'm serious, Rachel. Take your time. I've asked Donna to cover if anything needs immediate attention this afternoon." He disappears faster than he appeared, and I'm left standing dumbly at my desk with no one to voice opposition to.
Donna? Great. I'm sure her hand shot up like a rocket when Tim asked for coverage. She's the worst kind of brownnoser. She's up everyone's ass, but only so she can gather enough dirt or information on them to commit workplace sabotage later. She hasn't nabbed me for anything yet, but the cl
oser I get to Tim, the more of a target I am to her. I log back into the system and password lock a few key folders on my computer. Then I'm off. This quick bit of pre-Donna damage control sends me out the door five minutes later than I needed to leave to get there on time. I pick up my pace and then I think to myself this is Collin I'm meeting, and I can't imagine him being early for anything, so I slow down a bit and even take time to text Vanessa on my way there.
I haven't had a chance to call her yet to give her the lowdown on all the madness that's taken place since she discovered Collin on Facebook. She's gonna freak. Considering her love of the dramatics I send her a cryptic text: guess who I'm meeting for lunch today? Vanessa always gets back to me, but with two kids in tow, her response time can be unpredictable. So I'm surprised when her reply is near immediate.
Vanessa: no idea. who?
Me: Collin Jackson!!!
Vanessa: no freaking way! calling you.
Vanessa knows better than anyone else in my life what a big deal all of this is. My phone rings almost instantly.
Vanessa is already talking before I have the phone to my ear. "OK, screaming kids or not we are having this conversation now. What the h-e-l-l is going on?"
"I should've called you sooner, but I ran into him, I mean literally ran into him at this charity thing. It was supremely embarrassing. His drink was all over my face, and then his super chipper, hot girlfriend was trying to make it all OK…and she hit it off with Beckett…And I told him that he looked good, because Jesus, Vanessa, he did, he was wearing this incredible suit…but still, I can't believe I actually said that!"
Vanessa interjects, practically screaming, "My God, Rachel, slow the heck down. Do you realize you aren't making any sense at all? You met his girlfriend? He threw a drink at you? What the hell is going on?"
"I know. I'm sorry. This whole thing is nuts, but…listen, I'm just about at the restaurant…so tell Ryan we need a girl's night ASAP. Beg him to watch the kids so you and I can discuss all of this with alcohol in hand, OK?"
"Are you serious? I'm going to call Ryan right now. He owes me. The kids are driving me insane and these recent events warrant a face to face. I'm sure he'll agree. Wait. Can I tell him what's going on?"
I stop outside the restaurant where I'm supposed to meet Collin and check my watch. Eight minutes late. He probably isn't even here yet. I exhale into the phone enough to let Vanessa know I'm not thrilled at the idea of Ryan knowing what a panic cycle Collin is still able to induce in my life; but I tell her it's fine for her to explain it to him. She will anyway, no matter what I say. At least this way we don't all have to pretend he doesn't know.
"Oh my gosh, girl. Good luck with lunch and text me if anything crazy goes down, OK?"
"You got it. I'll call you later so we can make plans, alright?" I pull the door open to the restaurant and take a few steps in, standing off to the side of the hostess station where a few other patrons are milling about.
"Dialing Ryan now. Love ya!" Vanessa cheers.
"Love you, too!" I say, as I hit end and glance up. There, sitting just a few feet away, is Collin, who clearly has watched the last two minutes of my life and probably thinks I was just telling Beckett that I love him. Suddenly I feel self-conscious. I do love Beckett and I don't care if Collin knows that, but for some reason I don't want him thinking we're one of those couples that have to call each other every ten minutes all day long. Collin tips his head back slightly, motioning for me to join him. He's behind a partition so I have to snake around to the other side to reach the table, giving me a few precious seconds to compose myself.
When I'm nearly to there, Collin stands. He's wearing dress pants and a long-sleeved, buttoned-down dress shirt. It's form fitted, accentuating his trim but firm features. His hair is cropped short and styled, not the haphazard coiffure I recall from college. He reaches for me and we give each other a brief and awkward embrace, the sort you'd imagine two siblings would give one another after a reprimand from their mother to apologize and make up.
He pulls out my chair for me and I sit, and then I just can't take it anymore—I burst out laughing. Collin looks startled at first and then a cautious smile emerges on his face as he props his face under a single palm with his elbow balanced on the table, watching me.
"I'm sorry," I gasp between bursts of laughter, "it's just…" I inhale sharply, struggling to breathe, in my hysteria. "Who the hell are you?"
He regards me for a moment like my face is a riddle. "Glad I can amuse you, Rachel."
