Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ANNIE
“He hasn’t signed in today. Are you sure this is when you’re supposed to be meeting?” The redheaded student assistant is staring at me with deep disdain. Considering how cheerfully she greeted me before I brought up Miles, I try not to take her reaction personally.
I show her my phone screen. “I have the email right here from Sunday where he confirmed our schedule for the week.”
“Maybe he’s running late.”
“By an hour?” I stick my phone in my pocket and cross my arms, gripping my elbows anxiously with my hands so that I look as twisted up as I feel.
The assistant blows out a long breath and stands. “All I can do is let Mr. Johnson know and try to find you someone else but?—”
“You don’t have anyone else,” I finish for her.
“No,” she confirms. “We don’t. Honestly, Mr. Johnson usually warns Professor Parks’ students that they’re better off meeting with the professor during his office hours if they really need help.”
She looks around, her hair swishing around her shoulders as she checks in every direction. Only once she’s certain the lobby area is clear does she lean over the desk and beckon me closer.
I step forward and lean down to hear her.
“I would avoid going to office hours if I were you,” she whispers. My heart sinks as worry lines form around her eyes. “There are rumors .”
“What kind of rumors?” I have a pretty good guess, but I’m desperate to hear someone else say the words.
She sucks in a deep breath and takes her time blowing it out. Just as she parts her lips as if to answer, the door behind her swings open and heavy footsteps accompany Mr. Johnson’s steps out of his office.
“Hello,” he greets me with a polite nod as he makes his way to the copier along the far wall which starts to hum and print a steady stream of pages.
The assistant presses her lips firmly shut. Whatever she was going to say, the moment is lost now.
And now I know that Mr. Johnson is likely someone I shouldn’t count on to be in my corner when it comes to Professor Parks. If the tutoring center assistant doesn’t trust him with her whispered information, I won’t either.
“Mr. Johnson, Annie Kirkpatrick here was supposed to meet with Miles Morino today and he hasn’t shown up or contacted her.”
Mr. Johnson whips around to look at me. “Did you message him?”
“Twice.” Three times, actually, but admitting to that feels too pathetic.
“No response?”
I shake my head.
“I’m going to blame this kid for every gray hair I develop before Christmas,” he mutters. He rips the papers he’s waiting for off the printer and stomps back toward his office. “I’m sorry about the inconvenience,” he pauses to tell me. “I can find you a decent writing tutor to replace him if you give me a few days.”
“Okay, thanks.” I don’t bring up that I initially requested someone with experience specific to Professor Parks’ course. I’m relieved to be spared from that conversation.
“I’ll contact you as soon as we find someone!” The assistant announces with a little too much enthusiasm. Mr. Johnson side-eyes her but ultimately doesn’t comment. He heads back into his office and that seems to help his assistant relax into her seat.
“Thank you for your help,” I tell her sincerely and turn to go.
At least one good thing has come from Miles ghosting our scheduled tutoring session.
I should have known he wouldn’t show after the weirdness on Monday. He didn’t give me so much as a single note. He read my essay and then demanded to see my previous assignment. He didn’t comment on that one either, so I have no idea what he thought of the work. My brain has been circling, thinking the worst.
Now I’m on my own. My essay is due by midnight tonight and I wrote the outline, first draft, and final draft without any external input. I doubled the time spent perfecting the details. I have to hope my own work will be enough.
“Hey, Annie?” Eloise flags me down before I even manage to reach my usual spot.
“Hi.” I stop and lean my arms on her cubicle, looking in at her. Her eyes look buggy from behind big, round glasses with a clear frame. The famous Taylors article I wound up essentially writing for her is pulled up on one of her dual monitors. “Was something wrong with the article?”
“Not at all! Everyone loves the list. Could you put together a quiz for the site?” She makes a fireworks gesture with her hands as she says, “ Which Taylor Are You? Most people are going to want to be Taylor Swift so do me a favor and make that result really difficult to get, okay? I have a feeling some of our demographic will keep re-taking the test until they get the result they want. That will be great for the advertising dollars!”
“Sure thing.” At least this gives me a good excuse to play Taylor Swift on repeat for a couple of hours while I work.
I set up my workstation and pop my headphones in. I open a blank document in the Drizzle cloud and start drafting some potential questions for Eloise to look through. For each question, I note how the answers would tally for each Taylor option. Making quizzes for the site is one of my least favorite tasks, especially when the team micromanages how I hand out the results. I know Which Taylor Are You? isn’t going to be a peer-reviewed research study, but I still don’t like the dishonesty.
After nearly an hour of work, I pick up my Stanley and realize I’ve finished my water already. The break room is too far away for my Bluetooth to stretch that far so I plop them into their case and set them on my laptop keyboard.
