by gard, marian
"I love you, too, Collin, but I'm so scared. When you left years ago, a part of me was ripped out." She removes her hand from my chest, and so I disconnect mine from hers. She's finally said the words I've wanted to hear for almost as long as I've known her, but she isn't looking at me. She doesn't think we can work, because I scare her. I scare the shit out of her.
She's trembling. "It took a long time for that to heal, for me to accept the loss of you. I can't go through that again. I had a taste of it when your mom died and you didn't call me or respond to my texts."
I wince, as guilt surges within me. God, I'm such an asshole. She touches my face, bringing my eyes to hers. "I understand. Please, know I understand, and I'm not even mad, I wasn't then and I'm still not now, but it reminded me of the pain…I know I can't go through that again." She shrugs and her voice is choked with tears. "I'm not strong enough."
I shake my head, disgusted with myself. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm not good when it comes to handling things like that, it's true. I hurt Leighton and she didn't deserve any of it. We talked for a long time yesterday and I made things right with her, the best I could. I know I didn't tell you that, but I did. Well, I tried, anyway. When my mom passed, it felt like I experienced my dad dying all over again. It was just all…back…and his letters…I was…" I feel myself starting to lose it again; I'm really on the ragged edge. I take a deep breath and just focus on Rachel and nothing else. "I was so consumed with self-loathing that I pushed my sister away, I ignored Leighton and I tried to avoid you. I felt like I didn't deserve to be around you." I grasp her hand, squeezing it tighter than I mean to, but she has to hear all of this. She needs to know. "But you showed me that wasn't true. I never really said thank you for that, but I'm so grateful you were just there with me. It reminded me shutting down isn't the answer. Closing people off when I need them the most—that's just my depression talking. I can make the choice to do the right thing, the healthy thing, and push my way through." I look down at her hand clasped in mine, and I'm so thankful she's allowing it. Feeling her skin, touching her, it's the only way I'm getting through any of this. "I'm not perfect though, and this thing I have," I point to my head with my free hand, "it's life-long, but I won't let it define me, and I'll be damned if it's what keeps me from you. I can't promise I won't screw up, because I know I will. But I can promise I will never leave you again. Look at me Rachel." We stare into each other's eyes, blue to blue. "Never."
I let go of her hand and lean forward and cup her face, kissing her gently, first on her closed lips, then her nose and forehead. She leans and rests her head on mine. I'm in agony waiting for her reply. I've put everything I've got out there and now it's all up to her.
Her answer comes soft and quiet. "I'm not saying no, Collin, but I do need some time. I need to figure my life out. I just got out of a relationship, my job is horrible, and you're right, I don't make time for the things in my life that make me happy, and I haven't, for a long time. I've lost myself somewhere along the way. When I'm with you I feel like everything is going to be OK, but I don't want you to be what fixes me. That's what all my other relationships have been—a crutch, a bandaid, whatever you want to call it. This time I need to be my own solution."
I pull back to look at her and I take her hand in mine again. "You're not saying ‘no'?" She shakes her head. "Do you regret last night?" She shakes her head again. "OK then, whatever you need. I'll give you some time." I kiss her forehead, and then stand. I feel completely drained, and it takes every last ounce of my remaining energy to walk away from her. I head to the bedroom where I get dressed and collect my things. When I come back out she's still perched in the same place.
As I approach her, the words just start tumbling out. The spontaneity of it is terrifying, but withholding from her has been disastrous in the past, and I need to do everything I can to show her how I feel. "Rachel, this coming Friday is my birthday. I don't expect you to figure out everything you need to know by then, but I'd really like to see you. It would mean a lot. Could we plan on that?"
There it is. A plea dropped at her feet. I stare at her profile feeling exposed and terrified, but there's also a shred of hope in there, too and I'm holding on to it with all I have.
"Yes," she says, quietly. "I'd like that."
"Alright. We'll skip lunch this week, but come to my place after work on Friday, OK?"
She stands and hugs me. "Thank you for understanding, Collin. I'm not trying to be unfair to you."
I embrace her tightly and just whisper, "Friday."
Chapter 34
Rachel
I spend Sunday morning going through all of my finances and trying to figure out what my most frugal budget can be. I'm relieved to discover that overall I'm in pretty good shape, actually much better than I thought. I've been financially independent since college and I've always been way more of a saver than a spender. A calm comes over me. I could quit tomorrow and last at least six months, maybe more, without doing much damage. Maybe I can really do this?
In the afternoon, I stand in front my closet with my fists at my hips. I decide to go in search of my old songbook I'd had in college. After forty-five minutes of digging around in the back of my closet, while precariously balancing on a stool, I have filled up a bag of miscellaneous items I can donate to Goodwill, but am no closer to finding my old notebook. How funny it feels to be on a clueless search for something, that at one time in my life, I never would've left home without. Still standing on my rickety stool, I survey my bedroom. Where the hell could it be? I hop down and lay flat alongside my bed, the sage dust ruffle draped over one eye. On the floor, centered under my mattress, is a long, green cardboard box. I've had this forever, but haven't opened it in ages.
