Insipid (14 page)

THE WINTER THAT
lasted forever is finally over, and I’m enjoying the crisp spring air while I make my way into the office on a Saturday morning. I figure I’ll get a few hours in for a project that’s due on Tuesday of the next week. The executive floor is empty save for a cleaning lady who is making the rounds and cleaning up after the happy hour that apparently occurred last night. I’m wearing jeans and Converse sneakers, my hair is in a bun, and not a trace of makeup is on my face. I quickly rush down the hall, rummaging inside my bag, as usual, to retrieve my keys. I literally walk into someone. Only that someone is someone I didn’t want to see.

“Jade!” he exclaims as my forehead smacks right into his chest.

“Lucas? What are you doing here?” I ask, smoothing my fingers over my hair and suddenly conscious of the holes in my jeans. His hair has grown out, dark curls above his eyebrows and over his ears. I can’t see the side of his face—it’s covered in a neatly groomed beard.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Thank God you’re in town.” He grins from ear to ear. “I’m here to sign the merger papers. My flight was delayed yesterday and I just arrived an hour ago. Warren was supposed—”

We hear the sound of the sliding doors as Warren shuffles in. “There you both are. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Why don’t we all step into my office?”

“Warren, I’m here to finish work on the Almeda project. I don’t have to be present for the signing. As long as you’re comfortable with obtaining all the signatures, we should be good.”

“No, Jade, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s get Martinez the signing pen so he can put this baby to rest.” His expression makes me feel like he knows more than he’s letting on. His kind heart has always looked out for my best interests and I wonder whether he’s doing the same now.

We both walk into Warren’s office and stand awkwardly to the side, waiting for him to unpack his briefcase and furnish Lucas with the pile of papers to sign. Lucas watches me as I stare out the window. I don’t turn my head in his direction. I can feel the heat of his glare on my cheeks.

“Ah, here they are. Lucas, sign three copies, all pages, and date the last one.”

Lucas follows his instructions. No one says a word. I watch the smooth glide of his fingers as he signs the documents. I think about that one day six months ago when this all started. How it took weeks for the proposal to be drafted and approved but months to negotiate the terms of the merger.

Once he’s done, he hands the pen over to me. It’s the same kind of pen… My mind takes me elsewhere and I forcefully will it to come back.

“Now your turn,” he dares me, deliberately stroking the pen with his fingers. As I lean down to cosign the same pages, I catch him discretely typing a message on his phone.

007:
It’s killing me, standing this close to you without being able to touch you.

My phone buzzes softly as soon as I lay the pen on the table. For a transaction that took months to accomplish, the conclusion turns out to be pretty uneventful. Not much unlike the end for Lucas and me.

“That’s it, folks. The deed of sale is done. Lucas, we’ll send you three executed originals in the next day or so. Both of you are, well, free to go.” Warren emphasizes the word
free
as he swats his hand in the air to dismiss us.

I don’t move. Lucas doesn’t either. He’s waiting for me to leave Warren’s office so he can follow me out. He looks at me with obvious disdain, wondering why I remain standing there.

“It was nice to see you again, Lucas.” I extend my hand out to shake his. “I need to catch Warren for a few more minutes with questions about my project. Have a safe trip home.”

Warren swings his head from side to side, glancing at him and then at me. Lucas reacts initially with a slight shaking of his head and a bewildered look on his face, but once again, his business side takes over and he plays along so glibly.

“Thank you for everything, Jade. Good luck with all of your future endeavors.”

My heart breaks at the finality of his words. He walks out the door without a sound and I’m left trying to find the perfect excuse to remain in Warren’s office.

But not before he takes the pen with him.

“What was that about?” Warren asks, his face enveloped in worry.

“What? The pen?” I spit out distractedly.

“What pen? No! I want to know if you’re okay,” he restates.

I shrug my shoulders casually, trying to expel the concern on his face. “Yeah, I didn’t want to prolong the poor guy’s stress. At least it’s over now and he can stop having to travel here for these day trips.” I laugh in my attempt to lighten up the conversation. “Thanks so much for managing through the earlier fiasco, Warren. I truly appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Jade. You did a wonderful job with the proposal. This is just another successful project under your belt. You should be proud of yourself. Now, about Martinez. I would still suggest that you stay away from him. I don’t trust the guy. I think his letting people know about your friendship was an underhanded move on his part. There are users in this world, and I think he’s definitely one of them.”

I don’t say a word. I feel dishonest and hypocritical. I had played just as large a role in our deception and it’s never going to be the same after this. The image of honesty and integrity that I had built over the years was all a farce. Everything catches up with you eventually; the truth always wins out. And when it does, I’m going to have to own it. Every little fractured piece of it.

MP:
I wasn’t able to tease you about your hair.

I RUN DOWN
the building steps to catch a cab four hours after I see him in Warren’s office. As I stand on the corner with my hand up in the air, I’m caught unaware when he wraps his arms around me from behind. In his right hand is a bag of Cheetos and his left hand holds two bottles of Coke by their necks.

“Come sit with me,” he whispers into my shoulder as he kisses it, “for old times’ sake.”