“Are you getting coffee?” Eloise peers over at me. She doesn’t even give me a chance to answer before she asks, “Could you grab me a cup? Thanks!”
“Oh… Yeah, of course.” I can’t help but notice Eloise is starting to treat me more like her own personal assistant than an office assistant. There was an intern here at the start of the semester who lived at her beck and call until he took a position that opened up with the college’s news team.
I guess I’m the chosen one now.
The Drizzle office has an interesting setup. The staff break room is down a back hall that also houses a large conference room and Kurt Hartford’s office suite.
I’ve heard around the office that some months Kurt only comes in to work from the office the day of the monthly staff meeting. Since I started a couple of months ago, he’s been in the office a handful of times. He tends to go straight to his office and stay there. He leaves his staff to run the actual day-to-day operations.
To my surprise as I move down the corridor, the light is on in Kurt’s office. The door is cracked open and I can make out the faint sounds of two distinct male voices chatting inside. The closer I get, the more clear their voices become.
“I wouldn’t hire her as an editor but she makes an okay assistant. She makes good coffee, does whatever anyone asks, and she’s a decent-looking girl. Certainly not a hardship to have her floating around.” Aaron’s voice is recognizable. He’s the human resources coordinator who did my 30-day evaluation after Kurt hired me.
“Good. I’d hate to deal with Cameron if things didn’t work out with his little girlfriend.” Kurt huffs an unflattering laugh that ends in a sharp cough. Gross.
They must be talking about me .
I slow my steps to listen, glancing behind me to make sure no one else is around to catch me eavesdropping on the boss’s conversation.
“Well she’s not a complainer so she’ll probably stick out the assistant job for way longer than most of these college kids do,” Aaron says conversationally, his voice lowering slightly but not enough to keep me from hearing clearly. I’m only a few feet from the office door at this point. He continues, “She won’t have the moxie to bug you for a promotion once she’s done with college, so we’ll probably just lose her whenever she finally wakes up and applies for something that’s more her speed.”
“Like another assistant job somewhere else?” Kurt guffaws another laugh.
My chest seizes up and I suddenly can’t breathe in enough air. They’re talking about keeping me on the hook as an assistant because they don’t want me as an editor.
Never in a million years have I considered that I would want to stay on as an editor here once I get my degree. The idea that they find me lacking for an editor position here is insulting. I’m writing half of Eloise’s articles. And honestly, no one has to be a Nobel Peace Prize quality writer to churn out the pop-culture junk that Drizzle is known for.
“Aw she’s not that bad,” Aaron defends me halfheartedly.
“She’s not that good either,” Kurt shoots back. “I’m not worried about what happens when the girl starts looking for a real job; she’s only a freshman right now so she’ll be long gone by graduation. Cameron knows this girl isn’t a suitable long-term match. He’s having his fun now, but give him a couple of years and he’ll start looking for someone who matches his class. No-name girls from small town USA don’t turn into Hartford wives.”
I clutch my free hand to my chest and will my heart to start beating again. Kurt didn’t give me the warmest welcome when Cameron introduced me to the family—his mom and older brother didn’t either—but I had no idea he found me so unsuitable .
“As much as I love sharing office gossip with you, Kurt… I better get back to my desk.” The office door draws open before I can tuck my tail and duck into the break room. I’m caught wide-eyed in the hall as Aaron steps out and mutters, “Shit.”
Kurt comes to the door to see what Aaron is reacting to and eyes me with a shrewd look.
“Sir,” I greet him with a nod and let my eyes fall to the floor. I’m mortified by what he said. I’m even more mortified to be caught in the hall, knowing he must realize I heard him.
“Did you need something?” Kurt asks.
“I’m just heading to the break room.” That makes me sound lazy. I hold up my Stanley and hastily add, “Eloise asked for coffee so I figured I would refill my water while I’m in there.”
“Aaron, you head on back to work now.” Kurt clears his throat so I force myself to make eye contact as Aaron rushes off, his footsteps receding down the hallway. “I imagine you overheard a good deal of that conversation.”
I don’t confirm or deny. I’m not sure what a person is meant to say in these kinds of circumstances.
“Unfortunate. You’re a nice enough girl, Annie. You’re just not the right girl, not for my son.” Kurt crosses his arms and leans against the doorway of his office. He looks me over and offers a slow shake of his head. “You kids can have your fun. See things out and let things expire naturally. I see no need for me to prematurely interfere in a problem that I’m confident will resolve itself.”
“You think Cameron is going to break up with me for not having a pedigree.” If only Kurt knew that I do come from a pedigree—albeit one I’m estranged from. Cameron and I have never talked about my dad or grandparents in depth. He only knows they’re not in my life.