Using a yardstick I successfully slide it out and awkwardly drop it onto my bed. I prop up some pillows and settle in next to the box, removing the dusty lid. There are heavy piles of letters, photos and other random memorabilia from the start of college on. I continue sifting through things until I come upon a Steve Madden shoebox. I run my fingers along the black writing on the top, remembering both the box and its significance so clearly it feels almost unbelievable I could've ever forgotten.
While preparing to move to Chicago with Vanessa, I'd carefully sifted out anything that reminded me of Collin from my belongings. At the time, I'd talked a big game about throwing it all away, but Vanessa had convinced me not to.
"It's not always going to hurt like this. Those are tokens of good memories and good times. Just save it," she'd reasoned.
I pull the box onto my lap and pop off the top. Contained within it are concert tickets, photos, letters he'd written to me over holiday breaks and summers spent apart. I even saved some of the envelopes. I extract a crumpled piece of notebook paper and flatten it out. Collin would sometimes leave snarky notes at my apartment for me to find later. This one starts out as a recipe and then halfway down the page he'd written: "Never mind, I don't want you to set the kitchen on fire. I'll just make this for you on Wednesday after class."
I giggle aloud, recalling how he'd done just that and had teased me relentlessly for asking for a recipe in the first place. He'd insisted I would never bother, and I worked best with the toaster and microwave, two appliances the recipe most definitely didn't call for. I giggle again thinking how most of my meals are still takeout or microwaved these days.
Next, I pull out a picture of us and smile at how happy we both look and how young. I replace the paper and photo and carefully cover the box and set it on my nightstand. I think I may have an idea for Collin's birthday, and just the thought of it is giving me butterflies. I glance over at the larger box and my old songbook catches my eye. Finally! I yank it out and make a silent promise to tune my guitar tonight and determine just how rusty I am. I struggle to recall the last time I played. It's been years. It wasn't that Beckett was against my playing music, he was just sort of indifferent. From his perspective, if it wasn't advancing me with my primary work goals, there was
n't much point. I can't really blame him for it though, because I bought into it. I subscribed to this notion that working this one job, as hard as I could, was going to fulfill me. I'd had tunnel vision, and for a long time there was comfort in that. That hyper-focus had deluded me into believing I didn't need anything else. I know better, now.
*** *** ****
"Jen Markham, please."
Jen was my supervisor when I was first starting out. She struck out on her own about five years ago and has contacted me more than once to come join her in her small business. She's done well for herself, her company has grown, they have some great accounts, but I never seriously considered making a change. I was so sure, if I kept plowing away under Tim, I would be able to really climb the chain where I was. Taking a risk with her felt like too much of a leap of faith.
"Hi, this is Jen. Is this Rachel?" I recognize her raspy, yet confident, voice immediately. Thank God she sounds happy to hear from me. I'd always worried that maybe I'd burned a bridge after turning down more than one offer from her.
"It is. Hi Jen! How are you?"
"I'm doing well. It's wonderful to hear your voice! You were just on my mind the other day."
"I was?"
"Yeah, we were burning the midnight oil, and we decided to order in from Rico's."
"Oh, I love that place!"
"I know you do. I can't eat there without thinking about you." She chuckles softly.
"Those were some fun nights. Long nights, but good ones." I smile, recalling my first couple of years at the company. How different late nights are there now.
"I swear Rachel, you had some of your best ideas after ten o'clock at night. You were light years ahead of your peers."
I laugh nervously. "I'm not sure if that's so true anymore."
"Uh, oh. I know that tone. What's troubling you?"
Everything.
"Don't tell me Tim has drained the life out of you. He has a knack of doing that with the best ones. I swear it's because he's threatened. He's such a weasel, but I digress. Sorry! I guess I shouldn't rag on your boss like that." She may be apologizing, but she doesn't sound the least bit sorry. It's common knowledge she didn't leave on good terms with Tim.
"It's fine, I mean, I think I've really seen him in a different light these past few months." I take a deep breath. "That's actually my main reason for calling. I was wondering if there was any chance in the world there might still be a place for me with you." I feel my heart beating faster. Am I really doing this?
"Rachel, why do you sound afraid to ask me that? I‘ve told you many times you always have a job here. I was completely serious. We'd love to have you. I want to be clear about expectations, though." Jen's voice becomes more serious. "We can't compete with the salaries they have there. We're just not big enough yet, but we're growing year by year. What I can tell you, is your creativity will be celebrated here, not squandered. There will be a lot more freedom. Also, we've done a lot to modernize things. You can work from home, we have really flexible schedules, and this is a happy place to work. You'll love our team, and they will adore you, like I do. We work hard. We play hard. That's what makes this place great." She's using her sale's voice now, and I'm sold. Completely and totally sold.
"Jen, it all sounds like a dream. I don't know what has taken me so long, and the money isn't an issue as long as there's room for me to grow."
"With hard work and the right goals, growth is always possible, Rachel." Hearing her voice reminds me of her energy and positivity, and I feel a surge of hope rise up within me. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be energized by something.
"Um, this is incredible! What's the next step?" I grab a pen and a piece of scrap paper.
