Brian catches my eye and says, “Eric had to run to Lincoln Park.”
“Oh!” I feel my cheeks start to flush. “I, uh, was just taking off. Have a good night!”
“You too,” Brian says. “See you tomorrow.”
It’s silly to feel called out by Brian, and even more ridiculous to feel a tweak of disappointment at not being able to say goodbye to Eric. After all, Brian’s right; I’ll probably be back tomorrow.
My Sunday yoga class is filled with a mix of people rather than the inquisitorial and territorial yogis I encountered during the mid-morning, midweek class. As I flow through my vinyasa, I feel much more balanced and like myself.
Afterwards, as I’m walking home with my yoga mat strapped over my shoulder, I notice that the knot between my shoulders has finally disappeared, the tension in my jaw is gone, and my mind is still. My phone rings and in my blissedout state, I answer it.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Allison? Where are you? What’s all that noise?”
“I’m outside walking home from the gym. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.” She huffs.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She parrots back, her voice rising another octave. “What’s wrong is you haven’t talked to me since last weekend.”
“O-kay.” Her voice is like an ice pick ready to chip away at my peaceful mood, and I try to defuse her. “Mom, if you were worried, you could’ve just called me.” Granted, I’m not so sure I would have picked up.
“If you haven’t noticed, I was giving you the silent treatment.”
I stop walking. “Why would you be giving me the silent treatment?”
“Because, Allison, you’re not telling me what’s going on, so I thought I’d give you the same treatment.” I can picture her putting her hand on her hip as she says this. When I don’t say anything right away, her voice softens. “Have you gone to the doctor yet?”
The doctor?
Oh! She’s not worried about me; she’s worried about my eggs.
My jaw starts to tense up again, and I feel my blood pressure rising. “I haven’t told you what’s going on because absolutely nothing is happening. Status is the same.” I pick up my pace. “I’m about to reach my building and get in the elevator so I’m going to lose you.”
“Call me when you get inside.”
“I have to shower when I get in. I’ll call you later this week.”
With that I hang up and don’t actually reach my building until five minutes later. The entire elevator ride, I fume: How dare she give me the silent treatment? It’s times like this when I wish my mother were more nurturing. Sure, she offered to pay for my treatment, but even then she had her own selfish motives.
Right now my Zen state of mind is utterly zapped and I need to get on this spa trip stat.
WHEN I GET home, my phone rings again, but this time with Jordan’s ringtone.
“Hey, I’m looking at your email now,” she says as soon as I pick up, not bothering with a hello.
“What do you think?”
“They all look amazing. You pick your favorite and I’m game. There’s just one little thing.”
“What’s that?”
“What have you done to figure out that rumor?”
“Oh, that.” I sigh. “Nothing yet.”
“I know you’re fragile, even though you’re doing a great job,” she gently reassures me. “But that’s just it: You need a job. Maybe use this trip as a deadline to make some progress on this rumor?”
“You’re right, you’re right. As soon as we get off the phone, I’ll reach out to someone at Worldwide.”
“Call them. Set something up. Then let’s book this bad boy.”
“Consider it done. I want to be anywhere but here on my wedding day.” I feel myself veering into fragile territory as I say this.
“Good girl,” Jordan says. “And now I have to get back to work so that I can forget about work during our weekend.”
When I hang up with Jordan, I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m dragging my feet on this since this rumor has been hanging over my head ever since Julie’s call. Granted it’s uncomfortable, but I’ve never shirked from doing the hard or responsible thing. So I wrack my brain and try to decide who to contact.
The obvious person would be Kate, except that she has totally ghosted me. Paige was my mentor, but also the one to fire me. Awkward. Darren is probably the next person I’m closest to there, but he’s also HR. If he knows anything about the rumor, it would probably be a breach of contract for him to offer me any information. But he was also incredibly kind on the day my life burst into pieces, and it would be good to see him. So, Darren it is. Even though it’s not exactly making progress on figuring out the source of the rumor, it’s still a baby step to reaching out to Worldwide.
Email seems the most nonintrusive method for contact, and since my phone is still in my hand, I start typing before I can lose my courage.
Hi Darren –
Hope this email finds you well! Wondering if you’d be up for drinks or coffee this week? Let me know.
Miss you!
Allie
Before I can think too much about it, I hit send and whoosh it goes. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait.
I text Jordan: Email to Darren sent. Start packing.
With that uncomfortable task lifted off my shoulders, I call each of the spas on my list to get a little more information on pricing and services. I decide on the one near San Diego since it has something for both of us—a nice restaurant and a large spa menu for Jordan, and lots of yoga and hiking for me. Jordan is not averse to working out, but it’s not a priority, and she’ll only do it to humor me, her friend the jilted bride. I’ve just finished booking our room when I get an email back from Darren.
Miss you too, girl! So sorry to hear about Neil. That calls for cocktails, not coffee. Happy hour tomorrow?
Hugs, Darren
To my surprise, my eyes start to well up. While I’ve been licking my wounds and trying to figure out my next steps, I still have friends out there missing me. It’s that sensitive situation where you’re not sure whether to reach out to or give a friend space. So I can only assume mine have been respectfully keeping their distance, or knew about Neil and are too embarrassed to reach out. Either way, I need to get back out there. I immediately email him back to set up a time and place.
Suddenly, the prospect of restarting my social life makes me feel better about my life in general, and the rush of warmth I feel toward Darren makes the world seem a much more rosy, welcoming place. I might even call my mother to apologize. But then again, maybe it’s better that I don’t. This momentary upswing might just be that—momentary.
I’M WAITING FOR Darren at the Violet Hour, a pre-prohibition-style cocktail bar in Wicker Park, far from the Loop and PR Worldwide’s office. While I’m sipping my drink and looking at my phone, I hear his voice behind me. “You started without me?”
I laugh and turn around. “Hey, I’m brokenhearted! You’d have me sit at a bar all by my lonesome with no drink in hand?” I mentally pat myself on the back for acknowledging one of the elephants in the room and being able to joke about it.