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“Then,” she says, “I guess you have to let him go. For what it’s worth, I liked him. You know, for you.”
And then I’m flooded with the moments that he had brought me peace, something I hadn’t known enough of in my life.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Me too.”
When I go home to get ready for work, my TV is sitting outside in the hallway with a note on it:Found in dumpster. Is this yours?Yeah, it’s mine. I’m so glad someone decided to break into my apartment and steal two of my barely-valuables only to decide that one of them was shit anyway and dump it in my own trash. They could have put it back, or at least thrown it haphazardly into the street or down a dark alley. It’s the effort to dispose of it properly that offends. I wonder if it still works.
I pick it up and start to head inside, realizing that there is a distinct inside. I have a new door. And inside, on the kitchen counter, I have new keys and another note from Jake:Please call me. I guess he did get me a new door first thing in the morning, just like he said he would.
I plug in the TV, and it still works.
Work and a sense of normalcy finally hits, if only for a few hours. Dane seems relieved that I’d decided to accept the position, and all my coworkers are happy for me, too—more so than I had anticipated. They tell me things like I deserve it and they’re looking forward to me being in charge, and it feels good. It wasn’t so good that I was able to forget what had happened this morning, but it was good enough that I was able to tuck it into a corner and not let it bother me for a while, knowing full well that I’d be forced to bring it back out and do something with it later. There were plenty of other dark and painful memories stuffed back there to keep it company for now.
My first order of business apparently, as manager, was going to be to hire a replacement for myself so that they can fill in for me while I transitioned to my new position. I spent the end of my shift looking through a pile of resumes and setting aside the ones I wanted to reach out to. I decided I could do well at interviewing and was surprised to find that I was looking forward to meeting these people and doing this job. What a relief it was to have something to look forward to right now.
Dane gives me a bunch of paperwork to go over to take home with me and tells me I can leave for the night a little bit early. I’m relieved, because I’m mentally exhausted, but I’m not necessarily looking forward to being alone right now. I grab my stuff and prepare to head out the back when Chuck passes me on his way back from the break room.
“See you later, Ruby. And congratulations again. It’s going to be fun having you as a boss.”
“Are you sure it won’t be weird for us? I mean, we’re friends, and you’ve been here a lot longer than I have. How can I be your boss?”
“Not for me. Being the boss is a flex, but freedom is a flex, too. I like the job and I like the freedom that I have right now. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed for all this time.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
“Besides, I married a doctor. I’m a trophy husband. I have to be there to look pretty for her.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, good thing she isn’t an eye doctor,” he says, nudging me. “I’d better get back to it.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I’m barely out the door and walking home when my phone rings, and of course, it’s Jake. He had been texting, and I’d been ignoring them, so I’m not surprised. But, when I go to put it back in my pocket, I accidentally answer it. For a few seconds, I’m frozen with panic. Not answering a call is one thing, but answering it to hang up on the person is an act of aggression that I’m not ready to commit to. I’m also not ready to explain that I accidentally answered it and then hang up, so I reluctantly bring it to my ear.
“Hello?” I say. It feels unnatural. Isn’t that just the normal way to answer a phone?
“Hey,” he replies. “Wow, I really didn’t expect you to answer, I guess. Now I’m not sure what to say.”
“I can hang up, if you want.”
“No, no don’t do that. I want to talk to you. Maybe in person, though. Can I come over?”
“Jake—no. I’m sorry. I just need a little space right now. I need to organize my thoughts or…whatever. It’s still just so fresh.”
“Yeah, I know. I know that. I just feel like the longer we let it sit, the worse it’s going to be. You know what I mean? I feel like maybe you’re going to sit at home and think of more reasons to hate me, or convince yourself that I don’t care, and I do care. I keep thinking that maybe you’re already starting to get over me.”
“I’m not over you,” I tell him softly.
“Okay, well—what about tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you after work, though, okay? I just need a little bit more time.”
“Okay,” he says, “I’m really, really sorry I fucked up.”
“I’m sorry that you ended up with someone so fucked up,” I say, and hang up before he can tell me that I’m not, because little does he know, I’m about to prove it to him. My mind stays quiet for the rest of the walk home.
fourteen