"Tell you what, let's meet for lunch tomorrow and you can be more properly introduced to Jeff. I have final say with hiring, so if you're telling me you want this, then it's yours, but I think it would be great for you two to meet. This is a big decision and you need to be sure."
"I'm finally ready, Jen. I'm sure. Just tell me when and where." I scribble down the details and proceed to thank her a half a dozen more times.
When I hang up I think back to when she was mentoring me early in my career. She was always open and encouraging, but still pushed me to do more and to never stop learning. Her advising extended beyond learning the ropes of the company. She sought to guide me, and the other young women I started with, in our careers, as well. I still reflect on the many nuggets of wisdom she bequeathed to me regularly.
She seems eager to hire me now, but I can't help not feeling worthy of it. What would she really think if she could see the professional I'd become? I've been slinking around feeling wounded from the innumerable assaults I've endured lately from the mean-girl brigade, but have been careful not to examine too closely how I've contributed to becoming their prey.
One night during my first year, while working late with Jen and a few other young women, a casual conversation about one of our female supervisors turned ugly. Sarah, the most precocious of our group, made a rather biting joke about the reviled supervisor's appearance. Jen had been unusually quiet up until this point, but as soon as there was an audible break in our chorus of laughter following Sarah's barb, she'd interjected curtly, "Let's not lower ourselves this way." The room fell into an instantaneous silence and Sarah turned scarlet, reeling from Jen's obvious disapproval. Jen was held in high regard by all of us, and to disappoint her was a significant failure. She turned to face us and said, "Women gain nothing by tearing each other down. Look around these halls, ladies. Pay attention! Don't be fooled—this place is still very much a boy's club. Trust me, no matter how hard you work; they still own the damn place. This is their world, and they may have grudgingly let us in, but only with lower paychecks, less respect, and a hell of lot more hoops to jump through. No one wins when women turn on each other professionally or personally. The gossiping, the disrespecting, the excluding—all of that keeps us that much farther away from our goals. You don't have to like each other, but you need to recognize the team you're on. Respect, professionalism, common ground—use this to guide yourself and your behavior."
Her speech was equal parts humbling and inspiring. I wanted to be that kind of woman, that kind of professional. I've managed to stay out of the gossip pool and some of the other pitfalls she'd warned against, but have I leant a helping hand to my fellow woman? Rarely. I've failed. I didn't fulfill that dream Jen had had for me, or the one I'd had for myself.
I think about Meredith and how different things might've been, had I taken her under my wing in the same way Jen had with me. What's happened to me that I was so blind to that? Jen would never have treated me the way I did Meredith. Somewhere along the way I have become as cold and as unforgiving as Tim. It's no wonder I've felt unhappy for years. I could fault him, but if I'm really honest, I've been complacent in this change in myself, blaming everything on a corporate culture that has been as punishing toward me, as I was in turn to others. I can't erase the past, but, moving forward, I can make things different in my life.
*** *** ***
I have only four days until Collin's birthday. On my way into work, I call Reba. She answers on the first ring and doesn't even bother to say hello.
"You better not be calling me to cancel dinner this Friday," she lashes. Geez, remind me never to piss off Reba.
"Hi to you, too, Reba. No, I'm not calling to cancel for Friday, although I didn't realize we were all having dinner." There's a sudden flash in my mind of the three of us having successive dinners together. Images of imagined holidays and birthdays spent with each other flood my mind, and I feel a warmth wash over me. Like a collection of misfit toys, combined we make a family. For the first time in my life I'm not trying to break my way into something that I feel separate from. I'm not the outsider.
Reba sounds mildly annoyed as her melodic voice rings out over my car speakers. "Don't worry, I'm only going to crash his birthday for a little while and then I have plans. So you guys c
an have your alone time." She says ‘alone time' in a way that suggests Collin has disclosed some of the recent events between us to her. It makes me sort of giddy to think he's excited enough about an ‘us' to have shared his feelings with Reba.
"I'm not worried. I'm glad you'll be there…but listen, I'm calling you because I have an idea for a birthday gift for Collin, and I really need your help to make it happen." Before I can say more, she cuts in.
"Awesome! Count me in!" The exuberance in her voice reflects my own excitement for the coming weekend. My stomach, on the other hand, always my internal touchstone for emotion, gurgles with the bizarre mix of enthusiasm and trepidation I'm feeling. I have a major hurdle to leap today.
"OK. I'm pulling into work now, so can I text you the details later?"
"Yeah, text me when you get a chance. I'll help in any way I can."
"Thanks so much, Reba."
*** *** ***
I take a deep breath and knock on Tim's door. In my hand I'm clutching my formal resignation letter. He glances up at me and then motions with two fingers for me to enter. Here goes nothing and everything.
"Tim, may I have a moment of your time?" My voice cracks just the tiniest bit, but I'm determined to get through this with my integrity intact. There will be no crying.
"You have it," he says curtly, not bothering to look up at me.
I push the letter across the desk to him and watch as he reads it, his eyes move side to side as he takes in my carefully-worded memo. He sets the letter down and looks up at me.