“Okay, well,” I said quietly. “Marjorie would like to meet with you all early next week. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you work out who’s going when.” My voice was low, husky, and I did this weird sort of pivot maneuver on the polished cement floor in slippery pumps and practically fell over. Grabbing the edge of the table, I recovered in time to not fall flat on my face.
“Are you all right?”
“You okay?” Kirill and Hammer spoke at once.
Without answering, I straightened and left the room, mercifully alone again.
I went through most of the rest of my day by rote, pushing thoughts of that weird encounter in the astronaut office out of my mind.
In spite of my dorky clumsiness, I was still proud of how I’d carried myself, how I’d fought to maintain a calm demeanor whenever I was near him, whether it was during the VIP factory tour or this quick encounter today. I didn’t want to let him see how much I was hurting, so I fought to remain calm, serene. To maintain the façade of being unaffected, in spite of all the turmoil inside.
Ryan was already crushed under a mountain of guilt. He couldn’t afford to add my heartbreak to that heavy burden. As much as I hated that he’d done it, and questioned constantly why he had done it, I couldn’t let him punish himself. It ran counter to everything I was about.
That evening, however, I decided to give in to my misery and dive into a pint of mint chip ice cream. Häagen-Dazs with extra-large chocolate chunks. I was five spoonfuls in when the doorbell rang.
I suspected who it might be. She’d texted me pretty much every day since our talk in the hallway to ask if I was okay.
I was wearing pink fuzzy pajama pants with monkeys all over them and a pale pink tank top when I greeted Pari at the door.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I said.
Her gaze hardened. “I really don’t think it is. It was pretty obvious I was going to crash your one-woman party tonight.”
I shrugged. “I may have had an inkling, yes.” I stepped aside, letting her enter.
She immediately zeroed in on my carton of ice cream on the coffee table. “Ah, Gray, really? How cliché.”
Pari lifted up her hand, holding a plastic grocery bag. “I actually have two more for you in here.”
I grabbed her a spoon, let her choose the flavor she wanted, and put the rest away while we settled in on the couch. I was strangely reminded of a night like this two months ago, the night I’d watched the documentaries about Ryan and his interviews, taking notes.
We dug into our ice cream, though I’d almost had my fill at that point. Pari related a random funny story from work, and I listened attentively—the thing I did best.
After I stashed the remainder of my pint of ice cream in the freezer, I asked Pari if she wanted me to do the same with hers. “Hell to the no, girlfriend. I’m making all this disappear!”
“Are you doing okay?”
She swallowed another spoonful with a wicked grin on her face. “Better than okay.”
I smiled. “I take it you and Victoria…?”
She took another spoonful of ice cream as if mulling over how to answer me. “It’s complicated. We’re taking it slow. Victoria felt hurt because of how I acted after that night we spent together. I’ve apologized and explained, but I respect her reasons for wanting to go slow.”
I rested my elbow against the arm of my chair, my fist against my cheek, smiling.
“What’s the goofy smile for?” she asked, darting me a suspicious look. “You’re supposed to be depressed.”
I shrugged. “Just happy for you. And, you know, you sounded really grown up just then. Almost like…”
She brandished her spoon in the air at me. “Don’t say it!”
“An adult!” I finished, laughing.
She overexaggerated a wince as if she’d heard a loud noise. “Damn, you said it. I’m not ready for adulting, Gray. You know this.”
“How well I know this,” I said with a long sigh.
She scowled. “You will be happy to know that I have no ice cream that I can fling at you in response.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Just being agreeable.”
We paused again after she trashed her carton and washed her sticky hands. When she came back, she floofed the back of my haircut before sitting down. “I love your new hair, by the way. Was that part of your breakup makeover?”
I put my hand to my hair, remembering how Ryan had run his fingers through it. Don’t ever cut your hair.
I smirked at her. “I was overdue for a cut. No need to call it a breakup makeover.” I flicked her a careful glance. Maybe it was one. Even though I hadn’t known that was a thing.
Pari peered at me, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing. “Are you that well-adjusted? Or do you just hide it so well it’s hard to tell?”
I shrugged. “Maybe both?”
“I mean, how do you not want to wring his neck or at least put your foot out to trip him in the hallway at work?”
I opted not to answer. She didn’t have to know that I’d maybe had a fantasy or two about kicking him in the shins while wearing pointy cowboy boots—perhaps as recently as this afternoon.
“Oh, believe me, this breakup is smarting just as much as it hurts anyone else, I suspect. If I seem to be taking it in stride, it’s just because I’ve had lots of practice.”
Her brows rose. “With breakups?”
I laughed. “No. No way. Practice with hiding what’s going on inside. My parents both nearly had twin nervous breakdowns when my first valve replacement failed. I was sixteen and critically ill, and at first the doctors didn’t know why.”
“It’s hard to imagine your dad losing it about anything.” Pari leaned forward, picked up a glossy coffee table book about exoplanets, and began to page through it.
I sat back, thinking, still processing what I’d learned the previous week about my dad talking to Ryan. Dad had threatened to pull out of funding the company if Ryan kept the relationship with me. The more details I’d tried to pry out of Ryan, however, the more he’d clammed up about everything.
