by K. P. Haigh
My mom works on mixing together ingredients for cornbread muffins, and I pop up onto the counter to watch.
"So, have you talked to Baron lately?" she asks while she stirs the ingredients together. I don't have to see her face to know her eyebrows are betraying any impartiality she thinks she has. She's mentioned him every week since he was here for dinner. She never presses too hard, but she always asks. He made an impression, and it was a good one.
"Yeah. We talked last night. He's coming home next weekend. His loft here is all packed up, and he just wants to make sure everything works out with the movers and getting it listed to sell."
My mom hums under her breath. "Well, you're more than welcome to bring him over for dinner. I understand that he'll be busy, but he is invited." There's emphasis on the last word. My parents mostly keep to themselves. We're a quiet family, and we’re kind of like the libraries my mom oversees: there's a lot going on, but we don't go running around screaming about it.
She's implying that I am going to see him though, and even though he and I haven't directly talked about it, I realize it's true. It's just assumed that Baron and I are going to spend time together, and it finally hits me that I'm going to have to stop straddling the line. I need to pick up one foot and drag it over the border so I am firmly planted.
Yes, or no. I have to pick one.
"So, how's work going? How did the shoot at the concert go last week?" My mom pivots into an entirely new topic, but it does nothing to settle down the rhythm of my heartbeat.
We talk for the next twenty minutes about our jobs, but my mind is on next weekend the entire time.
I'm going to have to say yes or no. Stay or go.
If I haven't figured it out by now, how am I ever going to decide?
"Monty?" Andie's voice breaks through the deep gray fog of my thoughts.
"Yeah?"
She laughs, and I wonder what the joke is. "Can you pass the muffins?"
I pick up the bowl next to me and hand it over, confusion tucked into the creases of my frown. I've gotten away with being zoned out for the majority of dinner, but I can feel three sets of eyes glued on me now. The jig is up.
"Are you contemplating how to achieve world peace over there?" Andie asks with a teasing smile, and it snaps me back to reality.
"Yeah. I think it comes down to free doughnuts and easy access to romance novels."
I get a Hear, hear from my mom, and my dad just shakes his head.
"How's the romance section of Montgomery Bell's life doing these days?" Andie pries. She had to study on the way over tonight, so she's taking the opportunity to best friend me now.
I fidget with the ties of the seat cushion, unable to look her in the eyes. "Umm, I don't know, exactly. It's kind of at a crossroads."
My parents are silent, but I see them both cast a knowing glance at the other. I wish they would tell me what they know, because I feel like I'm staring at a massive decision and my pro and cons list is way too short.
"What kind of crossroads?" Andie asks as she leans in, resting her head in her hand like we're on a talk show and she's both intrigued and intent on extracting information from me.
I take a deep breath. I haven't mentioned Baron's proposal—ugh, that makes it sound even more serious—to anyone yet. I've barely been able to process it myself, let alone process other people's thoughts and feelings about it.
But, considering I'm potentially going to have to make a decision before I see them next, it seems kind of important to get an audience vote here.
"He asked me to move out to Seattle—not move in with him." It feels important to clarify, as if asking me to move somewhere for him but me still having my well-defined space is a key point. "Just move. And date. Like normal people. Or, I guess like one normal person and one person who has an entire country following him on the Sports Network news page."
Everyone nods together. Why the hell is everyone so calm about this? I was expecting something more than nodding. This feels like an exclamation point sort of thing, and all they’re giving me is stupid little periods.
"Um, you guys, he asked me to move across the country."
"Sure," my dad says, like it's something a person does on any ol' day. Oh hey, want to move with me to a state that you can't feasibly drive to in less than several days?
"What do you mean, sure?" I need clarification on their nonchalance.
"You two haven't known each other for that long, but it seems reasonable that two people who like each other a great deal would want to be in the same city. I'm not surprised he asked you to go with him, especially given your flexibility with work."
"It's reasonable? I think it's kind of crazy." That's the problem I keep battling: the idea of moving across the country for a man I barely know seems absolutely insane.
"I think it's romantic," my mom chimes in.
"So do I." Andie piggybacks on the sentiment. "I vote yes."
"I'll cast my vote with Andie's," Dad announces with a twinkle in his eye. He loves having two daughters; I think he'd go along with just about anything we say.
I look at my mom, and her lips are drawn together in thought. She's not going to tell me her vote—I already know that. It's part of what makes her such an amazing mom. Ever since I was old enough to know the difference between stupid and just flat-out dangerous, she took a step back. She's still there in my periphery to jump in if I ask for it, but she doesn't try to steer me one way or the other.
I think it's been part of the reason I haven't been eager to leave. I want someone to tell me it's okay to step outside my comfort zone. I don't feel like I should be allowed to be an adult. Wasn't there supposed to be some skills test we had to take before we got handed our legal adult card? I took a driver's test, but that didn't do jack to help me understand how to steer my life.
And I'm in the driver's seat here.
