How Not To

by Devin Sawyer

  “Hey, you must be Torren! Great to meet you. Come in, come in.”

  I grip his hand firmly and mumble something about how exciting it is to finally meet him as well. I pass through the doors into a conference room like any other, a long dark wooden table, black chairs, and a TV screen plastered to the wall at the end. Only, this room has one thing I haven’t seen in many, many years. My heart drops.

  My hands burn when I see her, I’m not sure why. My first thought is it’s some freaky Harry Potter shit about to go down. Voldemort is near. She who must not be named is making my scar burn, only I have no scars. I have only painful memories imprinted on these hands that could never forget what she felt like, what it felt like to carry the burden of reckless love. It makes me bitter. The burn spreads to a tingle covering my entire body. As if I’m readying myself for an attack. The unwelcome familiar buzz surges across the surface of my skin. I can’t identify the emotion causing it. Is it excitement or panic or anger? All I know is I can’t stand it and I can’t stand to be in here as the aching pit in my stomach begins to stir more aggressively. Our eyes have locked in panic. How long has it been since anyone has spoken? Seconds? Minutes? I am reminded that my own desire to please her back then was part of my downfall and I only know whatever cruel force of nature that brought us back to this room together is torturing me, testing my dreams.

  “Hi Ari, it’s good to see you again,” I say it stiffly. I don’t sound like it’s actually nice to see her again. Physically she’s still attractive, but this girl reminds me of my downfall, by my own fault of course, but I know I need to keep my distance. She seems equally as stunned, silence following her.

  John of all people fills our stillness. “Great, you two know each other already.” He claps his hands in front of him as if this is exciting. Neither of our eyes leaves the other. “Working together should be a breeze. Ari, I’ve got to be heading to my flight or my wife is going to kill me. Would you mind showing Torren around and going over the timeline and responsibilities for the holidays?”

  She smiles stiffly, finally finding her voice. “Of course, sir. We will see you next weekend. Enjoy your early holiday and try not to drive Jane too crazy, relax a little.”

  She sees him off and I take the time to watch her and take her in, to study her every move. She looks different, but the same. Probably just older and more mature but she’s definitely different. It dawns on me that I also probably look different in her eyes as well. I have turned to stone, I am hard and rigid, where I once was soft and carefree. I am nothing like who I used to be. I used to open myself to hurt. I used to be vulnerable. I used to let others dictate my emotions. It’s been years since I’ve had that feeling. I miss the connection, but I don’t miss the defeat I would feel when I was betrayed.

  When she turns around, I avert my eyes from her. I glance around the office space and the conference room we are currently meeting in. I’m tempted to walk my happy ass right out of here. This job is big money, but I certainly don’t have to have it. I can find other agencies.

  “Hello again,” she finally replies. She smiles coolly, yet awkwardly. A pleasantry passed between strangers. “It looks like you’re doing well. Why don’t we go over scheduling and get you settled in.”

  “Yes, okay.” I follow. Noticing the stiffness still present in my tone.

  She begins showing me the schedule for the upcoming weeks. I only half listen to all the holiday parties we have arranged. I cannot do this. Even being in the same room with her feels toxic to my recovery. Naturally, I can’t help but want to relive those days with her, to ask her all the questions I always wanted answered. I am reminded of all the time I spent in prison and everything about it feels surreal. I can smell the old spoiled mold throughout the cold cell I lived in. I hear the loud clanking of the metal bars and the yelling of the upset and mentally ill men who scream all day just to attract the guards for some attention. The fear and the threats aimed at me are all so real again and I feel cold and clammy.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind I know it’s fake, I can see Ari here in front of me. I practice the things Barb has taught me and I breathe in deeply, and out slowly. I pay attention to all the tactile things I notice around me. My fingers on the desk, my feet in my too tight dress shoes, the sound of Ari’s pen scratching out notes. I breathe deeper than necessary and blow it out slowly. I dance my eyes back and forth between her and her charts and after a few minutes, the flashback starts to ease. Barbie would want this for me, she would want me to fight this fear, and find peace from it. I’m reminded of Ari’s own pain, and that she may or may not have worked through it. I return to the present and I study her. I soften toward this situation we have both found ourselves in when I finally start to notice her own discomfort. She’s talking rapidly, with a tinge of sweat on her brow and her hand taps out an unfocused rhythm on the table beside her. We are in this together, like it or not. It would only benefit both of us if we made it work. This is not the end of the world.

  I attempt to redirect my focus to the work in front of me. I intently review all the documents lying before me, studying and throwing all my attention there to prevent any further memories. The schedule is demanding. Multiple parties some nights and I’ll have to divide the few men I have between them. A six-week contract, extending through December and into the new year. We have two weeks to prep before the parties begin and this is where I will be needed most. I read over the contract that initiates the business deal between Eventor and Safe Keeping. Everything looks pretty clean cut. Safe Keeping will be paid per party and receive payment upon successful completion of that event. The more prestigious events, with celebrity attendance, or the rich and powerful, come with bonuses. My brows furrow as I read over the entirety of the small print, not wanting to leave anything unnoticed. However, I feel Ari become restless beside me, shuffling other paperwork and periodically staring at me to determine if I’m going to sign the paperwork. She probably wishes I would refuse, but I know she can’t verbalize that. Of course, making her suffer through it might be worth it as well. We haven’t exactly eased into a comfortable balance between the two of us yet.

