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." 

No News is Good News

I pace my apartment until my sides hurt, and even then I keep pacing. Bryan is on my mind, and I can't stop picturing him with a huge cast, or knocked out while a group of doctors huddle above him, deciding his fate. 

"Do you want to eat or something?" Emma suggests. She sounds exasperated. "You're making me nervous with all that walking. You just survived an accident. Don't hurt yourself any more by pacing."

I face her. "I may have survived, but will Bryan?"

"Yes!" Emma insists. "His mom said he was in surgery for his leg. It may suck, yes, but he'll be okay. I had surgery on my back after I broke it and I'm fine."

It's true--when Emma was in high school she fell out of a truck bed and broke her back. She's a few inches shorter than she was before the accident, but perfectly healthy. 

"What if he loses the leg?" I fret. I know I'm being ridiculous, but I can't help it. A sense of responsibility has overtaken me, like it was my fault that the accident happened. "I should see him."

Emma shakes her head. "Bad idea. Let him recover and be with his family. Send a card."

"I'll call as soon as the surgery is over," I say. 

Nodding, Emma says, "You're on the right path. Now, Thai?"

So I agree to get dinner with her. We go to our favorite Thai place (she drives and I wait in the car while she orders) and it is nice to be out of the apartment. 

It's only when we're at home do I think about work. Groaning, I check my emails. I have almost a dozen, but at least most of them are from designers or magazines or other blogs. I smile a little. No more excel spreadsheets for me. 

Emma sees and swats at me. "Don't tell me you're working."

"This is important!" I insist. She starts to tell me no phones at the dinner table; that's when I see the email from Kent. "One more," I tell her. 

From the opening line, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that only grows. I'd somehow assumed Kent had learned about my accident somehow and was emailing to tell me not to come to work on Monday. Not so--I was being reprimanded. The more I read, the more my stomach hurts. 

Kent's email tells me how disappointed he is that I had been "ignoring my duties" and working on "frivolous tasks." He means my articles and the contact I've had with designers... in other words, my job. My job before I'd been assigned excel duty, that is. 

Emma sees my expression. "What is it?"

I swallow. "Kent wants to talk to me on Monday."

"What? No. You aren't going to work on Monday."

"I have to," I tell her. "He's pissed."

"No," she says firmly. "You're calling off. You've had a rough weekend, and you need at least one day of rest."

I put my head in my hands, Thai food forgotten. "I might not go in on Tuesday. I might lose my job."

"Why?" Emma exploded. "Does he not know what happened?"

"I guess not." I feel as hollow as my voice sounds. Kent's email was anything but friendly--I'm in huge trouble. "He had me doing a lot of work I wasn't hired to do... And really work I'm not even qualified to do," I explain. "I hate it. Really, truly hate it. So I started doing some of my old work." I shrug. "So I wasn't getting as much done of what he wanted me to do." 

Emma is quiet for a minute. "Look, Ryan, I know you have a guilty complex. But right now you need to focus on your health and getting better."

"I'm fine."

"Maybe physically. You aren't in surgery like Bryan is, but you're mentally exhausted! You need to take a break."

At her words, I tear up a little. I hadn't realized how stressed I was until she pointed it out. "I have to go to work," I say numbly. "I'll lose my job for sure."

"Then look for a new one," Emma says savagely. With that, she grabs our plates and walks away. Probably to clean her room or something. 

I walk over and notice that more of her things are back in her bedroom. I remember walking by just a few days ago and seeing it almost empty. I don't want to say anything, but I'm glad she's here. 

Just then, I feel my phone start to vibrate. I'm so jumpy I almost drop it before I see who's calling--Bryan. 

"Hello?" I answer. This time I try to keep my voice calm. 

"Hi Ryan. It's me." Bryan's mom. I wait. I don't have any words, and she knows she's the one who has something to say. 

"He's going to be okay," she says, and her voice breaks on the last word. 

Gasping a little, I can't contain a smile. "Wow! That's incredible." I laugh. "He's going to be okay!" I repeat. 

"He's out of surgery, and should be waking up soon," she continues. 

"Great," I say. "So I'll be at the hospital in half an hour. Is that too soon? How about an hour?" 

Silence. I almost wonder if she hung up. Then: "He might not be ready for visitors yet."

"Oh. Okay. Well, can you call me when he's ready? I'd like to see him."

She makes a noncommittal noise, and then goodbyes are said. Before I know it, I'm staring at me phone.

"What just happened?" Emma says. 

"I have no idea," I say. I take a deep breath. "I think Bryan's mom just broke up with me."

Meddling

I try calling Bryan once, twice, three times when finally someone picks up. 

"Thank god--" I start, when a female voice interrupts me. 

"Ryan?" I don't recognize the voice. 

"...yes?"

"This is Bryan's mother. Sandy." She takes a breath. "Bryan is still asleep."

I don't understand. "Could he call me when he wakes up? I want to make sure he's okay."

"Look, Ryan..." She seems exasperated but then changes her tone. "I'll have him call you when he can." She hangs up without another word. 