And I clearly wasn’t in a position to confront Dad myself. At least not until after the test flight. My hastily devised plan was to bide my time until after the test flight, minimizing contact with my dad until then, then dropping the bomb. Hopefully with the funding threat out of the way, there might even be hope for a reconciliation with Ryan.
That was assuming the only reason he’d broken things off was because of my dad and his misguided blackmail. With the way Ryan was deep-freezing me, it was hard to tell if getting back together was something he might even want anymore. My stomach twisted into knots.
“Dad can lose millions in a day when the stock market takes a tumble, and you’d hardly know it from his mood at the end of the day. He always left his work at the office. But…” I shrugged. “Family is different. Kids are an extension of the parent, in many ways. He’s always been overprotective.”
And I’d been a fool to assume that he’d drop that behavior once I became an adult.
Somehow he’d found out about the burgeoning feelings between Ryan and me, and he’d done what he could to quash it. And whenever I thought about what he’d done, I grew so angry I could hardly think straight.
Until I could get that under control, I’d be letting all of Dad’s calls go straight to voicemail.
When the doctors told me I’d need a new valve replacement only three years after the first one, I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Open-heart surgery is one of the most painful things a human body can endure and recover from, and I remembered every bit of that pain from the previous one.
I didn’t want to go through it again. In my teenage angst, I might have just as soon given up and picked the alternative—no surgery and certain death.
“When your parents are sitting at your bedside day and night barely sleeping and eating and half out of their mind with worry, it’s not the best time to fall apart and start crying. I learned to suck it
up.”
I hid the pain, and the anger, and the Why me’s. And I learned to be a brick wall, finding my stoicism. Even then I knew their marriage was hanging by a thread and that only their love and concern for me was holding our family together.
“A ‘stiff upper lip,’ as my dad would say,” Pari said with a nod.
I put my finger to my upper lip as if to test the stiffness. “I don’t know why they say that.”
“Having a stiff upper lip makes it hard, especially with feelings.” She frowned. “I mean, your job is to listen to everyone else talk about their problems and their feelings, but you don’t get to have your own.”
“I have them. I just keep them contained.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “You’re the expert, but is that healthy?”
“I guess we’ll see.” I shrugged. “And maybe, maybe I was mistaken in my feelings for him. I’m still sorting it all out.”
Now would be a great time for a subject change. Fortunately, Pari was very susceptible to those, especially if I threw in just enough gossip to whet her appetite.
She blinked. “Okay. But—”
“Hey, I had a quick question. What’s the lights-out board test?”
She frowned only briefly at having been interrupted then looked at me. “What’s the context?”
I related the argument I’d walked in on in the astronaut office without using names of who was arguing what, just to be safe.
Pari absently twirled a dark, glossy strand of hair around her index finger, thinking. “I’m not sure. I think it’s one of those mission-critical scenarios they have to run through in order to be able to handle emergencies. I don’t work on the capsules though. But I know who I can ask. I’ll get back to you on that.”
After we watched a little TV and chatted some more, Pari went home and I dove under my covers, having long since felt a weird sort of melancholy settle heavily over my shoulders.
I hadn’t been aware of the sadness until it was just there. And I wondered if I’d made the transition into the next stage of grief.
Fourth Stage: Depression
The sadness, crying, and excessive sleeping lasted through the weekend. Clearly, I was battling a bout of depression. And when Monday came, I did the unthinkable for the very first time.
I called in sick. Me, who’d had perfect attendance to all my classes as an undergraduate and a graduate. Me, who rarely got sick anymore, presumably because I’d already blown through my lifetime share of that, if such a thing were the case.
I wasn’t ungrateful for my newfound health.
But now, despite knowing in my head that this was normal, it was a hard decision to make. I needed a few days to recoup, and I couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed.
You’re not at work today, everything okay? Pari’s text came on Monday afternoon after I’d awakened from my second nap of the day. When you’re depressed, you go for naps like a hobbit goes for snacks and meals.
Just needed a little break. I’m fine, I replied, opting to keep it as succinct as possible, lest she appear on my doorstep tonight with more pints of ice cream. Ah, Pari, ever my junk food enabler.
I got an answer back re: lights-out board test you asked me about. Apparently, it’s a dark test to see if control board for capsule can be completely rebooted in full darkness to simulate board losing power on dark side of the planet.
I frowned, replaying the argument in my head again. Lights out. Darkness.
Ryan refusing to get it done.
A weight sunk in my stomach as I contemplated the ramifications. And as those additional thoughts turned in my head, I found I now had even more to worry about than just the demise of a burgeoning relationship.
But I tried to be disciplined about it. I only allowed myself the weekend and those two extra days to indulge myself in the misery. I slept as much as I wanted to—which was a lot. I ate junk food. I went to the movies.
And when I walked into work on Wednesday morning, I didn’t feel much better, but I’d forced myself to dress in something new, wear makeup and fake it.
I was doing fine until, an hour in, I got a text from Marjorie.
