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“Did you give him your number?”
“No, but it’s fine though, seriously. It’ll be an uncomfortable memory that makes me wince for a few days, but that’s it. The guy is like…a mega-rich trust fund kid or something. You should have seen his apartment. It was the size of an entire floor in my building. It had these crazy floor-to-ceiling windows and a wraparound balcony. I’m pretty sure there’s at least one more bedroom in there, too.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous, Ruby. No one can afford a second bedroom anymore,” she says.
“But he could. So, see? That’s why I freaked out. I was just way too out of my element. It was uncomfortable; I had a fucking panic attack. Like I said, I just have to get past the awkward morning part, then it will be a decent memory. Nothing could have come of it anyway.”
“You always do this to yourself,” she says. “You are beautiful and funny and smart and talented and caring. You’re thoughtful. You sell yourself too short, Ruby. When are you going to stop ripping your own heart out? I mean, this is huge. You never actually admit to liking anyone. You like this guy.”
“I don’t know this guy,” I tell her. It was true. I spent less than half a day with him. How could I like him?
“Alright, fine. I’m glad you’re safe. I have to go, though. We are going to Garrett’s parents' this afternoon for their anniversary party.”
I can tell by her voice that she doesn’t want to go, and I wouldn’t want to either, but I do wonder what it would be like to have things to do like that—familial obligations and awkward family photo sessions.
“Have fun,” I tell her.
We hang up and I start to wonder if maybe she was right. Do I do this to myself? I like to think that I’m just able to be honest with myself in a way that most people can’t be. I think that a lot of people are afraid to look in the mirror and be faced with the certainty of their own reality, but I’m not one of those people. I find it comforting. For me, a big part of that reality is that not everything is possible for everyone, love doesn’t conquer all, and not everyone gets a happy ending.
I try to center myself and find that I can’t quite do it. Not here, and not right now. The walls are closing in and the room suddenly reeks of all my shortcomings. Shit. Why can’t I just be fucking normal? I have too much to do to wallow in my self-pity right now, and I won’t be able to do it here, where the only thing I can hear is my own thoughts.
I grab my bag and throw my laptop inside, and head back out into the muggy early afternoon towards my favorite coffee shop, and the smell draws me in. I remember that I never had that cup of coffee and think to myself that maybe that is what my problem is, knowing deep down that I cannot reasonably blame a lack of caffeine on my litany of issues. Rune is one of my happy places. It’s my favorite place to write. The ambiance is natural and raw; it’s lush and so bright that it is practically a greenhouse in here. For me, it has always been a place where it was easy to be alone. The people inside are always a little bit of everything—from lawyers in suits to hippies, teenagers to 50-somethings that will forever be grunge. No one blends in and no one stands out. I sink down into my favorite booth in the back corner, throw on my headphones, and become invisible, anonymous. Here, I can be part of the world and be alone at the same time, without being left alone with myself. I think that’s the appeal.
I open my laptop and find myself to be unusually productive. It’s amazing what a person can get done when they’re trying to avoid confronting their own problems. I even forget to reply to Alex when he asks me where I’ve been.
four
Thenextcoupleofdays pass just the same as they always do, for the most part. I wake up, I write, I work. I stay up way too late overanalyzing anything that I might have said wrong that day. Anytime I feel my phone vibrating, I wonder if it’s Jake, even though I know it’s impossible. On top of the fact that I didn’t leave it well, I didn’t give him my number, so I don’t know why I expect to hear from him. I don’t feel bad necessarily, but if I said that I hadn’t thought about him since that morning, I would be lying. If I said I’d do things differently given another chance, I’d likely be lying about that, too. Someday, maybe, I’ll get my big break. And then I’ll be able to afford the therapy I so desperately need. It’s not looking good for anytime soon.
I start my shift at The Post Office around 4. Wednesdays are normally busy nights, and tonight isn’t any different. Our happy hour slides into karaoke night, and then no one wants to leave. I don’t even want to leave. I love watching other people make a spectacle of themselves—whether they’re getting booed off stage by their friends or surprising us with their perfect pitch and high notes that will make goosebumps run down your spine. Everyone is having fun. It’s all good energy, and good energy is great for my tips.
I’m slinging drinks while making light conversation with the customers and arguing about soccer with Dane when I notice him across the bar.Jake. My heart jumps into my throat. I’m excited at first, but then mortified—because what if he isn’t here to see me and this is just an awkward, unwanted coincidence that’s going to make us both feel worse? What if he's just here to tell me how mad he is? I am pretty sure I told him I was a bartender. I don’t remember telling him where I worked. What do I do now?
For whatever reason, I decide to pretend I didn’t see him. That’s the obvious, mature adult answer.Did he see me see him?I’m just going to stick to this side of the bar for as long as I can. That should work. That should give him enough time to realize what he has walked into, and then he can get out of here, because I certainly can’t get out of here. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I am somewhat certain I can feel his eyes drilling holes into the back of my neck. A few agonizing minutes go on like this before I start to wonder if I had been seeing things, and it hadn’t been Jake at all. It’s risky, but I can’t resist. I also can't continue working with my head down. It's unreasonable. I look over my left shoulder. It’s slight enough that it shouldn’t be noticeable.
Of course, I’m wrong, and it is noticeable. Even though I’d had to overextend my eyes in the most unnatural way to make the inevitable confirmation, we still manage to make eye contact. I know Jake notices this time because he’s smiling and nods in my direction. I don’t think my face does anything nearly as pleasant and I’m sorry for it, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Since I can’t really bail on my job and there’s nowhere to flee, I’m left with no choice but to go over there.
“Hey there. What can I get you?” I ask. I try to emulate sexy bartender instead of an emotionally eroded, mentally anguished one. I hope I nailed it.
“Actually, I’ve been looking for this girl,” he said. “I think we have a misunderstanding that I’d like to clear up.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Well, you see, we met over the weekend, and we had this really great night and really great sex, or so I thought, and then the next morning I asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee and to join me in the shower, but I guess she heard ‘disappear from my life without a trace.’”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be laughing or not, but I am. He’s funny and he’s smiling. It’s as infectious as I remember.
“Weird, I know. It’s a totally weird misunderstanding," he adds. "She must have been very confused.”
“Well, I can tell you this—she was definitely confused.”
“Why?” he asks. And he means it. He really doesn’t know why. He was funny before, but now he seems sad, and I’m feeling sad. I just didn’t think I’d have any effect on him and I wonder if I’ve messed up. Maybe I'd read it all wrong. I feel like I should say something along the lines of an apology, but that becomes an extra layer of difficult when you’re a person who has never really received one, undoubtedly were owed one, and never really developed proper coping skills. In other words, when you’re me.
Instead, I say, “So did you come here for me?”
“Well, yeah,” he says. He gives me a look that says he can’t believe what I’m asking, or that I’d think this was an accident. “Obviously. That girl you were with at the club on Saturday—Ally I think—we work in the same building.”
It’s Olivia, but okay, I interrupt in my head. At least I hope it was in my head.
