Page 9 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
I ripped the pages out of my notebook with all the grace of a second grader tearing pages from a workbook. The edges were as jagged as I felt. “Anything else?” It took great effort to keep the trembling out of my voice.
“No,” he said quietly, but the look on his face contradicted him.
Before he could ask me again if I was okay or, worse, bring up what happened yesterday, I made for my exit.
“Then I’d better get back to work,” I said, brushing past him.
Back in my cubicle, I inhaled the coconut aroma from the new wallflower, trying—and failing—to get my mind off Hailey so I could work. If I didn’t get busy soon, I’d be working late enough for the custodial staff to kick me out. Finally, I decided to pull up another IT ticket. Distracted working would be more efficient than not working at all.
I didn’t surface until hours later. I’d declined to get lunch with Anna. Declined to refill my water when my throat got parched. Just forced myself to keep plowing ahead. It wasn’t until my bladder threatened to unleash on my swivel chair that I relented. For the journey there and back, I kept my head down. I couldn’t afford to have someone stop me for casual conversation. I needed to trudge through these tickets as quickly as possible before we started tackling the first phases of the convergence project.
“Hey, Emily. Real quick.” Beck waved me over. Apparently, I hadn’t mastered the unapproachable look I’d been aiming for. “Jordan from family office emailed me about this budgeting error.” He pointed to the screen. “Have you seen it before? I’d ask Anna, but she left early for a doctor’s appointment.”
I leaned in, noticing that he had a fresh scent, an I just stepped out of the shower smell. If I could bottle it up, I’d plug it into my wallflower. Trying to keep my breathing even, instead of taking the deep inhales I wanted, I checked the error. I didn’t recognize it. Could I figure out a solution? Sure. A quick Google search would do the trick. But it was his time versus mine; I wasn’t going to take on his workload along with my own, especially knowing my paycheck probably dwarfed compared to his. Part of me knew my resentment was childish. He probably didn’t know he ran me over to get the promotion. He was new and asking for my help. I should have obliged. Made him feel welcome.
But after all that happened yesterday and today with Hailey saying she wasn’t coming back home, I felt like the strings of a violin pulled too tight during tuning. You can only endure so much pressure before you snap.
“No. I don’t recognize the error. But then again, I’m not the senior analyst.”
Beck turned to face me, looking to see if I was teasing. When I held a level gaze, he gave a short laugh. “I was just seeing if you’d encountered it before. Sorry for asking,” he said, swiveling back to face the screen.
I retreated to my cubicle and tried to work until the guilt simmered in my chest, causing me to relent. I looked up the error. It was a simple fix. I decided to email Beck, afraid if I faced him again, I’d bite his head off for something else. I copied his email from a group message Wesley sent.
Most people would have opted for first initial then last name at The Arlow Group dot net. Not Beck. He was just Beck A. How professional. I couldn’t remember what Wesley said his last name was. I checked the signature of his previous email. But it was just Beck A. there, too.
I thought it must be a bad one, and I found myself curious, running through the last names that started with A. But I shut it down quickly, frustrated at the time I’d already wasted stopping at Beck’s cube. It didn’t matter what his last name was. I closed out the email I’d been about to compose. He was a big boy. He’d figure out the error.
By the time four o’clock rolled around, I’d plowed through all my IT requests and made some impressive headway on our next project. I wasn’t used to being done so early. It was liberating. I knew I had my acute anger and the laser focus that came with it to thank.
At four-fifteen, I watched Wesley make his exit. Same time he did every day. It must be nice to leave in your Bentley while the sun is still out because you are good at delegating to your lackeys.
I considered getting a head start on processing workflows, but my hand hovered over the mouse. I hadn’t eaten anything besides that kolache. My stomach rumbled. My eyes burned from staring at my computer and trying to keep from crying over my sister. My brain felt like it had turned to oatmeal in my skull. I needed a break.
I thought of Anna and her baby shower invites. In a snap decision, I logged out of my computer. My bamboo pajamas, calligraphy pens, a bowl of instant ramen noodles, and spending the rest of the evening braless called my name. I gathered my things, high on the idea of taking a break to work on something I enjoyed.
Leaving the office before five felt like breaking the law. But somehow, that little act of rebellion filled me with new life. Until Beck joined me on the elevator. His shoulders drooped as he looked up and noticed his ride buddy was me: Emily, who liked to jump into waterways, fainted at the mention of papercuts, cried in the stairwell, and demeaned you when you asked for help. Not my best couple of days.
The ride down was quiet, rigid. Standing close to him, I felt small. He wasn’t all-star tall, but he had my 5’ 5” beat by a head. The elevator had a mirror panel in it. I glanced over. He stared at his shoes with tight eyes, looking as tired as I felt.
When the elevator stopped, he motioned for me to leave first.
“Did you figure out the error?” I asked, surprising myself.
“Do you care?”
My head whipped in his direction. One corner of his mouth seemed on the verge of twitching upward, drawing my attention to his full lips.
I snapped my eyes back to his. “If you don’t figure it out, Jordan will email me next. So yes, I care.”
“It’s handled,” he said, holding the doors to the waterway open for me. “Have a nice swim home.”
I gaped. Well, I guess someone had to bring it up. I put my arms in akimbo. “I’m just impressed by your bravery,” I said, indicating his shirt. “Continuing to put your Banana Republic collection at risk after what happened to the other one.”
He sighed. “My reaction yesterday wasn’t about you. And it certainly wasn’t about a shirt.” I expected him to explain further, but he just nodded and tossed, “Night, Lane,” over his shoulder.
Not Emily. First names were for friends. If I had known his last name, I would have given him the same sendoff. Instead, I remembered how Beck had cringed in the morning meeting when Susan used his full first name. My goodbye would be even better.
“Night, Beckett,” I said, enjoying the way he halted briefly, letting me know I’d hit my mark.