I can’t help but smile and nod my head. He leads me down the street away from the building and across the bridge. We find some steps to park ourselves for a few minutes. The March air is still chilly but tolerable.

“I’m sorry about what happened this morning,” I say, gently rubbing his arm with my fingers.

“I understand what you’re doing. I don’t blame you. I’ve been a total shit.”

We tear open the bag of chips and devour what’s inside it for a few minutes. I laugh at his words. His Spanish accent makes it sound like “sheet.” He digs his fingers into his hair and I gently reach out to smooth the unruly strands that have just been mussed up.

“Long, no? I haven’t had a haircut in two months.”

“It looks good,” I assure him tenderly. “When do you leave?”

“I’m taking the midnight flight out. I have to be in Seoul by tomorrow.”

“Ah. Ever the jetsetter.” I absentmindedly take a swig of my Coke.

“Did you really mean what you said in there, Jade? Is it over between us?”

“What does that even mean, Luke? What do we have?”

“Well, now that the merger is complete, can we take time to figure that out?”

“How?” I react emphatically. “You’re only here for a few hours at a time.”

He doesn’t answer. I know that he agrees with me. “There’s just so much going on.”

I give him an out. I know that he needs this. Surprisingly I feel stronger, more resolved. “I know. And I completely understand. Listen, I really value our friendship. I don’t want to lose you as a friend. Can we keep it this way for now until things settle down? I can’t give you anything more at this point. Not this way.”

He doesn’t protest. Instead, he lets out a deep sigh. “I just don’t want to lose our connection. If you promise me that we’ll still talk as often as we can, I’m going to try to be okay with that.”

“I promise,” I nudge him warmly, savoring the closeness of that instant in secret. “You’re my forever Skype buddy.”

He pulls me tightly in a warm embrace. My chest is pressed against his and my head settles in the crook of his neck. And although my eyes are closed, I hear every word he whispers. “That will have to be good enough for me.” He bends his head down and kisses my forehead. “For now.”

“CAUTION, THE DOORS
are about to close.”

The automated announcement as the train stops at every station rings in my ear. I say it in my sleep, I could hear it in my head. All day. Every day. Sunlight beams through the train windows as I silently stare out, deep in prayer. For the past two years, this has become my daily routine. Get on the train, check work email, pray the rosary. A few minutes of meditation to ask for forgiveness, to pray for my family and for my life. Fifteen minutes later and the best part of my morning will begin. Granted, it lasts for a mere thirty minutes, but that brief catnap with my eyes closed and my thoughts clear makes the 75 minute commute so well worth it. How funny is it that I wake up in the morning only to look forward to going back to sleep on the train?

Closing Doors. Is that what my life has been about? Is that why I am now doing the complete opposite? Opening them. Rebelling against life’s best laid plans? Living with the need to break free? But what is it that I’m running away from? What am I searching for?

I glance around the train at the people sitting close to me. Like me, they are all business people, familiar faces, commuting with me day in and day out. From experience, I could clearly gauge the amount of success they’ve had in their careers. By their purses. The lady with the fake leather bag, falling apart, ripping at the seams, loose threads hanging from end to end—secretary, perhaps? Is her salary even worth this commute? The lady with the latest Coach purse, no rips, no torn seams, but old and weathered shoes. Mid-level management for sure. Struggling, but smart and ambitious. She might get there when she becomes my age. And then there are only a handful of women just like me. Impeccably dressed from head to toe with a matching high end luxury brand computer bag and handbag. Burberry coat, rings on their fingers. Executive level women who don’t take advantage of the parking perk at work. Women who love the commute because it gives them the time to read, to write, to think. To escape. Sitting among a group of strangers makes me feel inconspicuous. Everyone has their sins too, I bet. Were mine worse than theirs? Did they live their life in full color? How can I get in on that life?

Who am I to judge these women? Look at me. Every other day, I alternate between a black outfit and a brown outfit. This is so reflective of my monochromatic life. I guess that’s how I’ve managed to keep the distinct separation between my work life and my home life. Black at work, strong, professional and always on top of everything. White at home, bleached, waxen and faded. Except that the black and white is now gray. The fear of living, the hesitation towards anything out of the mundane and ordinary has been blown out of the water. I’ve crossed the line this time, and there’s no way I can ever turn back. The sudden weight of a body on the seat next to me transports me back to the present.

“Hi.”

I glance over to find a man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket looking right into my eyes.

“Hi,” I whisper back, turning my head away to stare out the window.

“Nice spring day, huh?” He smiles, his eyes never moving from mine.

“Yes.” I nod, my look expressionless as I slide away from him, squeezing myself closer to the window and avoiding the light brush of his jacket against my arm.

The rest of the train ride continues in silence. I close my eyes and force myself to clear my head. Restart and regroup. That’s what I need to do. Instead, my thoughts run away from me so fast that I find myself lost in a tunnel of memories.

Inside my head is a picture book of the people I have loved. And lost. And when the truth finally surfaces, who will be left to love me? When the damage is revealed, will it explain the reasons for my actions? Will it justify the way I reacted towards him? Will it clarify the reasons why I was willing to risk everything for one single moment of color in my life? Why did I choose him? Or did he choose me?