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“Yeah. It bugs Alex that he can’t be with them.”
The team’s been on the West Coast most of the week. They came back late last night. Alex and Darren text each other and talk on the phone when they can, but they haven’t seen each other since he got out of the hospital since the team has been away.
“Brunch tomorrow should be good for their bromance.”
“Yup. Daisy has the most elaborate menu set up. She’s been to the grocery store every day this week. It’s crazy.”
“I don’t know how she has time with all the hair styling she has to do,” Charlene jokes.
“Seriously. It’s so big. So hard. And not in a well-endowed-dick kind of way. I thought maybe when she and my mom went to the spa she might’ve come back with a new hairstyle, but no such luck.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. She goes through an insane amount of hairspray. I’ve found three aerosol cans in the garbage. I think either she should buy stock or we should stage an intervention.”
“That’s an awesome idea.”
“Buying hairspray stock?” I scoop up another handful of fish.
“No, the intervention. You should get rid of her hairspray.”
“She’ll go buy more.”
“Not if you do it in the middle of the night. Then you can save the day by offering to style her hair for her.”
I pause with a handful of fish halfway to my mouth. “Oh my God. That’s brilliant. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.”
“You don’t want her to have that hair for your wedding pictures—you know, for whenever you decide to set a date.” Her eyes are wide, like she’s afraid she’s said the wrong thing.
“Yeah. We definitely need to get that helmet under control before then.” I don’t say anything else about weddings and dates. That’s a conversation for later.
But I do know I want to tie the knot this summer. And I also know the longer I wait to say anything, the less chance there is that we’ll be able to secure an excessively large venue.
I pull into the underground lot and park in an empty spot between some expensive sporty car and a Land Rover. Files and coffee in hand, we make our way to the elevator. I’m still nervous. And angsty.
I shut down thoughts of potential wedding plans and stop wondering how Alex is doing so I can focus on what’s important, which is the presentation. Of course, that makes me think about how getting this account could make things really different at work, and I’m already experiencing a lot of change as it is.
I’m realizing that ultimately, my job—the one I’m good at but is causing me conflict and stress—is really the last normal thing I have, the last part of my life that’s the same as it was before Alex. I think the reason I’ve been holding on to the nine-to-five grind—resisting even the flexibility of working from home—is because it’s normal, and nothing else about my life is anymore.
Sometimes I wonder how my life got so complicated, and then I remember I’m engaged to a professional hockey player who’s currently broken. As the elevator rises, I realize every single person in this office knows how broken he is. It’s been all over the news—as has the massive suspension slapped on Cockburn.
Charlene puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“What?” I’m eating my fingernails so I drop my hand. “Oh, yeah. Just bracing myself for all the fake sympathy.”
“It’s not fake, Vi. People are really concerned about you.”
“No, they’re not. They’re worried about whether Alex is going to play the end of the season and how much this is going to hurt Chicago’s shot at the playoffs.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but the elevator dings.
I’m not braced enough as the doors open and we step into the office. It’s like being smacked in the face with an empathy dick. All these people come out of their cubicles— half of them I don’t even know by name—to hug me and tell me how I’m such a trooper and blah fucking blah.
It takes seventeen minutes to get to my cubicle. I’m frazzled and on the verge of tears by the time I make it. I need to get it together. Jimmy pops his head in before Charlene can even leave. He’s holding a box of cinnamon buns. My favorite kind. My stomach is all sorts of upset over the crap I’ve already put in it.
“Hey, girl, how you doin’?” He grimaces, indicating I may look like yesterday’s garbage. “Ohh, rough start?” He opens the bun box. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” My smile feels constipated.
My professional and personal relationship with Jimmy hasn’t been the same since Alex and I got engaged. I don’t know if it’s because he secretly hoped the rumors about Alex being gay from years ago were true, or because I’ve been fortunate enough to get some sweet opportunities, like managing Buck’s money and now the Darcy account, if I don’t screw it up. It’s a lot of personal attention from Stroker, which he’s usually stingy with. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Jimmy’s always had a crush on Alex.
