I briefly check my cell phone to see a number of missed calls and text messages from Tessa. My thumb hovers over the green dial button for a second . . . but I don’t even know what to say to her.
How do I even begin this conversation? Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.
What if, in the middle of our talk, the lawyers knock on my door, needing my urgent attention? I wouldn’t be able to focus.
I put my phone back in the pocket of my suit jacket and push Tessa from my thoughts.
It’s just after midday the next day, and we’ve finally submitted the amended documents. This time around, there should be no problems. I’d sat down with the legal team and gone through every single page before deciding that they were ready.
I thank the legal team for their hard work in sorting out the mess, not mentioning their own part in creating it in the first place. Before walking out of the conference room, though, I warn them, “If anything like this should happen again, I’ll be recruiting a whole new team of lawyers and legal advisors.”
Back in my office, I check my cell phone. Nothing from Tessa. No calls. Not even a single text.
I’m completely exhausted, but I’m getting a little worried about Tessa. I’ll admit I also feel guilty about the way I acted last night.
She hasn’t yet turned up for work. She hasn’t even phoned in to say she’s sick or isn’t coming in today.
I pace in my office—this is starting to become a habit—getting more worried with each step.
Maybe I should call her.
Or maybe I should see her.
Yes. I’ll see her. Face to face. We need to sort this out, once and for all.
Grabbing my stuff, I rush out of the office.
Tessa
I wake up with a jerk, and immediately come to a few realizations.
One: someone is pounding on the door. Loud.
Two: I fell asleep, and never went to find Luke and make things right.
Three: it’s the afternoon, and I should be at work.
Great. We’re off to an awesome start here. Just what I need.
I drag myself up from the couch, catching sight of myself in a window reflection as I do. Hair everywhere, makeup smudged all over my face, dark circles under my eyes. The picture of health and happiness.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and I probably look like it too. I must have fallen asleep while contemplating how to go about convincing Luke to take me back.
Despite the fact that it’s afternoon and I must have slept for at least ten hours, I feel like crap. And it’s not even the morning sickness now.
Bang-bang-bang. My head throbs to the rhythm of the knocking on my cheap, hollow door.
Soon enough, I won’t even have this shitty apartment. I’ve lost everything. My job, my husband . . . And it’s all my fault.
My bad decisions got me into this whole mess in the first place, and then some more bad decisions just made it all worse. What am I going to do?
This job was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning. But just like everything else I’ve ever done, I’ve messed it up. Nothing ever goes right for me, and I don’t have anyone to blame except myself.
Someone’s still pounding at the door. The last thing I want to do in my current state is see anyone, talk to anyone, have anything to do with anyone. I pull a pillow over my ear, deciding to pretend I’m not home.
But whoever’s knocking, they’re persistent. And the pounding is so loud it pierces through my cheap, thin pillow, stabbing my ear drums.
Fine. I’ll open the door, just so I can tell whoever it is to go away.
Angry words form in my mind and perch at the tip of my tongue as I pull open the door, but . . . it’s Luke.
His fist is frozen in mid-air, his knuckles halfway toward the door—no doubt the source of the pounding that woke me up.
Luke looks worse than me, if that’s even possible. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night. Has he even slept at all?
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” he says. “I was worried that something had happened to you. I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. Why didn’t you come to work? I needed you today.”
I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts clear. I stare at him.
“What?” I eventually ask. “You wanted me to come into work today? After last night? I just kind of assumed you’d want to get rid of me.”
“What?” he asks, looking surprised.
“Last night, at the restaurant,” I say, my hand gripping the door handle, hard—as if it’d help. “You just stormed out, like you never wanted to talk to me again. And you didn’t pick up any of my calls.”