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14
I arrive home on New Year’s Eve morning. I would have stayed at my parents’ house longer, but I’d reached my decision and felt a pressing need to return home. But now that I am here, I’m not sure how to proceed.
Uncharacteristically of me, I’m feeling shy and unsure of myself.
Setting my luggage on the floor just inside the door of the apartment, I take a look around at my quaint and cozy space. It’s small. Smaller than I remember, and I think it has everything to do with my staying at Niles’ house. Now I have something grand to compare it to, and while I used to love my home, even though I don’t own one square inch of it, everything is coming up short.
There’s no large kitchen or oversize living room. No fireplace to warm myself in front of on chilly nights or big screen television to watch movies on because I don’t allow myself luxuries like that when my goals are so close to being reached. I don’t have an outdoor space to call my own nor anyone to play in the snow with either. And I surely don’t have a beautiful staircase to walk up to one of my many bedrooms that could easily house mine ten times over. Hell, I barely have enough room for myself and my belongings, let alone space for a guest.
I know I shouldn’t compare myself or my life with someone else’s, but it’s hard not to when I keep looking back on that brief time with longing and regret.
Did I make the right choice by leaving?
I’ve been unsure of myself since I left and I’m no closer to feeling better about it now that I’m back. Yes, I’ve made my choice, but the longer I stand here, the more I’m beginning to doubt myself. The last thing I want is my decision to be made based on nostalgia. I need to be absolutely sure of my motivations and relatively certain of the outcome before I make that leap.
Revision made and a newly depressed state of mind firmly rooted in place, I kick the bags aside so I can close and lock the door, and then I shuffle the few feet to my right into the galley-style kitchen to microwave myself a cup of sugar-free hot chocolate.
Sipping my drink on the couch in front of my outdated twenty-inch flatscreen that’s tuned into a parade happening somewhere downtown, I think about how differently this day could be going if I’d just make up my mind and stop being a sissy. But I know that no matter what I might decide, I’m going to have to build up the courage to act it out. That’s going to take some time.
Time that ends up turning from day into night, where I sit alone to watch the ball in Times Square drop, and into the next day, whereupon I have to work just like everyone else.
No one wants to be here, but unlike me, they’re probably just suffering hangovers. Meanwhile, I’m waiting for Niles to arrive so we can talk.
Colleen enters the cubicle looking a little worse for wear, with her giant leopard-print blackout sunglasses that fill half of her face and a venti-sized cup of coffee in her hand. She grunts by way of saying good morning and plops down into her rolling desk chair, and then takes a few minutes to get her things put away and herself situated.
While the computer is firing up, she turns toward me—I don’t have to see it to know it. Her habits are ingrained at this point and the telltale squeak of her chair gives it away every time.
“How was your holiday?”
I don’t turn to face her when I say, “Fine. Yours?”
She gives a long, drawn-out sigh. “You wouldn’t believe how crazy it was.”
I spend the next twenty minutes listening to her drone on about each and every present she bought for her kids, as well as their reactions, followed by family drama at dinner, and more. I tuned out for most of it, but I clung to every word when I heard Niles’ come up.
“Wait, run that by me again.” I turn to face her now, determined not to miss anything.
“Oh, well, I heard in the Facebook group—”
“There’s a Facebook group?”
She laughs. “Of course! You should join us. There’s so much stuff going on in this office. You can’t even imagine!” She continues on, leaving me stunned that something like an office social media page even exists, and its sole purpose is to dish the dirt on everyone. Of course Colleen would be part of that.
“…he’s seeing someone in the office.”
I realized I’ve tuned out again and I jump back in. “Niles?”
“Yes! Haven’t you been listening?”
“Sorry. It was a long week.” I brush my hair back over my shoulder and massage my forehead, praying that she didn’t just say what I think she did.
“Niles is seeing someone in the company. A woman,” she whispers conspiratorially, leaning in toward me with lifted brows and wide eyes as if this piece of information is particularly juicy.
“How do you know it’s a woman?” I ask, wondering if and how anyone would have spotted me coming to or going from their house.
Colleen blinks and her eyes glaze over. She sits back in her chair. “Well, I don’t know. That’s just what everyone is saying. I’m just the messenger.”
Right, so there’s no basis in facts here. Just people running their mouths. I breathe a sigh of relief that my personal life is still mine. “Right. Well, remember what they say, Colleen.” I turn in my chair and place my hands back on the keyboard, prepared to get back to work.
