by Doxer, Debra
I rest my back against the cushion beside her. “You’re going to get up in the morning and go to work. Then you’re going to do it again the next day. And the day after that. And with lots of help from me, your family, and the rest of your friends, you’re going to continue planning for the beautiful baby you’re going to have.”
She sighs. “What choice do I have, right?”
“Have you told your folks what’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “They’re still getting used to that fact that there’s a baby and there’s no wedding.”
“When Mike calls you, you might suggest that he talk to a professional.”
“A therapist you mean? I’ve thought of that.”
“Do you think he would go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where do you think he’s staying?” I ask.
“Maybe he went to Bryn’s,” she offers casually, as though it hasn’t pained her to put the thought into words.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” I hope I’m right.
“Have you spoken to her?” Katie asks.
“No.” I pause. “Would you be mad at me if I did?”
Her glossy eyes are drying now as she turns to me. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I nod in understanding. Even though I haven’t made the decision to end my friendship with Bryn, I have effectively done so by not speaking to her since she told me. Was I foolish to think that I could be friends with them both and that I didn’t have to choose sides?
I sit with Katie for over an hour. She invites me to sleep over, but I don’t have any clothes with me, and I don’t want to leave Tiger alone all night. I hug her, hating to leave, but she does seem better than when I first arrived.
Foolishly, even though I haven’t heard it ring, I check my phone once I’m back in the Hyundai, with some small hope that Ryan may have called to apologize for his reaction, or for getting confused about his travels, or to yell at me for practically calling him a liar. But there are no messages.
I drive home from Katie’s and the dark quiet roads mirror the darkness I feel inside tonight. I’m completely exhausted, and I just want sleep to take away my tumultuous thoughts for a few hours.
Tiger’s desperate mewling greets me as I enter the townhouse. His food dish is empty and stale water from this morning is pooled in his bowl. I go through the familiar motions of refilling his kibble and refreshing his water, and then I wearily trudge up the stairs, pretending not to notice his attempts to hold my attention. Once in the bedroom, I look at myself in the mirror with my now slightly disheveled hair and the red wraparound sweater I’d been so excited about wearing earlier. I had such high hopes at the start of the evening.
I take off the sweater and hold it to my nose, but it carries no scent of him. If he wore cologne it might have lingered, but his clean scent does not.
eighteen
There is no greeting from Joan the next morning when I arrive at work. It appears that I’ve beaten her into the office. The reception desk is empty when I walk past it just after seven. I tossed and turned restlessly last night, finally giving up and jumping into the shower around five. Now back in the familiar environment of my office, a place where I like to believe I am successful and in control, I feel less out of sorts as I sip my coffee and get down to work.
Laura calls me at the office that afternoon. I start to tell her, in hushed tones, about Katie’s situation, and I relay cryptic details of my date with Ryan before she becomes frustrated with her inability to hear me and invites herself over to my place tonight for a chat. Jonathan is likely working late again, and she’s on her own anyway.
On my way home from the office, I exchange the Hyundai for my repaired Honda. My first encounter with Ryan has now been erased. I turn up the radio and open the windows to distract myself. The air has a chill to it tonight as it filters into the car. For the first time this season, the breeze smells of fall with a crisp, fresh feel to it, punctuated by a hint of musky wood smoke from a fireplace. Living in Massachusetts, each season has a distinct texture. Memories are often tangled up with white winter snow or brilliant fall foliage.
I recalled what I was doing this time last year. I’d been painting my living room and bedroom. Alex, the guy I was seeing at the time, had helped me, though he mostly just sat around, leaving the actual painting to me. But we had fun, dragging the project out far longer than required.
I tried to remember what happened to Alex. It was nothing monumental. I wasn’t really head over heels in love with him, despite wanting to be. Eventually, he told me that I was a hard person to feel close to, and the next I knew he was seeing someone else. I wonder if I truly am hard to feel close to or if he had simply found someone else he wanted to feel even closer to. I suspect it was a combination of the two.
Since neither Laura nor I inherited the cooking gene from my mother, I pick up Chinese food on the way home. Tiger and I go through our usual routine when I come through the door. He is even more starved for attention than usual because he was home alone for so much of yesterday. I discard my sweater, my only concession to fall so far, my shorts and flip-flops are still my wardrobe fixture, and I open the sliding door at the back of the living room to let in the fresh air and to occupy Tiger while I organize the plates and silverware for dinner. Tiger can sit for hours in front of the screen door, his eyes and ears focused like lasers on some object that is usually invisible to me.
Laura arrives straight from work, wearing the blouse and slacks that are her uniform. She has them in all kinds of mix and match colors. “Do I smell Chinese?” she asks coming through the door, dropping her briefcase in the entryway.