I slam my hand down on the table causing a couple in an adjacent booth to stare. "There you go again. Rachel? I don't think you have ever called me Rachel."
"What do you want me to call you?" he deadpans.
My mouth drops open in an exaggerated expression of disbelief. "Really, Collin? Really you're going to play games?"
"I'm not playing games." He leans closer and lowers his voice, clearly not thrilled by all the attention I have drawn between the hyena laughter and the hand slamming. "I don't know if I have the right to call you anything else anymore."
I lean back into my chair and consider this, looking away from him for a minute. Then, as though I had evoked him, our waiter appears to take our order and to save me.
When the waiter asks me what I would like, I don't even bother to look at the menu. "I'll have the turkey club sandwich, no mayo, side of fruit and an iced tea, please." I return the menu to him.
"I'll have the same." Collin doesn't take his eyes off of me, even to hand his menu over.
"Look, I'm sorry for laughing, Collin. It's just you seem so different. Judging from the charity event and today, it looks like you quit smoking. You own a business? You're dressed up? You have a girlfriend? You're the one that is on time today!" He continues to stare at me with that blank unemotional look he has down to a science.
He doesn't respond to my comments and then he leans in toward me. "And you? What happened to your perfect five-year plan? What about Spencer?" His tone is sarcastic, bordering on mocking.
Perfect five-year plan? What the hell? Just when I think he's all cool and indifferent he brings up Spencer. I may have laughed at him, but I wasn't going for the jugular. He's evaded everything I've said, and has wasted no time letting me know how trivial he must think I am.
Two can play at this game. "Spencer? I have no idea where he is or how he's doing. My guess is he's living in Michigan; with a wife and two kids. I have no clue, I haven't talked to him in a decade." My tone is sarcastic and cutting. I don't think I've ever talked to him this way, even in jest.
Collin rolls his eyes and replies, "maybe this lunch was a mistake."
"Maybe it was, Collin. I mean I'm glad you clearly got your shit together and life is great for you now and everything, but you don't need to mock me for having had a plan." He starts to speak, but I continue talking right over him. "Clearly my plan didn't work out, and Spencer didn't work out, but at least I had a plan. At least I was trying, you know, trying hard to make things happen in my life."
I can feel I'm seconds away from crying, and even though I've already made a spectacle of myself once in this restaurant I don't think I'm up to giving an encore performance. I stand up.
"Rachel, wait. Don't go," Collin's tone is pleading, and my anger almost wanes.
"No, I should go. I only came today because my boss wanted me to." Here I go again, lying to Collin. A look of total confusion sweeps across his face. I shrug my coat on and grab my purse. "We're up against you for the Marshmen account and he wanted me to pump you for information," I say flatly.
Collin looks like I've slapped him, and I instantly regret everything. A fresh wave of emotions sweeps over me, and this time I do start crying. Talk about emotional whiplash. I think I have covered the spectrum in the past five minutes. Collin is stunned into silence, and I have no idea what more I can say, so I do the only thing I can think to do: I turn and run.
Chapter 12
Collin
I watch, fro
zen in place, as Rachel tears out of the restaurant. What the hell just happened? I lost it and acted like a jackass, but seriously, what the hell was all that about? I could kick myself for that "perfect" comment. I know that's what really set her off, and the thing of it is—I didn't mean it. It just sort of came out, and when it did, I realized all the hurt and confusion I felt over her rejection of me so long ago has been residing much closer to the surface than I've ever realized. What is it that everyone says about time healing wounds? I guess that may be true in some cases, but other hurts, like the ones that come from loss, seem to just scab over. All you have to do is trip and fall and suddenly you're bleeding all over again.
What about her, though? She can't decide whether to laugh or slap me for "getting my shit together". For some reason those two reactions are not at all the responses I expected to get from her. She begged me to quit smoking, and when I finally do, she finds it funny? I guess it's logical they would be up for the Marshmen account too; I hadn't really thought much about our competition. That explains her attendance at the charity event, but she just came today because her boss wanted her to? Could that be true? What did they think they were going to gain? Spoiler alert: I'm going to get the damn account. That whole issue I can deal with later, but what I cannot handle is to have found her—only to lose her all over again.
Our bewildered waiter approaches the table carefully as though he's worried I might also burst into tears. "Um, sir?" He clears his throat and I look up at him. "Will the lady be returning?"
"That is the question, isn't it?" He gives me an exasperated look that's laced with pity. I decide to let him off the hook. "No, she will not be returning. I'll take our food in some carryout containers and the bill, please."
"Right away, sir."
By the time I get our food and pay, twenty minutes have gone by. I can only assume she returned to work, not sure what else she might've done.