Authors: Debra Doxer
“I know this is awkward,” he says.
“We’ll be out of your hair soon.”
The rest of my sentence gets stuck
in my throat. He can’t wait to leave. Does he really despise me? What did I do
that was so terrible? It wasn’t unreasonable for me to question him after he
contradicted himself. Where does he get off still being angry at me? I take another
breath. I’m not going to say anything that I’ll regret later. In fact, I decide
that I’m going to be the bigger person and continue with my apology. I’ve had
too good a day today to let it end on a bad note.
“Ryan,” I begin again, and watch as
he seems to reluctantly turn to me again. I clear my throat. “I want you to
know that I’m sorry for implying that you were lying to me about your business
trip.”
He just stares at me.
Nervously, I continue. “I should
have given you the benefit of the doubt rather than sounding like I was
accusing you. I can’t really explain why I was so suspicious. Maybe I watch too
much Lifetime Television, or maybe I’ve just seen too many of my friends being
deceived by their boyfriends. I mean my friend, Katie, the one who called that
night, she told her fiancé she was pregnant, and then he left her. Can you
believe that?”
But I don’t give him time to
respond as I hurry on, not quite making eye contact with him. “Meanwhile, he’d
been lying to her about wanting to get married, and he was calling this friend
of ours behind her back. It was just awful, and that’s what was going on when
you told me you had been in New York and later said it was Chicago. So, I guess
I was just in this suspicious mindset, and I’m sorry. I wanted you to know
that.” I take a shaky breath and dare to meet his eyes. I’m surprised to see
that his look has softened. It almost appears tender. I blink up at him, and I
don’t know what to think.
Finally, a smallest of smiles tugs
at his lips. “You don’t have to be sorry, Andrea.” This time he’s the one who
takes a breath before continuing. “I completely overreacted when you asked
about my trip. And then I turned around and accused you of lying about your
phone call. I’m the one who’s sorry, and I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.
In fact, I kind of figured that you did.”
I shake my head. “I never hated
you.”
His smile forms more fully as he
takes a step forward, bringing him closer to me. “I’m really glad.” Then he
reaches out his hand to mine and grasps it.
“Finally,” Wes interrupts.
Ryan’s hand fully engulfs mine when
he turns toward his brother. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“Hardly. You’re not that
interesting.” Wes deadpans as he tries to stifle a huge yawn.
“All right.” Ryan slowly releases my
hand and takes the duffle bag that Wes is struggling with. He shoulders it
effortlessly. “Let’s go.”
“Thanks for the waffles,” Wes calls
as he breezes past me, giving me a thumbs up before heading down the walkway.
“So your friend’s fiancé really
broke up with her after he found out she was pregnant?” Ryan pauses and asks
before heading down the walkway. His scowl makes his opinion obvious.
I nod.
He shakes his head. Then he drops
the duffle bag and takes two long strides back to me. This time he takes both
my hands in his and captures my eyes with his own. “I want to see you again. Is
that okay?”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice sounding
breathless as tingles ride up my arm. I know he feels it too when he squeezes
my hands, and his already intense eyes seem to caress me.
When Wes pointedly clears his
throat, Ryan flashes a dazzling smile at me before turning and walking away.
And just like that, hope returns. I
know I don’t seem like an optimist. No matter how much I try to convince myself
that I’ve given up hope, that tiny spark still burns, just waiting for
a fan to flame it.
I hardly sleep all night--replaying
my encounter with Ryan--realizing that we’d both been willing to let what we
feel slip away over a misunderstanding. Relationships are a delicate endeavor,
so incredibly fragile, with all parties trying to protect themselves. I know
that I approach every date in a half-hearted way, expecting to be disappointed
and to get hurt eventually. I have to admit that I might be partially responsible
for the less than successful outcomes of some of my dates and relationships. I
might push a button or two, or bring something to a head with the intention of
testing it or even sabotaging it, only because I think it will happen sooner or
later anyway and sooner just seems better. But with Ryan, I’m determined not to
do that. Besides, Ryan is different. Even if I end up disappointed in the end
again, I believe that this time, it’s worth the risk.