I look at my phone, puzzled. What was that all about?

I'm still sore and a little in shock. Even though it's a weekend, I've called Kent at work to let him know of the situation. I only reached his voicemail, but I'm sure he'll be understanding. 

I plop down on the sofa next to Emma. She looks at me sideways. 

"Any luck?"

I shake my head. "His mom finally picked up. She seemed... weird somehow, though. Like she was hiding something."

"Well I'm sure she's a little traumatized." She pauses. "He almost really hurt you, Ryan."

"And now he's really hurt himself!"

"The nurse said he'd be okay," Emma says, trying to reassure me. 

"Then why wasn't I allowed in his room to see him when we left the hospital?"

Emma didn't have an answer to that. It was an odd situation. I'd gone past his hospital room as we were leaving and the curtains were drawn, the door locked. As I was knocking, a nurse saw Emma and I standing at the door and ushered us away with words similar to Bryan's mother's. "He's asleep."

I shake my head, trying to forget about it. I dont know how to feel. Guilt has been plaguing me nonstop since I woke up myself. This whole accident could have been avoided if I'd done something. Not wanted to go on the ride. Said something once I'd seen the other driver getting dangerously close. 

I'd voiced these concerns to Emma on the way home, and she'd told me I was on shock and shouldn't blame myself. 

"You two are lucky," she'd told me a million times. I knew that, but I still can't get a nagging worry out of my head. 

Emma interrupts my thoughts. "So," she says hesitantly. "Have you heard from Cam?"

I shake my head. "No..." I say slowly. The whole situation was so bizarre to me. Why had Cam of all people been there when I woke up? Why had Emma even called him in the first place? "Should I call him? Send him a text? He may have been there at the hospital, but he still broke up with me."

Emma shrugs. "Still, he deserves some credit for being there, right?"

"So I'll write him a thank you card," I say, irritated. 

"I just think he may deserve a call." She's being oddly protective of Cam. 

"You're the one who deserves everything, Em. You called him and told him to come! Although," I add, "I don't know why." I know I'm headed down dangerous territory; Emma's and my relationship is still rocky. While our friendship is currently stable due to my accident--it feels wrong to even think that something good could come from something so horrific--I know we could fight at any second. I try to choose my words carefully. "I'm not sure I'm one hundred percent over Cam yet, Emma. You saw how much he hurt me. I appreciate you wanting to help me but... why did you call him?" 

As I'm talking, Emma pulls her knees up so her legs are against her chest and rests her chin on her knees. I recognize this posture immediately--it's what she does when she's embarrassed or about to admit something she did wrong. I wait for her to respond. 

"He was already here," she blurts. 

I can't process what she says at first. "What?" 

"Cam. He was already here when I got home."

I still have no idea what's going on, and my first instinct is to assume the worst. I try to calm down a little, knowing that yelling wouldn't solve a thing. I take a deep inhale instead. "Why was he here?"

So Emma explains that Cam had been texting her, asking to see me again. "He couldn't understand why you never texted him back... I think he was starting to regret the breakup and how it happened." She's still curled up, her voice a little muffled. "I decided to give him a chance. He was coming over so we could talk about you."

I'm not sure if I should feel betrayed, insulted, or relieved. Part of me is giddy that he wants to talk to me again--that he feels guilty for what he did. Another part of me quickly squashes that excitement. 

"You should have told me," I say, my voice cold. "You saw how upset I was when we broke up. I didn't want to talk to him then, and I don't know. But of course he's the one I see him first thing when I wake up in the hospital?" I shake my head. "I just don't understand."

I expect Emma to fight back, but she doesn't. Her voice sounds pleading. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just thought you might want closure." 

"I have closure," I say rudely. Even as the words leave my mouth, though, I think about how desperately I've wanted one last conversation with Cam. Maybe I should give h a call. One last chance to say goodbye. 

Emma and I don't speak for a while. She can obviously sense how uncertain I am, and I'm surprised she doesn't tell me to give him a chance. Instead she unfolds her legs and scoots closer to me. 

"I'm sorry that I did that. Went behind your back to talk with Cam." She laughs shakily. "DJ didn't like it either, if it makes you feel better."

I sit up a little straighter. "Why not?"

"He thinks I'm meddling. Plus... I don't know, but he gets jealous really easily."

I don't know what to say. I barely know DJ, and I have so much on my mind already. I'm thankful when my phone starts buzzing--I need the distraction. Too much has happened in the last forty eight hours. 

My heart skips a little when I see it's Bryan calling. I answer quickly. "Hello? Hello?" My voice sounds high pitched and anxious. 

It's Bryan's mother who greets me, and my heart sinks when I hear the tremor in her voice. "Bryan isn't doing so well," she says slowly. "His leg is worse than expected." I think back to the nurse telling me about his broken bones. She made it sound almost trivial then, but now I know that's not the case. "He's in a medical coma, and will be for the next ten hours. He has to go into surgery." Her voice is shaky. "Now."