My mom finally sighs, and it's an audible reminder that I need to breathe too. "You can't make the wrong choice here. You can go explore a new city and a new relationship, or you can stay and focus on building the wonderful life you have here. Either way, you're going to figure out what works and what doesn't work for you, and either way, if it doesn't fit, you can always fix it. It's not a permanent choice that locks you in forever."
Andie turns to my mom and raises her fist for a bump. "Nicely put, Elaine." My mom raises her fist to meet Andie's and gives her a small shrug, as if what she just said was the simplest thing in the world.
And it kind of is.
You stay or you go. It doesn't mean you have to keep going in the same direction forever. That's the beauty of adventure. You get to try out a new route and see if it works, and there's no shame in rerouting if you figure out it doesn't work for you.
It's even more beautiful if the risk you take pans out. You have to travel to the edge of the world to find your cliff, and when you do, if you time it right, you might just be in for the best sunset of your life.
After we leave my parents’ house, Andie gets a text message about a grad student party in the house next door to her apartment building.
"You up for it?" she asks hesitantly. This is her kind of deal, not mine.
Even so, I wouldn't mind a bit more noise in my life to drown out the thoughts in my head. It's like a racquetball shooting across an echoing court in there: do I stay or do I go?
Do I stay or do I go?
"Yeah, let's do it."
Andie perks up. "Really? You sure?"
I nod. Besides, it's not like med school gives her a lot of time to be a normal single lady about town.
We pull into my parking spot, and I head upstairs to change into my most comfortable but still going-out-acceptable jersey dress. I make sure to tuck my Kindle into my purse.
You know, just in case.
By the time we get to the house party, the music is already up at least two notches higher than it should be. I have a feeling I'm not going to like this, but I try to keep an open mind.
&nb
sp; We walk in the door and are greeted by the typical college house rented by boys, meaning it hasn't been cleaned since they moved in nine months ago. I could dye my dress black just by rolling around on the floor.
Yeah, my open mind just closed up shop. I am so done with the college boys scene.
Someone offers us red cups full of cheap beer, and I'm thankful this experience at least comes with an alcoholic buffer. I'm going to need some beer goggles before I can sit down on any surface in this house.
Andie scans the room. "Well, it's not a penthouse in Seattle, but at least my options are kind of cute."
I follow her line of sight and decide that her beer goggles must be better than mine. None of these guys compare to Baron, penthouse or not.
"You can do better."
"Don't worry, I'm not planning on taking any of these boys home to Mama Bertelli, but that doesn't mean I can't take 'em home." She adds a wiggle of her eyebrows to make sure I catch her meaning.
Oh Andie. I roll my eyes while I laugh under my breath. Andie is two parts ridiculous to one part fierce badass. She could walk up to any one of these boys and have them wrapped around her finger in a matter of minutes, but she wields her power wisely, which makes me love her even more.
My phone starts to buzz in my purse, and my hearts flips. I quickly grab it and see Baron's name.
Andie notices and nods toward the stairwell off to the side of the room. "There's a bathroom up there. Go chat with your sportsballer. I think I see a guy from my class."
I can tell she's lying, but I take her excuse anyway and head up toward the quiet of the second floor.
I still haven't figured out what I'm going to do, and Baron hasn't pushed me. He has called me though—every single day. We've spent hours on the phone with each other these past few weeks, and the distance has forced us to get to know the important things. He takes bacon on his pizza; I'm more a green peppers and sausage fan. We both agree that pie is the most magical dessert in existence, and that there's nothing quite like corn on the cob fresh from a farmer's stand in the middle of the summer.
It's the most utterly confusing non-relationship I've ever been in. I want to be the person Baron calls when he gets home from training, but I am so absolutely terrified of life outside our bubble.
I am not target material for a football player's girlfriend. I'm not the girl they pan the camera toward in the stands who's cheering her boy on and looking fierce while doing it, and I don't see how you can be in a relationship with someone and not support them. It's not like I can sit at home and edit photos while Baron has a game; even if he said it was okay, it wouldn't sit right with me.
Watching my parents all this time has taught me that you need to live and breathe two ideas: be loyal and be kind, always.
In Baron's case, that means showing up and supporting him, even if it's not my cup of tea. I just can't figure out if it's an over-steeped green tea I can swallow or a cup of pure piss I wouldn't touch in a million years.
I lock the bathroom door just as my phone stops buzzing. I hit redial and bite my lip while I wait.
Baron answers on the second ring. "Hey, I was just leaving you a voicemail. I'm glad I didn't miss you tonight."
"Me too. I'm just hanging out with Andie." And wishing you were here.
My feelings are bubbling up to the surface, and it's everything I can do to keep from saying too much, too fast. I like this guy. I like him a lot. But, I worry about getting pulled into the whirlwind—I don't know if it will lift me up or rip me to pieces.
"Tonight was family dinner, right?" he asks. It kills me that he remembers the details.
"Yeah. It was nice." I debate telling him they asked about him. "How was your day?"
"Just some extra training and hanging out with some of my new teammates. It's different out here, more intense. It's good to hear your voice, helps balance it out."
I close my eyes and sink back against the door. "Ditto."
"Next weekend…" I can hear the tempered optimism in his voice.