Kurt gestures wildly with his hands. “Maybe you two stay together a while before Cameron realizes you’re not well suited to his future. Or maybe you start to get sick of a rich playboy who cares more about having you on his arm than actually taking you seriously as a partner.”
“Cameron takes me seriously,” I protest.
“Tell me one thing, Annie. When did my son last ask you anything about yourself? How your day went? What classes you’re taking? How things are going for you here at Drizzle? Does he ask anything that makes you think he takes you seriously?”
The questions choke me up. I can’t come up with any answers, and I don’t feel comfortable enough to try to lie.
“Right.” Kurt shrugs one shoulder. “You need to grow up, Annie. You’re a sweet girl, but sweet girls don’t amount to much more than preschool teachers or middle-class housewives. You have a lot to learn about the way the world works. In the meantime, be lucky you have a job here and can spend some time dancing on the arm of someone like my son. These are the days you’ll reminisce about someday when life isn’t so exciting for you anymore.”
He reaches back to pull the door shut behind him and then tucks a hand into his pocket. So casual after dropping an emotional bomb right at my feet.
Kurt has the nerve to pat me on the shoulder as he passes. “Don’t forget Eloise’s coffee.”
I head into the break room and fix Eloise her coffee with shaking hands. My head is pounding. I don’t bother filling up my water cup. I’m plagued by a desperate, caged-in feeling. I can’t be in this building any longer. I need to breathe outside air.
I rush back to give Eloise her coffee, my half-drafted online quiz idea, and a hurried excuse about a family emergency. She looks at me like a deer in headlights. Her Taylor quiz deadline is probably today. She’ll have to finish up herself.
My hands are still shaking when I get outside and fumble with my phone to call Cameron. I want to hear his voice and seek comfort in the fact that Kurt is just a judgemental prick. He barely even knows anything about his youngest son. He has no idea how solid our relationship is or what Cameron thinks of me.
Cameron’s frat does volunteer work on Wednesday afternoons, but I know he always keeps his phone on him. The desperation clawing its way up my chest overcomes my hesitance at calling during volunteer hours.
The phone rings for a painfully long time before Cameron picks up. I’m met with the background noise first―guys cheering and a woman’s light, tinkling laugh before she chimes in on the cheering too.
“Hello?” Cameron practically shouts into the phone.
“Cameron?” I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s volunteering at a youth soccer game or something…
“Baby, is that you?” he croons into the phone, words slurring.. He’s been drinking.
I don’t understand. “Are you guys not volunteering?”
“Volunteering?” His laugh is sharp and piercing. I wince as I pull my phone away from my ear to preserve my hearing. “Volunteering to do more shots maybe!”
Another cheer goes up around him. I can hear the soft, fairy-like laugh again before a woman’s voice offers, “I can get you a shot, Cameron.” She sounds pretty close to the phone.
“Who is that?” I’ve never considered being jealous before. I’m not even sure I’m jealous now. More confused than anything.
“What?” Cameron scoffs audibly. “I don’t know. Someone’s girlfriend or something. Who cares? Chill out, Annie.”
My head reels back. I check the caller ID on the phone as if I could somehow have called an alternate-universe version of my boyfriend.
“I’m so chill,” I tell him dryly. This call isn't turning out to be the comforting moment with my boyfriend that I hoped for. “I just called to talk to you about something that happened with your dad at the office.”
“Ugh. I don’t want to talk about my dad right now, Annie. What did he hit on you or something?” Cameron makes the suggestion in such a cavalier way that I realize instantly he thinks of it as a legitimate possibility. And he doesn’t even sound bothered by the prospect. Only bothered by my calling.
“You sound busy,” I say carefully, not wanting to get any more emotional right now than I already feel. “I’ll let you go.”
“Great, babe. Tell my dear old dad hi for me, why don’t ya?” He laughs at himself and cuts the call off.
For a moment, I stand there listening to dead silence with the phone still pressed to my cheek. The world doesn’t feel like it’s spinning beneath my feet anymore. The entire universe has stood still for me to have a serious re-evaluation of my entire life.
Kurt is right to think Cameron doesn’t take me seriously. I’m killing myself for my classes only to worry I might still fail a class for the first time in my life. And I’m living out of a motel room that I’m sharing with my mom.
Have I already peaked? Was I wrong to dream about what my adulthood would be like?
My whole childhood feels wasted on dreaming of happily ever after fairy tales. Reality is turning out to look more like something out of Professor Parks’ lectures. My real-life fairy tale is dark and depressing—no happily ever afters in sight.