“At least all that rehab I paid for taught you something.” Even if it didn’t keep him away from drinking again, at least he learned a thing or two about bad habits.
He flips me off. “This job shouldn’t be the thing that keeps you together just like it shouldn’t be the reason that drives you apart. So, if you want a chance at a successful marriage, you need to let her go as your employee.”
I press the pen against the page and sign my name beside hers.
“Here.” I shove it away from me before I have a chance to shred it.
“It’ll be okay.”
“It sure as fuck doesn’t feel okay. Not when it feels like I’m losing her before I ever even had her to begin with,” I snap.
His face softens. “It’s not too late to get her back.”
“How do you know?”
“Because for some goddamn reason, she loves you despite all the reasons she shouldn’t.”
“She never told me.”
“What?”
“She never told me she loved me.” My voice drops.
“That doesn’t mean she still can’t.” He leaves my office with Iris’s signed resignation letter.
I pull out my phone before I can stop myself. I’m not going to go back on my deal to give Iris space, but that doesn’t mean I need to be silent while doing so.
I pull up our chat and text her a single word to express how I feel.
Me: Litost1.
I include a photo of her empty chair to express the suffering I feel at the reminder of how lonely I am without her.
She doesn’t respond. I didn’t expect her to, but it still makes my chest heavy anyway.
I try to get back to work, but my mind keeps drifting back to my relationship. My brain can’t seem to concentrate on any actual work, no matter how hard I try. Instead of pushing myself, I shut my computer off and spend the rest of my workday thinking of how exactly I can get Iris back.
Cal’s words from earlier seem to echo in my head.
She loves you despite all the reasons she shouldn’t.
But what if I gave her all the reasons she should?
1 Noun, Czech: A state of agony or torment.
45
IRIS
I spend my first vacation day doing absolutely nothing. It should be incredible and everything I hoped it would be, but I can’t get past the fact that I quit my job. And in a big way, I feel like I quit Declan too.
I stare up at the ceiling for what feels like hours, trying to decide what to do. The urge to check in on Cal is almost as strong as the desire to reply to Declan’s message. How could I not after he sent me a photo of my chair and a word that translates into something along the lines of feeling miserable.
I don’t know what to do with all the feelings hitting me all at once. While I feel angry at Declan for how he acted at Dreamland, I feel equally guilty to know he is suffering because of me. I’m not the kind of person who likes holding grudges. They make me nauseous, irritable, and anxious to the point of needing a Xanax.
I try to distract myself by updating my resume. I’d rather make myself useful instead of wallowing in my feelings, although the task is more emotionally draining than I thought as I review my job history as Declan’s assistant. I stop scrolling at my least favorite section of my resume titled Previous Education. It remains empty, with only a mention of a high school diploma I earned.
The shame I usually feel knowing I never went to college isn’t present anymore, which shocks me. I spent years avoiding conversations with other employees about my degrees and what my qualifications were. My self-consciousness about my lack of experience plagued me, so I worked to show everyone around me that I wasn’t a failure.
Declan’s previous words hurt for a multitude of reasons, but maybe the biggest one has nothing to do with him. Because deep down, I am a failure, but not in the way people assume of me.
I failed to face my fears. Instead, I spent years tying my worth to my position, and now that I don’t have it, I feel lost. I put off going to school and played it safe. And even when I took a risk and applied to the HR department, it was still me trying to stay within my comfort zone.
I avoided going back to school because I was scared of failure. And instead of facing that fear, I fell into a rut. One that has been going on ever since I graduated high school at nineteen. The same one that will continue to happen so long as I keep allowing my past insecurities to rule over my current decisions.
You’re not that girl anymore. You don’t need to prove your worth to anyone but yourself.
That’s the thing. I am finally ready to prove that the only limitations I have are the ones I set for myself.
I close my browser and open up a new one so I can search for local universities. If the old me could see me now, she might have a heart attack. Never did I think I would willingly apply for a college degree.
You think that would give her a heart attack? You married your boss for an inheritance that isn’t even yours.
I shove thoughts of Declan aside. If I want to get anything done today, the last thing I should be doing is thinking about him, no matter how much I want to.
I pull up a fresh Excel document and get started on a new pros and cons list focused on schools, programs, and tuition costs. After that, I create a task list of things I need to do before I can even apply, including studying for the SATs.
By the time Cal comes home from his first day of work, I’m sure of one thing: I’m going back to school.
My phone buzzes with a new message. I swipe it off the counter and unlock the screen to find it’s from Declan.
Declan: Saudade1.
A photo loads of our kitchen island. My placemat is set up beside his as if I might show up at any second to join him while he eats his pasta. This is the third night in a row he’s sent me a similar photo, each with a different word all following the same kind of theme.
Longing. Sadness. Regret.
Maybe Declan isn’t the only one suffering from saudade. From the way my chest aches as I obsess over his text, I’m hit with the urge to go home.
Home.
Shit. Since when did his house start feeling like home?
Since you started falling in love with him.
My throat tightens, and I struggle to take deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” Cal walks into the kitchen.
“Nothing.”
“Declan sent you another message?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Have you answered him yet?”
“No.” Although I want to. I really freaking want to, but the rational part of me holds back, asking questions that stop me.
What if he messes up again?
What if he is only chasing after me because he wants to earn his inheritance?
What if I choose to fall in love with him despite all the warning signs, knowing he could hurt me all over again?
My head is a mess with questions that have no real answers.
“Do you want to talk to him?”
I avoid eye contact as I answer, “No.”
“You miss him.” He states it like a fact.
“Of course I miss him. I miss him so damn much it makes me sick to my stomach because I feel guilty for wanting him in the first place.”