  “I can request an additional bonus from John if you complete all the events. It’s my understanding you are still a fairly new agency. I’m not sure if you’re capable of meeting the demands listed but we are shorthanded and the holiday season is upon us already.” She hesitates as if to bargain with me.

  I glare over to where she sits. I don’t want her pity money, but I know my guys would appreciate the extra cash. “That won’t be necessary. The contract is fine as it is and my guys and myself can definitely meet everything here. It mentions a sign-on bonus?”

  “Yes, if you agree to the terms and sign, I have the authority to cut you a check.”

  I reach for the pen lying on the table and pick it up scratching out my signature on the paper.

  There it is. Official. A signed contract bonding our two businesses. The next six weeks will be a bumpy ride. This is a dangerous game we are playing, but I think I just stepped up to the plate to bat, play ball.

  Her terse voice follows the scratching of my pen.

  “Follow me to my office. I’ll need my computer for the check.”

  Chapter 17

  Ari

  He strolls around my office, and I attempt to avert my gaze as if to not come off as a creepy ex-girlfriend. I line the check up in the printer and type up his company name on the template. It feels as if he is invading my space, a space that was supposed to be mine. To even know he’s in the same city sends a stifling sensation through me. I grab the check off the printer and sign it.

  I hand it to Torren and I redden when I realize he is holding up one of the picture frames of Brad and myself.

  “You know, for a while after we…parted ways… I wondered if you and I were meant to be. Like if we were those fated young lovers and if I ruined that. I was worried we would never find what we were looking for in someone else, and worst of al
l that we would never find what we were looking for in each other.”

  I listen to his voice, not having heard it in many years. What might come from his mouth frightens me. I could have gone on pretending there was no past between us as we had in the conference room, but I guess if it had been me who stumbled upon a photo of him with another woman, I may not have been able to hold back either.

  “I never found that person though. It’s good to see you have.”

  He doesn’t sound happy. His voice is gruff and aloof, almost cold. I’m overwhelmed with so much confusion about our past. I’m angry about it still. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m still so ashamed of our past and I know working beside him for a few weeks is going to be so much fucking harder than I ever expected seeing him again would be. Our past is overshadowed by grief and trauma and so little of it still seems pleasant at this moment. It was childish, a weak blinded relationship, if you could even call it that. I never knew what to call it.

  I know we had to address it at some point, but I was hoping it could be closer to…I don’t know, the day he left again. It’s a subject that brings a sudden ache to my chest and stomach. I’m not truly prepared to drudge up old memories and make each other feel better about them. Things turned out the way they did, and there isn’t anything either of us can do to change those things now. Ideas of fate and destiny circle around my brain. Was it fated that we left each other? We were never truly a part of each other’s worlds. Or is it destiny that we are here together again being tortured by glances and reminded of our worst mistakes. Either way, it seems a cruel and unusual punishment to relive history.

  “So,” I say at an attempt to change the subject to anything else. “How did you get into security work? I don’t recall you ever expressing an interest.” I take the opportunity to study him, to catalog all his changes over the years. Shorter hair, more facial hair, tired but stony eyes. I store them in my mind, assigning them to different areas of my brain like the Dewey decimal system.

  “I befriended one of the correctional officers when I was in prison.” His tone is stiff and short with me, not giving away any emotion. Right. Fuck. Touchy subject.

  I never quite expected a reunion to go like this between us, and boy had I pictured it a million times.

  “He wanted out of correctional work and so when I hightailed it out of Layton a year after getting out, he came with me. We’ve worked together ever since, building the company from the ground up.”

  “Neat, That’s great. Really great. Good for you.”

  “And you? Where have you been the past couple of years?” he asks this with curiosity tinting his voice. I clear my throat and breathe in deeply.

  “Rice. I went to Rice. Business degree, the ultimate ‘what the fuck am I doing with my life degree.’ But I double minored. One in sociology, and the other in astronomy, but that one was just for fun.” I clear my throat again, it feels desperately dry and I begin to look around for a bottle of water. I feel as if I am babbling, desperate for the tension to ease and I only hope he’s not thinking of the many nights we spent under the stars. “I spent a year at another company and then John found me at an event one night and offered me a spot here. I got here three years ago as John’s administrative assistant and he’s slowly learning to let me take over so he can afford the time off and see his wife some.”

  He doesn’t respond, simply nods his head. I absorb the way he looks in the millisecond I allow myself to gaze at him. His demeanor strikes me as a completely different person, like I stumbled upon Torren’s twin, a separate body and mind from the man I knew eight years prior, but his face is the same. The same boyish looks, although his hair is shorter now, more groomed than in his younger years. He looks like a man now, and a successful one in the suit he’s wearing.

  “And your senior year? How did it go?”