The offer from Cronus arrives via
FedEx on Thursday evening. I sign all the paperwork and send it right back.
It’s official now, with a starting date and everything. I resign from BTS the
next morning. Rob doesn’t seem surprised. I’m nervous tendering my resignation
to him, especially after he’s just given me a promotion, well a possible
promotion for a short trial period. I’m somewhat hesitant to tell him where I’m
going. I don’t want to get Karthik in trouble for poaching. But to my surprise,
he doesn’t even ask. He seems preoccupied and eager to end the conversation.
Although he’s been friendly enough, I feel summarily dismissed.
Telling Nate is harder. I’m glad
the offer has come so quickly, otherwise I would have missed Nate when he
departed on his three week escape-the-crying-baby tour.
“You resigned?” he repeats, gaping
at me.
I nod.
“Where are you going?”
“Cronus.”
“Where Karthik and Steve went?”
I nod again. Nate is making no
effort to keep his voice low, and although I don’t have a view of the nearby
cubicles, I hear keyboard clicking end abruptly, and I picture everyone lifting
their heads to listen.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,”
Nate mutters.
“Maybe now they’ll make you project
lead.”
His expression seems to brighten as
this possibility sinks in. “You’ll keep in touch, right?”
“Absolutely,” I smile. I would miss
Nate. He is the first cube neighbor I’ve had that didn’t drive me crazy with
weird habits. I’ve had many annoying cube neighbors. There was the guy who had
to print out every email he received, getting up and walking back and forth to
the printer all day long. There was the loud phone talker. That’s pretty
self-explanatory. I spent several months across from BO guy, again,
self-explanatory. Then there was the fruit fly man. This engineer had left so
many open cans of juice and soda on his desk that he’d attracted fruit flies.
Since this particular person was also known as scary tattoo guy, no one ever
complained. So, I would really miss Nate and his T-shirt wisdom.
I always hate those two weeks of
time you’re obligated to provide after you’ve resigned. They’re a waste of
time, and they only serve to torture you with the emotional farewells of your
coworkers, most of whom will forget you within minutes of your walking out the
door.
I do email Bryn finally, to give
her the good news. We meet for coffee, and I inform her that I will still be
available for impromptu coffee breaks since I’m only moving a block away. Much
to my relief, the subject of Katie does not come up. We seem to have a silent
understanding that Katie is out-of-bounds material. Bryn and Katie will likely
not repair their relationship, which makes me feel badly, and I decide to try
to broker a peace
once Katie lands back on her feet, which might take some time.
Katie is slowly coming to terms
with her situation. She has developed a new mindset that does not include Mike
in any way, not emotionally or financially. For now, her anger seems to be
motivating her. But it’s better than crying all day and not wanting to leave
the house. Her parents want her to move in with them, but she’s holding firm
against that suggestion. She’s planning to move further out of town to a
cheaper and larger apartment, and she’s currently pricing daycare solutions. It
will be tight, but if she finds a less expensive place to live, she believes
that she is going to be okay financially. The details of what Mike will
contribute have yet to be resolved.
True to his word, Ryan does call me
the very next day. He calls from the car as he’s leaving Connecticut, after bringing
Wes home. He is emotionally exhausted as he relates the story to me. He tells
me that he offered to take Wes off his father’s and stepmother’s hands,
suggesting that Wes live with him and enroll in school here. Wes jumped at the
idea. His parents were stunned and not in favor of it. It really isn’t
practical since Ryan travels so much right now, but that wasn’t the point. The
point was to make them see how desperately unhappy Wes is. After several hours
in which everyone had their turn at tears, there was something of a
breakthrough. Wes agreed to give them another chance and to go to therapy for
his shoplifting habit if they would go to family therapy with him. They agreed.
So for now, they have a tenuous truce and lots of therapy appointments.
Ryan has to go back to New York
once Wes is settled at home, and he doesn’t return until next week, but we
speak on the phone every night. He calls each evening from his hotel room to
say good night to me. Sometimes, it’s a very long goodnight.
