The afternoon moves quickly after that.
Meetings.
Editorial notes.
A long discussion about autumn acquisitions in which two senior managers use the phrase market appetite often enough that I briefly consider throwing myself through a window.
Still, I enjoy it.
That is the irritating part.
I enjoy the pace, the competence, the challenge of being useful in a new machine. By five o’clock I have forgotten twice that I am technically rebuilding my life on another continent.
By six, most of the office has emptied.
I should go home.
I don’t.
I tell myself I just want to finish the final notes on a manuscript.
Then I answer two emails.
Then another.
Work has always been very accommodating like that. It never asks why you are still there. It simply accepts the offering.
By the time I finally lean back, the office is almost silent.
The city beyond the windows is dark now, all glass and light and thin white lines of traffic far below.
I sit still for a moment.
For most of today, I have been fine.
Better than fine.
I have laughed. I have worked. I have argued with Luke. I have had lunch like a functioning adult who definitely isn’t one inconvenience away from an existential crisis.
But quiet is a bastard.
My phone sits beside my keyboard.
Silent.
No messages from Mark.
Nearly two weeks of exactly what I asked for.
A clean break.
No blurred lines. No trying to stretch a weekend into something practical. No dragging out something that had an expiry date stamped on it from the beginning.
Sensible.
I am very good at sensible.
I unlock my phone.
