Just when I think I’ve got a handle on this kaleidoscope of weird feelings, it twists and something new surprises me. I feel like I’ve been told Christmas is canceled. No Josh, sitting across from me like always? I have to bite my lip to silence myself.
Please, I beg myself. Please hate Josh again. This is too hard.
“You’re not going to miss me, are you? You can manage one little Tuesday on your own.” He touches the little toy car in my hand and spins the wheels a little.
I try to be nonchalant, but he probably sees through it.
“Miss you? I’ll miss looking at your pretty face, but that’s about it.”
I hope it landed somewhere in the vicinity of faint sarcasm. I haul my quivering body into my car. He taps the window to make me lock the door. It takes me several attempts to get the key into the ignition.
Josh stands motionless in my rearview mirror until he’s a speck, one person among billions, but I cannot tear my eyes away until he disappears altogether.
When I get home, I still have the Matchbox car in my hand.
Chapter 15
I’m sitting at my desk, eyelids dry and tight, and I’m staring at Josh’s empty seat. The office is cold. Quiet. A professional haven. Any of the cubicle inmates downstairs would kill for this kind of silence.
Josh is supposed to be sitting across from me in an off-white striped shirt. He should be holding a calculator, tapping, frowning, tapping again.
If he were here, he’d look at me, and when our eyes connected a flashbulb of energy would pop inside me. I’d label it annoyance, or dislike. I’d take th
e little flash and call it something I don’t think it is.
I look at the clock. I wait for a small eternity, and a minute ticks by. To amuse myself, I roll my new Matchbox car back and forth across my mouse pad, then take out the florist card from underneath.
You’re always beautiful.
I look at my reflection in the ridiculous prism of glass surrounding me. I look at the wall, the ceiling, analyzing my appearance from different angles. Those three words now aren’t enough to sate me. He’s created a monster.
I turn the florist’s card over and notice the address. I have the best idea and cackle out loud. Grabbing my purse, I walk down to the corner to the exact same florist. Before I lose my nerve, I arrange to have a bunch of off-white roses sent to him with a card. I barely know what I’m going to write, until my hand writes out the following for me:
I want you for more than your body. I want you for your Matchbox cars. —Shortcake
Instantly I have a wave of self-doubt, but the florist has already taken the card and carried the bouquet out to their back room.
It’s a joke, that’s all, these flowers. He did it for me and we hate being uneven. I slide my credit card back into my purse and imagine him opening his door, and the look on his face. I’m basically cannonballing into something I shouldn’t.
On the walk back I buy takeout coffee and knock gently on Helene’s door.
“Hi. Am I interrupting?”
“Yes, thank God,” she exclaims, throwing her glasses down so vigorously they bounce onto the floor. “Coffee. You’re a saint. Saint Lucy of Caffeine.”
“And that’s not all.” I take out a flat box of fancy macarons from under my arm, labeled Made in France. I’ve had them in my drawer for a while for an emergency. I’m such a kiss-ass.
“Did I say saint? I meant goddess.” She reaches into the cabinet behind her and finds a plate; it is delicate, painted with flowers and edged in gold. Of course.
“It’s so quiet out there today. I can hear a pin drop. It feels strange to not be glared at.”
“Get used to it. He does stare a lot at you, doesn’t he, darling? I’ve noticed in the last few all-staff meetings. Those dark blue eyes of his are actually rather lovely. How’s the interview preparation coming along?”
She opens the box of macarons with her silver letter-opener and I’m grateful she’s momentarily distracted. She shakes the box gently onto the plate and we each choose. I pick an off-white vanilla one, like today’s missing shirt, because I am tragic.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I’m not on the interview panel so it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest if we did some practice together. How’s your presentation coming along?”