  Fuck, not this. I purse my lips, debating how to go about this. It’s not healthy for the office to know about our past, and I feel it’s probably best if we don’t discuss it outside of this office.

  “Let’s try to avoid discussion about our past. I don’t think it will do us much good here.”

  His face scrunches and I see hurt masked as anger behind his eyes. “And there it is, the shame I’ve become so accustomed to. So, does that mean John doesn’t know about my record?” His tone is clipped and irritated. His hands clench by his sides and I feel constantly reminded that I don’t know this Torren. I don’t particularly enjoy him marching back into my life and being a rude ass either.

  “He runs background checks on everyone. I’m sure he knows, but John doesn’t care about those things as long as you have a good track record. He cares about his business. He cares about references and good reviews. THAT’S how he picks vendors.”

  He nods his head understandingly, and his body relaxes visibly in front of me. “Alright then, we won’t talk about the past. Let’s talk about now.” His new demeanor switches so rapidly I’m not sure what to make of it. Gone is the tense asshole, replaced with a man who reminds me of my yesteryears. A small smile lifts his face and I know immediately that maybe I do prefer the asshole in him. Assholes are safer. Assholes are unlovable.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise either. We are peers, co-workers for a brief period of time. Let’s do our jobs, and do them well. Maybe at the end of this holiday season, we can grab a celebratory drink, but until then I think it should be kept professional.”

  “Definitely. I’m just asking to be friendly, Ari. Nothing more.”

  I acknowledge his statement but make no agreements to anything. I can’t commit to even being around him, the old familiar feeling rising in my gut. I’ve gone through no less than a hundred ways to have any other member of the team interact with him for the remainder of the project. I’m not in a professional position to be handing out administrative duties. I can handle this, like an adult even. Torren finally takes the check from my hand that I had forgotten I was even still holding.

  “Sorry about earlier, it was good finally seeing you, Ace. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He waves at me on his way out the door and I shudder at how easily he falls back into old nicknames. It’s clear that I’ll have to be the one to draw the lines, enforce boundaries, and keep to the rules. Torren never was any good at them. I gather my own papers from my desk and decide to take them home. I can review the plans for set up and organization over a holiday movie on the Hallmark Channel. I head toward my car in the parking lot and head home for the day, attempting to gather my wits.

  I am already looking forward to a girl’s weekend of shopping and wine drinking to escape this social disaster I’m stuck in. I typically tell the girls everything. After college, Em moved back to Texas, and I forced her to come to Houston where I promised she would have tech jobs galore, plus the rent is cheaper than any place in California so it’s worked out well. Chelsea actually transferred to Houston my sophomore year of school and went to a private school in the area. Our friendship grew a lot in those years. She never pressured me to talk about Torren and I never pressured her to talk about Jeff, but we are there for each other when we need it. I can honestly say I was spiraling down a dangerous path and without Chelsea I may not have come out as unscathed. She saved me in many ways from my gripping depression in those years. Our bond is not always boisterous or apparent, but it’s strong and worth everything to me.

  And lastly, Nadia. I met her when I went to work for John. She’s our accountant and I see everything my parents wanted me to become in her. It was easy to be her friend, she was smart and sassy and gorgeous. I saw the old me in the way she worked, and we became fast friends. I had told her minimally about my father and his business, and my training to be an accountant, but how I’d never wanted to follow through. The four of us were a tight-knit group. We’d seen each other’s struggles, although it often seemed one-sided. People like Emily never seemed to have real problems, at least none she ever shared with us. She was so unattached to everything, that’s how she lived her lif
e. It was inspiring, and it was exhausting. We loved her anyway, especially for listening to our bullshit as long as she did, although she was usually the first to tell us to quit our bitching and pour us a drink. Chelsea was still the quiet one, but she opened up and shared when she needed to, and Nadia was full of emotion. You wouldn’t expect this from an accountant, but it’s like she needed somewhere to channel all her emotions at the end of a day filled with facts and numbers.

  Shit. Speaking of Nadia, I never told her about the meeting tomorrow morning. I call her and ask if she can help me notify the vendors with calls for time and place. She offers to call half, and I pray silently she will take security, but seeing as how he just signed today, she doesn’t have any of the paperwork with his contact information. I sit in traffic on my drive home and I start making calls. I reach out to Evan first, whom after all this time, found me again about two years ago. He’s been in Houston for the past four years running a music company, which is a far cry from the wealthy lifestyle I predicted for him. He’s doing well for himself though, Houston has a large rap scene and a ton of recording artists. He runs his own studio and has been booking talent with us for the past year and a half. I ask him to notify Joyce who covers catering and food prep and I make to dial Torren. His number is different than the one I had many years ago. I find it pathetic that I can still recall the number I dialed numerous times that summer. I am haunted, and I shake off the feeling as I press the call button on his new number. I hear the phone ring twice before a husky voice picks up on the line.

  “What? Don’t tell me you miss me already, Ace?” His voice filling my car, infiltrating the speakers. I can hear the smile in his voice and I picture the way his face looks when he does so, one side crinkling up more than the other. He hadn’t looked happy to see me, but he seemed to be adjusting better than I was, which was surprising considering the circumstances.