“Sesame chicken and Mongolian beef,”
After some bustling around, finding serving spoons and trading food cartons, we’re finally settled in with at least a few bites of food in our stomachs. Tiger chooses that moment to hop up on the table and sniff at my plate. He’s a very picky eater when it comes to human food, but he does like to stick his twitchy pink nose into everything first before he makes up his mind about it.
Laura points her fork at him. “He’d better not come over here and do that to my plate.”
“But he loves you,” I tell her innocently.
“He can love me from a distance.”
When Tiger makes a move toward Laura’s side of the table, I put down my silverware and lift him down to the ground, gently nudging him back toward the slider.
“Okay,” Laura begins, “Now what were we saying earlier about Katie and Mike? He told her he was in Chicago, but really he had packed a bag and gone to New York?”
I laugh, snort really. “No, you’re all mixed up.”
“That’s what you told me,” she complains.
As we finish our dinners, I untangle the story and relate the details of my previous evening to Laura.
“Wow, you had your first fight on your second date,” she says in awe. “That must be some kind of record.”
“It might have been our third date actually, but it was our first and last fight,” I reply, surveying the empty food cartons and the brown-colored remnants of sauce now congealing on our plates.
“Do you think he could have gotten confused, saying New York instead of Chicago?”
I shrug.
“You wouldn’t call him? To clear the air maybe?”
“How can I? I still don’t know if he was lying to me or not? Maybe Chicago is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe he’s lied about lots of things. Maybe he doesn’t even have his own startup business?”
Laura offers me a skeptical scowl. “How exactly did you ask him about the discrepancy?”
“I just asked him where he was last week when we were heading out to our cars.”
“Did you ask him in an accusing tone?
I replay the scene in my head trying hard not to visibly cringe. I’ve already played it over and over again, changing my tone, changing my words, changing his reaction, all for the purpose of a bett
er outcome, to the point where I can barely recall what actually occurred anymore. “I don’t think I was accusing, just clarifying.”
“Explain clarifying.”
“Look Laura, I pointed out to him that in his message he said he was in New York, while at dinner he said he was in Chicago. I probably didn’t hide the fact that it occurred to me he might be lying. I don’t know why he would lie. What difference does it make to me where he was?”
“Unless his web of lies is so tangled, he gets confused himself,” she suggests, either playing along or mocking me now.
“Exactly,” I nod.
“Give me a break,” she laughs.
“The fact is, if he’d made an honest mistake, why did he get so mad at me? He should have realized it wasn’t unreasonable for me to question him. It doesn’t matter anyway. He knows I wasn’t happy when he forgot about our last date. Now I’ve accused him of lying, too. It’s done. There’s no point talking about it anymore.”
Laura nods at me. “He probably thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
I frown at her as I stand up to clear the dishes.
“Just saying.”
We work together to finish clearing. Then Laura leans against the counter, watching me, while I load the dishwasher. “I think you let past experiences jade you. You expect every guy to be a jerk sooner or later.”
I don’t respond to this. It’s something I’ve thought of myself.
“Speaking of jerks, do you think Mike is gone for good?” she asks.
“I have no idea, but I hate him for putting Katie through this.”
“Some people make their beds.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say. I know what you and Jonathan think. Actually, she admitted to me that she was fooling herself about the state of things with him. I still don’t get it. She’s beautiful and smart. She could be with anyone.”
Laura catches my eye and stares pointedly.
“What?”
She just continues staring.
“You have Mongolian beef on your chin,” I tell her.
Her hand flies up to her face. “Where?” She spins around and goes to check in the bathroom mirror. “By the way, have you heard from David yet?” She asks this casually when she returns, wiping her chin with a tissue, as though she isn’t stepping into a minefield.
“No,” I reply flatly. Then, I remember.
“What?”
“I might have, actually. I got a message last night from a number I didn’t recognize. I forgot to listen to it.”
“Oh, that could be him. Why don’t you check?”
I turn impatient eyes on her. “I will. Later.”
“Fine. Anyway, I was thinking.”
I close the dishwasher and listen.
“Blind dates can be so awkward,” she continues, worrying the collar of her blouse as she speaks. “Maybe the four of us could go out together this weekend?”
I shake my head and laugh.
“What?”
“I don’t even get twenty-four hours notice?”
“For what? To mope and worry. David is a great guy, and someone is going to snap him up if you don’t.”
“Then why haven’t they already?”
This stumps her.
“I need a dating vacation,” I state, wiping at the counter with a dishcloth.
“You don’t need a dating vacation. You need to date better guys and stop finding fault with everyone.”
“I’m not finding faults that aren’t there. Would you overlook the things I’ve told you?”
“Not the way you describe them. You do seem to be having some seriously bad luck lately.”
I put the cloth down and move into the living room where I then pick up Tiger as a self-defense measure and cradle him in front of me.
“This isn’t a big deal, Andy.” Laura follows and stands before me now, but not as close as she might be if I wasn’t using Tiger as a feline shield. “You’re making too much of this. We’ll go out, have some drinks, eat some dinner, and you’ll see if you and David hit it off. He’s a nice guy. I can guarantee that if you go out with him we won’t be having discussions about how bad the bad thing he did was.”
