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“Er…” How was I even supposed to say it?I’m looking for a distraction so I don’t die of heartache over a girl?“Don’t know,” I said, finally.
“You can be honest with me.”
“I am. I want to climb higher, but I don’t know concretely. I’m just trying to do everything I can, be everything I can.”
She gave me a cautious smile. “Just don’t burn yourself out, Harper. Even high achievers need a vacation.”
We reached the lobby, and Susanna took a left, heading for the garage with a hand raised my way.
“Have a good weekend. See you on Monday.”
“Have a good weekend…” I said it even though it came out as such a hollow ghost of a whisper that she couldn’t have heard it anyway, and I turned for the door, walking in a trance.
It was cold out, and I hadn’t worn enough layers. I hugged myself tightly against the bitter wind, and I took the subway back to my street, unlocking a door and heading up a cramped stairwell and up to my apartment on the third floor, wedging my key in the lock and throwing the door open.
I dropped my bag, shed my coat, and I took off the tie, hanging it up by the door, and I undid my shirt enough to pull the necklace out—the old thing I had no damn reason to be wearing—but I paused before I pulled it off, just feeling it between my fingers.
I really… regretted… leaving.
I crashed backwards onto the bed—I had a studio unit, even though I could comfortably afford a one-bed, just because why would I need more? I had everything I needed. Everything but her.
I lay in bed, staring at the small square of window over the kitchenette, my view looking out at the opposite building and the cramped alleyway below, and I rolled the beads of the necklace between my fingers. Just feeling them. Knowing she had run her fingers over this same necklace.
I swallowed, hard. I couldn’tdothis. I knew what I needed to do, but there were times where the temptation was just too much, and I just… just let myself have it. Just a bit. And I let myself do what I was never supposed to do—imagine what it would have been like if I’d stayed. Let myself imagine being with Paisley.
Hell, I didn’t need to imagine. We’d been together for those weeks before I moved to New York, and I couldn’t believe how easy it was to date Paisley. How right it felt to be her girlfriend, even if we never could.
I couldn’t do this.
I rolled over and picked up my phone, dropping the necklace beads and focusing on emails. I didn’t like to respond to emails outside office hours, because then I’d run out of things to do during office hours, but… desperate times, and all that. I scanned through, shooting off a series of quick replies, and when one of them asked about a graphic they’d been promised that I think there’d been a schedule miscommunication about, I rolled out of bed and up to my laptop, putting something together myself. Got rid of a good two and a half hours cross-referencing everything, pulling up all the information we needed, successfully burning through the painful evening quiet.
Except when I glanced at my inbox again, I felt like the floor dropped out when I saw an email from the last person I needed right now.
Paisley M. It felt like a knife in my gut.
Information Request.
What kind of a subject header was that? Like she was working with a client? I hovered over the delete button, but I hesitated there—frozen for seconds ticking by like hours, heart pounding, my throat tight—before I opened the email instead.
Good evening,
Sorry to email you this late on a Friday, but I’ve heard from sources that you’re reliable even at this late hour.
I’m contacting you to ask a question I couldn’t find anywhere on your website. I picked a name completely at random from your website’s staff form.
I appreciate you taking the time to read and respond to me. Have a great evening.
Sincerely,
Paisley Macleod
I swallowed, pinching the bridge of my nose and forcing myself to take in a long breath. She even had terrible email etiquette. Who prompted like that without even saying the question?
Picked a name completely at random.Wasn’t she cute. I guess I hadn’t thought through scrubbing myself from everyone’s lives—hadn’t thought about the fact that Paisley knew my new employer. And that I’d told her I was corporate, so she knew she could find my email address on the website.
Dammit.
I deleted the email.
