Let Go

Calling me a wreck on Monday morning is an understatement. Physically I'm mostly healed--my bruises are still dark and I know by the soreness in my chest that my ribs are still injured, but I also know that I'm lucky. It's my emotions that are destroyed at this point. 

Since Bryan's mother called me last, I haven't heard a thing from her. Or from him. I called his phone twice to no avail. I got the hint and haven't tried contacting him since. 

The guilt is still with me, and I carry it to work. It doesn't help that I'm supposed to talk with Kent today about my job. 

I called my mom yesterday and read his email to her, word for word, repeating some parts when she'd about over me. Like Emma, she was infuriated. 

"You were doing your job," she fumed. "You have no training in what he suddenly wanted you to do, and you informed him of that. This is more than a little ridiculous."

I appreciate her support, but still I'm worried. "It doesn't matter if I wasn't trained. I should have done what he wanted in the first place instead of trying to do my own thing."

"'Your own thing' is your job," she pointed out. Usually my mother is a little less forceful, but my accident was undoubtedly still on her mind. She'd wanted me to take a day off, but I felt fine, and I couldn't really afford to miss my meeting. 

All of these thoughts are swirling around in my head when I slowly walk into the office. I stand outside of Kent's office for a few seconds before knocking. I know he's there despite the closed door and lack of light because I can hear the radio, turned to NPR on low. 

"Come in."

"Good morning," I say stiffly. 

"Ryan," Kent says. "Sit down, please."

Just a few seconds ago I was terrified, but for some reason I am now almost calm. I take a seat and cross my ankles, folding my hands into my lap. "I received your email," I tell him, so he doesn't have the chance to speak first. "I'm a little confused." 

Kent's eyes widen, but only for a second. Other than that he shows no sign of emotion. 

I continue. "I know these past few weeks have been difficult. Everyone has had to learn new tasks and be flexible. I understand that." I gulp a breath of air, my bravado fading a little. "When we talked months ago, you were impressed with my work ethic and performance here." I recall our first big meeting... I had thought then that I was supposed to get a raise. 

"Yes, but things have changed," Kent tells me. "You are an extremely hard worker, there's no denying that. I've been pleased with your work in the past, which does carry some weight..." He readjusts his position in his chair before continuing. "But this is a changing field and a changing company. I needed you to follow my instructions, because they are more important than whatever your official job description may be."

I swallow. Now I'm nervous. What he's saying makes sense. "I wasn't aware of the gravity of the situation," I say, choosing my words carefully. "So you want me to stop writing and doing fashion pieces?" That was my entire job before all of this happened. Is he saying I'll only be entering data and working with excel now? 

Just as Kent opens his mouth to respond, a loud ringtone fills the room. It takes a split second to realize it's coming from my phone.

Frantically, I grasp at my phone, feeling my face turn a deep shade of red. Could there be a worse time for me to forget my ringer was on loud?

What seems like several eons later, I screen the call and silence my phone. Before I do, though, I see who the call is from: Cam. 

After that embarrassment, it takes all of my strength to look Kent in the eyes, but I do it. I stare at him, not backing down. 

His eyebrows are raised, and he's silent for a minute. Neither of us break eye contact, and he clears his throat. "Ryan, you've said you don't have the necessary training to do this kind of advanced programming and excel work, correct?"

"I do not," I say. Finally, he's getting it. 

Now Kent isn't looking at me anymore. He's staring at his desk, and I can tell he's thinking. Just as I'm beginning to get uncomfortable, he makes eye contact with me again. 

"I'm sorry to say this, but I think the company is moving in a different direction. We need someone who can fulfill the needs of this company. I'm sorry, Ryan, but I have to let you go."

I can't breathe. For a second, I swear I black out. The room becomes fuzzy, and it's as though everything is slowly fading to nothing. I just got let go. I don't have a job. 

Somehow, my brain goes to autopilot. I stand. "Thank you for the opportunity to work here for the last two years," I say. It comes out robotically, but at least I don't cry. I shake Kent's hand and leave. 

At first, I want to call my mom. She'd have something to say. Then I want to scream, but I'm on my way home and in public and I have to behave. Everyone gets let go, I tell myself. But not everyone gets let go just days after they survive a motorcycle crash. I honestly can't believe it. 

So I call Cam. He answers on the first ring, and when I hear his voice I have the urge to blame him, to tell him that he knew I was at work, so why call me then? It's probably his fault that I don't have a job! The ringing of my phone set Kent off. 

But I say none of that. It's my fault. I didn't do what Kent wanted me to, and they don't need me anymore. So I take a deep, shaky breath and start from the beginning. "Hi."

"Ryan, hi." Cam's voice is immediately full of concern. "Is everything okay? You sound terrible."

I laugh bitterly. "Yeah, well, I just lost my job."

"Oh God."

Neither of us say anything, but it's comforting to hear him breathe on the other end. "Look, do you want to have dinner tonight?" I say it brashly but I don't care. Something tells me he won't say no. 

He doesn't. "I'll pick you up at seven," he tells me. "And Ryan?"

"What?" I'm about to hang up, still unsure if seeing him is a good idea. 

"You'll get through this."