My eyes dart from Tiger to Laura and back again. “Fine,” I say.
Laura blinks at me. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Her posture relaxes. “Geez Andy, you’re a lot of work.”
I could get mad about at that comment, but I decide to let it go. In fact, to prove that I can be less reticent, I go to my cell phone and listen to my message. It is from David Rose. He introduces himself and tells me he’s gotten my number from Laura. His voice sounds very young, almost pubescent in the message. I turn to Laura. “You can tell him that I got his message, and I’ll see him this weekend in accordance with your plans,” I instruct her. “That is, if he hasn’t been snapped up yet.”
“You’re not going to call him back?”
“What if the conversation doesn’t go well? Can I cancel?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
I smile with satisfaction, although I’m not sure why. If this isn’t a complete disaster, it’s likely to be at least somewhat unpleasant.
nineteen
The announcement is delivered by email on Friday morning. The subject line is “Department News.” The ding tone, signaling that a new email has arrived, sounds in Nate’s Inbox just seconds after it sounds in mine. I scan the text for my name. At the bottom, following the preliminary buttering up paragraphs about what a great job the department and everyone in it are doing, are my name and another name I don’t recognize. According to the key paragraph buried at the bottom, everything is wonderful, but they’re changing it all anyway. This means that I and some guy named Jack Hoffenmeyer from Napa Networks are now project leads on wireless security.
“Did you know about this?” Nate asks.
I turn to find him half facing me, his hand still resting on his mouse. His T-shirt says I used to be a people person...but people ruined that for me.
I nod. “Rob told me the other day. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Nate turns back to his monitor and scans the email again.
“The good news is, we’re being reorganized rather than laid off,” I announce brightly.
Nate wears a confused expression. “Does this mean that I work for you now?”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “This only means that project work goes through me. Technically, we all still work for Rob. I just have an extra job to do now, which I’m not getting paid for, by the way. In fact, the details are pretty sketchy. I really don’t have any idea what being a project lead entails yet.”
He thinks about this. “No extra pay, huh?”
I probably shouldn’t be talking about pay, but I knew he would zero in on that once I said it. I guess I’m trying to lessen the blow. I also understand that he won’t pat me on the back and congratulate me. I’m playing this by ear, basing my responses on his reactions. So far, my instincts are telling me that keeping Nate’s friendship and camaraderie mean playing down my new position. Not because he’s a mean or jealous person, but because he is a completely insecure one.
“So, you’re just kind of organizing things for Rob?” he asks, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice.
“I guess you could say that,” I answer carefully. He’s making me sound like a secretary now. I’ll happily stop playing this down if he takes that theme too far.
Something seems to click in Nate’s head, and his posture relaxes. “That probably means you’ll have to spend a lot more time with Rob. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of punishment?”
I relax, too. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I’d better keep current with The Bachelor. Watching it may become a job requirement.”
He winces. “And when that ends American Idol starts, and that show is on practically every night. Your life is over.”
Nate is rig
ht. Rob moves on to American Idol in the winter, justifying that obsession by claiming it’s the only show he feels comfortable letting his kids watch with him. Of course, his justification for The Bachelor is the entertainment value provided by dozens of desperate single women. Let’s face it, who doesn’t want to witness other people’s desperation?
As the day wears on, my Inbox fills with congratulatory emails from my coworkers. Because everyone copies the entire department on their congratulatory emails using the department alias from the original email, everyone I work with, and many I don’t, receive these emails. Once everyone jumps on that bandwagon, doing so because they don’t want to be the only person not to send me a congratulatory email, it quickly becomes an annoyance. Eventually it degrades into requests from the suffering email-choked masses to stop copying the entire department when congratulating me. Bottom line, my first accomplishment as project lead is to indirectly irritate half the company.
“It’s all arranged. I got us a reservation at Café Blue.”
I groan.
“This is going to be so much fun,” Laura exclaims.
“Uh-huh,” I say, turning the corner, nearly home. Laura’s excitement is amusing. She’s attempted to fix me up many times with various single men she’s met through work or through Jonathan, but for some reason it never comes to pass. Either the guy in question turns out to be gay, or he takes my number but never uses it, or he declines the offer entirely. She sounds absolutely giddy at her very first success. Knowing her, she’s already imagining our new chummy foursome attending the theater together, hanging out at each other’s homes on weekends, planning Caribbean vacations.
“We’ll all meet here at seven-thirty for drinks, and then we can head to the restaurant.”
“Sounds good,” I answer. I’m now in my driveway. “I’ve got to run.”
“What are you going to wear?” she asks.
“I don’t know, a skirt I guess or maybe pants if it’s cold.”
“A skirt would be nice.”
“I can dress myself Laura.”