Dylan Morrison had just said two true things to me in the same conversation.
I took out my phone.
Nathan:I meant it. Come over.
I went.
33
Nathan had resigned two weeks after we got back from vacation.
Not at the end of the three months. Not after the committee finished its reassessment. Weeks after the review committee had confirmed the conditions and Nathan had confirmed his consulting position and Nathan had apparently decided that waiting out the paid leave was not something he was going to do.
He told me on a Tuesday. We were both sitting on my couch, and I was trying to beat some stupid game on my phone, and Nathan was reading, and he mentioned it the way he mentioned things he'd already decided—neutral, precise, no particular weight on it.I submitted my resignation this morning.
I had put my phone down.
This morning,I thought. Nathan Cross had resigned from a job he'd held for two years, a job that had been his entire professional identity in Boston, and had mentioned it with the same tone he used to report weather conditions.
"Nathan," I said.
"Mm."
"You resigned."
"Yes."
"This morning."
"Yes."
"And you're telling me now?"
"I'm telling you now," he said. "I told you when I had something to tell."
I looked at him.
He was still reading.
"How do you feel?" I said.
A pause. Nathan putting the book down. Nathan actually putting the book down, which meant this was a question he was going to take seriously.
"Ready," he said. After a moment. "I think I feel ready."
I nodded.
That was enough.
That was, actually, exactly enough.
Nathan's first day in the new role was a Thursday.
I was at practice when my phone buzzed in my bag. I checked it between drills, which Knox immediately had opinions about and I immediately ignored.
Nathan:First day.
Me:how is it?????