I get to see him next weekend, but it's up to me whether I get to see him every day after that or not.
Someone bangs on the door. "Hey, you done yet?" a female voice barks from the other side.
I cover the microphone with my hand. "Yeah, one second." I move my hand. "Sorry, I need to get going."
"Sure, no problem. I'll call you tomorrow. Have a great time with Andie."
We hang up, and I feel as if I just chugged a glass of water and my body is still screaming out for more. I can't get enough of him. Five minutes isn't enough time.
Five hours isn't enough.
Hell, I don't know if there even is a point where I will be satiated with him. I feel as if I'm always going to crave more.
I have no idea if I can move out to Seattle and be the perfect girlfriend, but I know I can't stay here and be happy knowing there's someone out there that I can't get enough of.
And that he feels the same way about me.
I unlock the bathroom door and slip out past the girl waiting for her turn. I start back toward the stairway, but an arm reaches out and blocks me.
"Whoa, where you going, hottie?"
I turn to face the guy blocking my path, and he's exactly what I would have guessed: a popped collar jerk wearing reflective sunglasses like he's trying to give us a soundtrack to his night.
"Downstairs to meet my friend." I don't owe him an explanation, but it's an automatic reflex.
"What? Stay up here. I can be your friend."
Charming. "Really, I need to get back downstairs. She's waiting for me."
I start to duck under his arm, and he shifts to stand in my way. "Come on, I know you want me."
Wow. Sometimes I forget how far college guys can wedge their heads up their asses.
"Not a chance," I say with a tight smile. In what universe do jerks think this actually works?
I see Andie at the bottom of the steps, and she must recognize my barbed edges because her eyes narrow in on this idiot before she even makes it to the top.
"Excuse me, you're going to need to step away from my best friend and take yourself back to the cave you came from," Andie warns as she pushes him to the side and reaches out to grab my arm.
Mr. Sunglasses stands there for a second. "Whatever, you're not that hot anyway."
Andie stops mid-step and starts to turn around.
"Stop," I whisper. "He's not worth it."
"Oh, I think the entire female population would thank me if I kneed him in the balls right now."
"He's still going to be an asshole, balls intact or not." I slide past Andie on the stairs and keep moving back toward the main floor, hoping she'll follow me.
"Well, at least I could potentially stop him from procreating."
I turn around and see him trying the same exact move on the girl who used the bathroom after me. "Trust me, I think he's got that covered all by himself."
We slip back into the party. Andie tries to introduce me to a few of her classmates that showed up while I was talking to Baron, but my mind zones out after I catch their names.
Everything about this makes me miss Baron. He's so far past this phase of life. He doesn't need the approval of some girl who's hit the bottom of her red cup.
Frankly, I don't think Baron needs anyone's approval.
My stomach flips, and it's not from the alcohol. I hate that football is pulling him away from me.
You can do something about it. You can say yes. That tiny voice in my head is getting louder every single day.
I keep coming back to the list of pros and cons, and the logic behind why I should stay in Michigan keeps getting fuzzier while the reasons I should move to Seattle keep getting clearer.
I want to go, and I'm finally realizing there's nothing stopping me but my own damn fear.
I walk into the office on Monday, and I can smell the change in the air before I even get to the bank of desks reserved for freelancers. It's crackling with heat, even tho
ugh the A/C is on full blast.
I peel off my cardigan and head in for my regular 9:30 with Olive.
There are three mugs of tea already on her desk when I sit down, and I wonder how long she's been here this morning. I don't actually know what time she normally gets to the office, but I'm pretty sure it's not three mugs worth.
My butt hasn't even touched the chair before Olive starts. "So, there are some changes happening to the Daily." Her voice reminds me of those bad robotic voices that were so popular in the late nineties.
I desperately want to skip to the meat of the conversation. I want to know if I'm getting a plate of bacon or a plate of Spam, but I feel bad for Olive. It doesn't take three mugs to tell me she's already had this conversation, and she's going to have it again and again. So, I just nod politely.
"We've been bought by American Free Media." You don't have to work in publishing to know that name. AFM is one of the largest media conglomerates in the country, and the free part of their name is wildly inaccurate. Their business model is all about monetization and turning profit, making more with less.
I know where this conversation is going without having to hear another word. "They're not keeping us on." Maybe they'll keep the Olives of this company, the managers who know how to keep it running, but they're not going to keep the long list of freelancers, certainly not the photographers. They'd rather grab stock images from a site they own and run it with headlines that grab your attention but make you climb through ten levels of ad hell before getting anywhere close to the actual content.
Olive sighs. "Yeah." Her voice has lost its metallic edge, softening to show her exhaustion.
"And because we're freelancers, there's no contract, so no severance or layoff package." I should be upset. I should be livid right now at the injustice of corporate America being complete and utter dicks, but I can't muster the enthusiasm. I feel bad for Olive. I feel bad for my coworkers who have bills to pay. I even feel bad for the ones that have to stick around. The Ann Arbor Daily was still home to the journalism we all studied and revered, the kind we looked up to when we first fell in love with the field.