Not a Dinner Date

For many reasons, it feels wrong to be seeing Cam again. I think of Bryan and how I still haven't heard from him, despite calling him again after my meeting with Kent. Bryan and I weren't official, but it's still weird to be seeing my ex while Bryan could still be in the hospital.  

Then again, Cam had been there for me after the accident. He was there when I woke up. He'd wanted to talk to me and had made effort to see me, so I feel obligated to meet with him. 

That doesn't mean I'm giving him another chance, though. 

I make sure to get to Marcella's--an incredible Italian place--first. This is unlike me, but I want to make sure Cam knows I'm calling the shots now. I pick a round table by the open windows. When he walks in, I want him to see me immediately.  I tousle my hair mindlessly. I didn't do anything to it after my shower, partly because I was too upset from the meeting with Kent and partly because I didn't want Cam to think I was trying to impress him. When we dated, I always made the effort to wear dresses and makeup. Now I'm in jeans and a tank top, but I am wearing heels. The heels make me feel powerful. Like a woman, not like a girl who had just lost her job and been in a motorcycle accident. 

I see Cam through the open windows when he walks by. My eyes follow him, and I have to admit he looks good. Quickly, though, I make my face stony and wait. 

He sees me as soon as he walks in and smiles a tiny bit. I wave him over. 

As he approaches the table, he looks as though he wants to hug me. He hesitates, then sits down. 

"You beat me here." The surprise is evident in his voice. He knows me well; I hate being the first to get to a restaurant. 

"Yeah, well," I say, arranging my silverware, "I'm a new person."

"Accidents do that to a person."

I purse my lips and look at him. "Is that what you came here to talk to me about? The motorcycle crash?"

"No." Cam shakes his head. "But I will say you scared the absolute shit out of me."

"I'm sure my mother would agree with you."

"I saw her there," Cam tells me. "At the hospital, I mean."

"Was she happy to see you?"

Shaking his head, Cam manages a laugh. "Testy tonight, Ryan?"

I lean forward into my elbows. "Let's see. My ex, who broke up with me and left me hanging, all of sudden wants to be back in my life because the timing works for him. I was in a crash this weekend and I am unemployed as of today." I lean back, satisfied. It's almost therapeutic listing all of the woes in my life. "You tell me if I'm allowed to be testy." The words taste good coming out of my mouth. I have more anger bottled up than he thinks. 

Cam is quiet for a moment, and I don't blame him. "Technically," he says finally, "you invited me tonight. It's hardly all about my timing."

I want to argue, but the waitress comes with our drinks. In a few drinks, my sangria is half empty. 

"About the job," Cam says. "What happened?"

So the whole story comes out, from having more work than the office can finish, to Kent only hiring one new assistant, to my complete lack of knowledge and interest in formulas and spreadsheets, to me returning to my writing and ultimately the meeting in Kent's office. 

"That's not fair," Cam says quickly. "You were hired to write, not to enter data."

"I know," I say. My drink is gone, and I ask for another. "But I don't know what to do. It's still so fresh in my mind that I hardly believe it," I admit. 

"I think you should just move on," he tells me. 

I wait for him to laugh. "Wait, you're serious?"

Cam nods. "They completely wronged you, but it sounds like to me you're better off starting over. Don't give them the time of day. Focus on finding a new job." He swirls his drink, thinking. "But what do I know about any of that. Maybe talk to your mom."

That's not a bad idea. I haven't told her about losing my job yet, mostly because I'm embarrassed and in shock. I wonder how'd she'd react? 

Our food arrives and both of us focus on eating. The silence between is isn't tense, as I had expected it would be. It's almost comfortable. 

But not comfortable enough. "Emma said you wanted to talk to me," I say after a bite of meatball. Cam looks up, surprised that I shattered the silence. 

"I did," he says. "I still do." He takes another bite. 

"Why?" I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "You finally feel guilty for the way things ended?"

Cam shrugs. "Not finally. I always felt guilty. I was just too proud to admit it." He crosses his arms, a defensive gesture. "I hated that my family split us up. You know I have a rough relationship with them."

"Your family didn't split us up," I tell him indignantly. "You did."

"Because I had to defend them!" He shakes his head. "You don't understand."

I sit back and look directly into his eyes. "No," I say. "I really don't."

The rest of dinner is relatively silent. Our waitress comes by to offer dessert, which we decline. "I'll take the check," Cam offers.

"No, we'll split it." The waitress leaves, and I look at Cam. "This isn't a date."

"It's not," he agrees. "You're still dating the guy that almost killed you."

I feel the blood rush to my face. "Nice, Cam. Real nice. Insult the guy in the hospital."

At this rate, we're never going to be civil with each other. Why did I even invite him tonight? Nothing is going to change. 

"Look, Ryan. I didn't come to yell at you or to offer you job advice or to make up for how I treated you. I'm here to apologize." He reaches for my hand, and I let him. "I'm sorry."

He seems sincere enough. I shrug. "That's more than I could ask for, I guess. Thank you."

Gently, I let go of his hand. The waitress brings our check--just one check, they always do what the guy says--and Cam grabs it. "You don't have to."

"I know," he says, placing his credit card down. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Is this what closure feels like?" I blurt. 

To his credit, Cam doesn't even look surprised by my outburst. "I don't know," he says. "Do you feel any better?"

"After tonight? About us? Yeah, I guess I do," I say after a beat. 

"And you wouldn't... consider giving me another chance?" I can't tell if he means it or if he feels like he owes it to me to grovel a little. His expression is unreadable. 

I look at him and think what would happen if I said yes. Cam was there for me in the hospital, when I was at my worst. He makes me laugh, and there's an undeniable chemistry between us. But sometimes that isn't enough. 

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I just... don't think it would be for the best. I care about you, but..." I try to word what has been swirling around my mind for weeks. "I needed you to defend me. I needed you to fight for me." I shrug, trying to act more nonchalant than I feel. "I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye."

"I understand." Cam stands up. "Can I at least walk you home since you wouldn't let me pick you up?"

I agree. We start the short walk, and I think about how this might be the last time we see one another for a while. Or ever. 

We've barely walked five hundred feet when I spot someone familiar going the other direction on the other side of the street. 

It's Marie. And a woman. I quickly decide it must be her girlfriend. She's pretty; blonde and petite, with good style. I mentally praise Marie. I almost shout across the road but decide against it. I don't want her seeing me with Cam and assuming we're back together. 

When we arrive at my apartment building, I turn to Cam. 

"I'm glad we got to talk tonight," I tell him honestly. 

"Me too." For a second I think he might kiss me, but the feeling disappears quickly. I'm not sure if I should feel relieved or empty. Right now, I feel a little bit of both. 

I grab his hand and squeeze it. "Thank you for everything."

Nodding, Cam squeezes my hand back. "Thank you too."

I release his hand and start to back away. Our meeting really hadn't gone as planned, but really, what had I been expecting? Cam and I have a connection, but we've dragged our relationship on for too long. 

Maybe he's right. Maybe I need a fresh start. 

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."