I’m a bundle of nerves for our date
once Ryan is back in town. It’s a cool and breezy Saturday night, and I have to
dig my fall coat out of the back of my closet. I’m wearing a black skirt with
black tights and wedge heeled ankle boots. I’ve blown my hair out straight and
located my favorite cream scarf to go over my coat. We’re going to the
waterfront for dinner, and even though we haven’t seen very much of each other,
I already feel as though we’re close somehow.
Ryan arrives on time, and my
stomach feels like it’s home to a group of circus acrobats when I open the door
and see him standing there. His khakis hug his narrow hips and a black sweater
that matches the color of his hair stretches across his broad shoulders. I’m
standing there frozen, hoping my stomach will calm down soon, when without
hesitation Ryan comes through the doorway and doesn’t stop until he is directly
in front of me, nearly touching me. Slowly, with his golden brown eyes intent
on mine, he leans down and places a feather light kiss on my lips. “Ready?” he
asks as he leans back again
“Yes.” I smile. My stomach has
stopped its rioting, but that’s probably because the pounding of my heart has
overtaken it.
Once we’re in the car I slowly
acclimate to Ryan’s presence, and I’m able to relax more. Ryan turns on the
radio. It’s tuned to a smooth jazz station again. He asks me about my new job,
and we both talk about work within the dark cocoon of the car as it speeds
toward the city.
Ryan leaves his keys with the valet
and we go inside. The restaurant is located on a pier at the waterfront. A
picture window at the far side of the restaurant glows with the sparkling city
skyline. A wall of windows across from it has a view of the calm harbor sheened
in moonlight. I’ve been here before with my parents, but it feels very
different tonight.
When we arrive at our table, I
notice that Ryan waits until I’m seated before sitting himself down. I watch as
he settles in, opens his menu and begins to read through it. As he looks down,
his eyelashes form dark semicircles across his cheeks. Before he can catch me
staring, I turn toward the window and peer out at the city beyond the glass.
It’s alive with light and movement.
Tonight I’m happy and scared at the
same time. I’ve never felt what I feel for Ryan, and I’m afraid to trust it. I
watch the way the lights that line the streets and buildings shimmer in the
darkness and I wonder if I can actually do this.
“What are you thinking about?”
Ryan’s question pulls me back to
him, and I notice that his eyes are reflecting the lights outside. They seem to
twinkle at me as he watches me expectantly, waiting for my answer. At that
moment, my answer is clear. “I’m thinking about you,” I tell him quietly. Then
I smile at him hoping my eyes are projecting back the warmth and tenderness I
can clearly see in his.
I notice a subtle tinge of red
coloring his cheeks as he reaches across the table and takes my hand. Our
fingers are loosely linked as he glances back down at the menu.
Debbi After dinner we walk along
the pier holding hands and talking. The water laps softly below us as we stroll
over the wooden planks. Ryan leads me to a bench and we sit down. He’s rubbing
his thumb over the top of my hand, and his expression becomes serious.
“I want to apologize again and
explain my reaction that night,” he says.
“You don’t have to apologize
again.”
He nods his head at me. “Yes, I
do.” He pauses to run a hand through his hair. “When you implied that I was
lying...”
“And I’m still so sorry about
that,” I interrupt.
He holds his hand up. “Just hear me
out.”
I stop talking and nod
encouragingly for him to continue.
He gives me a small grin and takes
my hand again. “When you thought I might be lying to you, I acted irrationally.
I have a real problem with lying and lies in general. When my mom got sick, my
parents didn’t tell me at first. And when they finally had to because she was
so obviously ill, they lied to me about her condition and how serious it was.”
Ryan is looking down at our hands
now and I squeeze his. When I do, his eyes find mine again. “When she died, it
was a complete shock to me. They should have prepared me. I would have spent
more time with her. I would have talked to her more. I would have said goodbye
to her. I’ll never forgive either of them for not letting me do that.”
“They were probably just doing what
they thought was best,” I tell him.