1
Lyllian
“The best of luck to you, Lyllian, in your future endeavors,” Mr. Brennan says as he places a plastic basket with a giant yellow bow wrapped around the handle in front of me. “I know how much you love blueberry muffins, so for a parting gift, these are for you. Eat up.” He smiles proudly, his back straight and his chin aimed slightly at the ceiling.
The buttons on his shirt are stretched to their limits as his pot belly attempts to shoot them across the room. The gray hair he has left on his head is pulled back in a thin, straggly ponytail. He probably should have given up on his hair a long time ago, but I guess for some it's hard to do. His pleated tan pants are wrinkled around the ankles and the pockets, like he missed them completely while ironing.
Broad, blue rimmed glasses frame his beady hazel eyes as he scratches his ear with thick, dry fingers. He reminds me of a teacher I had back in junior high school. Mr. Tasselbeck; he taught math class.
I smile, pulling the basket in. “Thank you so much, Mr. Brennan, and thank you everyone,” I say as I look around at all the faces I'll never see again.
I'm not going to miss you.
I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm not nervous about this next phase of my life. A new job is never easy. But this place has never really made me feel all that welcome. People would bark orders at me, no one ever stopped to have an actual conversation with me.
Everyone presents their best work smiles as I pull the card off the basket of muffins and open it up. It's a simple card. There's a bouquet of flowers on the front, and the inside is blank except for where everyone signed their names.
“This is really nice,” I say as I catch a whiff of the fresh blueberries. The muffins smell incredible, but the closer I look at them, I can see it immediately. . .
These aren't gluten free.
My stomach sinks, but I force the smile to stay in place, even though I really want to throw the muffins across the room. I could do it, too. I could throw them, stomp on them, and leave them in a mushy smear across the floor as I storm out. Because it doesn't really matter what I do. Today is my last day; it's not like my boss can fire me.
Five years. Five years of my life I've given to this job, and my boss still doesn't remember that I have a gluten allergy. If I so much as eat a crumb of one of these, I'll be sick for a week.
I know I've only just been his secretary, but I must have mentioned the fact I have this allergy a gazillion times. Between different parties and functions, it comes up. I even told him two months ago, when he gave me a small cake for my birthday.
Why does no one pay attention?
Have I just been a fixture here, like a lamp?
It's deflating to feel so small and unimportant, especially because I'm one of those people who does pay attention. I know my boss hates onions and tomatoes. I know his favorite food is homemade lasagna, and that he likes to golf on the weekends, and his wife's birthday is June 5th.
I know Beth and Gary in accounting are both allergic to fish, and that Moreen has a lactose sensitivity. George's daughter sells Girl Scout cookies every year and Miranda's youngest son had his appendix out two years ago.
I know all of this because I listen.
Could any of them remember one thing about me? One simple thing that I've articulated every time there's food brought into this office. I'm gluten free. I can't eat it. Did they ever pay attention to me, or am I just the girl at the front desk, who makes copies and takes phone calls?
My smile aches as I hold it in place while I say goodbye for the last time to these people. Since it's my last day here, I don't want it to end on a bad note. The muffins aren't that big of a deal. Why should I care if I can't eat them?
It's the thought that counts—right?
Plus, I really need Mr. Brennan to give me a positive letter as a reference. My new job is basically set in stone, but I'm not taking any chances. Things can always change, and all it takes is one bad review to shut the door in my face.
So, I keep my fake smile on. Wearing it like a mask that I'm hiding behind as I say my goodbyes and pick up the box of stuff off my desk. It's a little weird to see the new secretary rolling her name plaque into the spot where mine had just been hours ago.
I spent the last week training her, and as I look over my shoulder before walking out the door for the last time, it almost feels like I was never here to begin with. My spot is already filled. My presence a memory that most of these people will forget in a matter weeks.
They won't remember me, the girl with the gluten allergy. They'll see the new secretary and my face will just fade away.
Screw this place, Lyl. You're moving on.
I slam the door shut on my car and exhale a deep breath as I set the basket down on the passenger seat. My eyes stay on the basket, and all I can do is hope that this new job will be different. That people will notice me, see me as more than just the lady who answers the phones.
Goodbye Brennan Windows, I think to myself as I pull out of the parking lot and watch the building shrink in my rear view mirror as I drive away.
Time to move on to bigger and better things.
I walk inside my apartment and hang my keys on the wooden key holder beside the door. The key holder tilts to one side, so I fix it back straight.
Setting down the small box of items from my desk on the floor, I sigh loudly. “You know we really should just replace that. Yours is on its way out.”
“Hey, I made that in wood shop. It isn't going anywhere. How was your last day?” my roommate, and best friend, Doug asks.
“As good as it could be I guess,” I call back to him as I kick my heels off my feet and walk down the small hall barefoot.
Our apartment isn't huge, but it's perfect for two people. A two bedroom in this part of the city is hard to find. We lucked out four years ago when he came across it in the paper.
There's a galley kitchen with a small dining room area that's attached to the living room. Our bedrooms are across from each other, and the bathroom is in the middle between us. We're on the third floor, and as much as I hate the stairs, we'd never be able to find anything better than this for what we can afford.
Doug is sitting at the kitchen table, looking handsome as always. His hair is a little messy like he just woke up from a nap. His thick black locks fall into his face, slightly blocking his eyes. He jerks his head, tossing them away with one quick flip.
He always looks so damn good, but I'll never tell him that to his face. One, he'll probably freak out. And two, he's my best friend. That's as far as it's ever gone between us, just friends. Nothing more.
Has the thought crossed my mind? Absolutely. Have there been temptations in the past? Yes. Have there been moments where I almost crossed over that line and did something I would regret? Also yes.
But thoughts and actions are two totally different things. I'm not a risk taker in any capacity, and that includes pushing the boundaries with Doug. We've been friends since we were seven. It doesn't matter how hot he is, or how tall, dark, and handsome he is, our friendship is way more important to me. I would never do anything to ruin it.
The thought of losing him as a friend is too hard to even think about. He's been there for me more than anyone else I know. When my first serious boyfriend at thirteen broke up with me, Doug was there with a pint of ice cream, and let me cry on his shoulder until I fell asleep. When his dog got hit by a car and died, I was the first person he ran to. Parties, road trips, family cookouts and school events, we were always together.