Had to run off-site to finish up some training for the new group of engineers today and it’s taking longer than expected. I need the last astronaut survey interviews done. Can you handle that for me?
I blinked, my heartbeat speeding up. A real-live interview. Some actual counseling time, even if it was just routine. A break from writing reports, tabulating surveys, and developing training protocols. That actually sounded like some fun.
I keyed in my response. Sure thing. What time and who with?
Her response zipped right back. Everything’s all set up. Kirill is just before lunch and Ty is right after. I’ve already got the other two.
I sank back against my desk chair, deflated. Of course, one of them had to be with Ryan. Because lately, this was my life.
Well…shit.
Chapter 11
Ryan
After lunch on Wednesday, I was due to attend my regularly scheduled—and duly annoying—mental wellness check with Marjorie. I’d filled out the damn questionnaire and sent it in, hoping she’d give this one a pass, given how close we were getting to the actual launch of the vehicle test flight. I didn’t have time to burn sitting and fielding shrink questions when I could squeeze in some more time in the simulator.
I almost—almost—blew off the interview. I had a plan to offer to Skype with her until Kirill offhandedly mentioned at lunch that Gray had done his interview instead of Marjorie.
All three men’s gazes landed on me as I paused, mid-chew. No one had said a thing when I’d rudely blown her off in front of them last week, but they’d gotten the intended message. Not only had I been pissed about Gray overhearing our disagreement, I’d also wanted to make it damn clear to the guys that she and I were no longer involved.
And that they should butt the hell out of my personal life.
Noah, thankfully, recovered first, realizing the awkwardness of the moment. As usual, we were back to coldly cordial and a long way from our former friendship. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “So, how did AJ like Disney? I heard you took them last weekend.”
I swallowed my bite, nodding. “He loved it. Wanted to do every ride twice. At one point, I sent Karen off to shop and just did whatever he wanted.”
A strange expression crossed Noah’s face. “She’s doing well?” he asked, his voice slightly lower. I frowned. There was something weird going on with him and Karen. Something awkward. But far be it from me to pry.
Karen and Noah were grown-ass adults. They could figure it out. Besides, I’d had my own issues with Karen. And they’d improved greatly since she and AJ had been here.
“You are having a lot of fun spoiling that kid,” Hammer said with a smile.
I nodded. “Gotta agree that I am. It’s tons of fun. It’s going to suck when they go back to Texas.”
Lunch wrapped up quickly. The guys went back to our office, and I headed over to Marjorie’s. The door was closed, and I rested my hand on the doorknob, pausing to take some deep breaths before I opened the door.
Then I remembered that I should probably knock, so I raised my knuckles to the door.
“There’s no one in there,” a soft voice said at my shoulder.
My head whipped around. Gray was standing just beside me, wearing a creamy lace scoop-neck blouse and a pale blue skirt, simple earrings and a gold chain around her neck, and pale pink lipstick on her lovely mouth. Without thinking, my eyes sunk to her neckline. I could easily spot the top of her scar, which she’d made no effort to hide.
I was simultaneously annoyed and proud of her. Annoyed because she still appeared so together, so calm about all of this.
It seemed obvious that she wasn’t missing me the way I’d been missing her.
And I had to admit that more than a little of my recent hostility toward her came from that.
But I was proud that she
wasn’t hiding herself anymore, trying to blend into the background.
Gray, I’d once reflected, was the blandest color ever, and she’d chosen that name for herself to blend into the shadows. To not be seen.
But gray wasn’t the bland, nothing, absence of color I’d once thought. No. Gray was the color of a presaging storm, the twilight sky after an unusually clear day, a foggy beach. Gray was the color of a pristine, uncut diamond, the color of distant, eternal starlight originating thousands of years before we were born.
Gray was the strength of thunderclouds and the tranquility of a shining sliver of a moon.
I swallowed, my eyes meeting hers. The sensation was like a force punching right through me. I struggled for breathe reminding myself that I couldn’t afford to keep thinking like this.
And yet I couldn’t stop.
“Let’s go in, and we’ll get through this as quickly as we can so you can get back to work.” She interrupted my racing thoughts.
I nodded, opening the door and then letting her precede me into the small room dominated by a massive desk that looked right out of a 1950s typing pool.
Instead of taking Marjorie’s usual seat behind the desk, Gray sat in one of the two chairs on the other side, gesturing for me to take the chair beside her. She pulled out a sheet of paper from a royal blue file folder and clicked her ballpoint pen, poising her left hand over the paper.
“Marjorie was called away today. But if this is too weird for you, I can have her do it when she gets back. I’d, uh, probably have to give her a reason though.”
I released the breath I’d been holding and shook my head. I was going to blow off the appointment with Marjorie, but I wouldn’t pass up these few moments to talk to Gray. Maybe deep down I was a masochist.
“Not weird.” My voice sounded breathy, and I grasped the arms of my chair, suddenly regretting that I was sitting so close to her. It was difficult to hide much with body language at this angle. I opted to fold my arms across my chest.
Get a hold of yourself, Tyler, I urged myself. I was the one who had broken things off with her. I had every opportunity to take control of this situation.
High Reward Page 12