Chapter 20
Julian
Virginia stares at me with wide eyes that remind me of a spooked animal. I’ve spent forty-five minutes explaining my reminder system, and I can already tell she isn’t getting it. It’s all washing over her.
“So, to clarify,” I say, tapping my Mont Blanc pen against the desk calendar, “every meeting needs a reminder at the one-month mark, one-week mark, seventy-two-hour mark, and lastly, I need a one-hour warning before every meeting. Not forty-five minutes, not an hour and ten minutes. One hour precisely.”
She nods, finally writing something down. “One hour before meetings. Got it.”
“And client files are organized by sector, then alphabetically, then by date of first contact.” I gesture to the sleek filing cabinets that line the far wall of my office. “Never by most recent interaction.”
“Sector, alphabetical, first contact. Yes, Mr. Plaza.”
“I know physical files are tedious, and everything is automatically uploaded electronically, but I really need you to print all files and keep them organized for me. I just don’t do well without paper in my hands.”
Gosh darn-it, this is exactly why Elowen only gave Virginia the log-ins to our system. She knew Virginia couldn’t handle my system. It only proves that Elowen understood me, but I hadn’t taken the time to truly know and understand her.
I drum my fingers against the glass surface of my desk. Virginia flinches almost imperceptibly, but I notice. I always notice. Just how I notice Virginia’s slightly wrinkled blouse and the pen cap she keeps clicking when she thinks I’m not looking.
“First, wash your hands before handling paperwork. I expect clean paper.” Believe me, I wish I could handle electronic documentation to avoid such things, but I physically need to hold something to understand it. As frustrating as everyone thinks it is, it’s ten times worse for me.
“The morning briefing should be on my desk by seven-thirty. Not waiting for me on the computer. Printed. With the Wall Street Journal summary clipped to the top right corner.” I stand, moving toward the window wall that separates my office from the outer area where she’ll sit. “Coffee—”
“Black, two sugars. In the plain white ceramic, not the travel cup, unless you’re headed to an off-site meeting,” Virginia interjects.
“Nice job,” I say honestly. “That’s correct.”
She smiles, relieved to have gotten something right, but I don’t return the smile. There’s too much to teach her.
“Let’s test your understanding of the filing system,” I say, returning to my desk. “Find me the Ridgestone Properties file. It should be under Development, R, 2023.”
Virginia nods and moves to the filing cabinet. I watch as she pulls open the correct drawer and begins flipping folders. Her fingers move past the R section once, then she backtracks. She bites her lower lip, a tell of rising panic.
“It’s not…” she begins, then tries again. She checks a different section, then another.
The seconds tick.
“That’s not where it is,” I say, my voice impatient. “Elowen always—”
I stop. Virginia freezes, folder clutched mid-air, waiting for me to finish, but I can’t. The sentence dies.
“I apologize,” I say finally. “That was unprofessional of me.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Plaza.” She sets down the folder and takes a step back. “I understand this is an adjustment.”
She doesn’t. How could anyone?
“That will be all for now,” I tell Virginia, retreating behind my desk. “Take some time to familiarize yourself with the office layout and systems. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mr. Plaza. Thank you for the opportunity.” She backs toward the door.
I watch Virginia at her desk, her shoulders hunched in a way Elowen’s never were.
For years, I believed Elowen was simply an extension of my own mind; a woman who lived to streamline my existence because she shared my obsession with order.
But now I’m sitting in the memory of her small, chaotic apartment.
The realization is a slow, cold burn. I love the woman I thought she was, but I have to face the fact that I am in love with a stranger.
She knew my coffee order, my filing system, but I didn’t even know she had a “calming presence” for traumatized creatures.
I spent a decade trying to optimize her, to iron out the natural curls of her personality, just like she ironed her hair, never realizing that the “safe option” I thought I’d settled for was actually a woman far more complex and vibrant than the spreadsheet I used to measure her.
I don’t just want my wife back…I want the chance to finally meet her.
Hours later, I’m still at work. Everyone else left hours ago, but I’m still here, standing against the wall.
My hands turn blue-white as I grip my phone.
I’ve avoided this conversation for weeks.
After dialing, and before I can talk myself out of it, Trey answers, his voice way too cheerful for the circumstances. “Jules! Long time no see.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The words explode from me.
A beat of silence. Then, “You’re gonna have to be more specific, man.”
More specific. He can’t be serious.
“That night at the bar with Elowen.” My free hand clenches into a fist. “You told her about the list.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Oh, shit, we’re talking about that.”
“Yes. ‘Oh shit,’ indeed.”
Trey’s breath hisses through the phone. “I thought she knew, man. How could she not know?”
The question slams into me. I stumble slightly, my shoulder connecting with the wall.
How could she not know? Because I never told her.
Because I buried that list and the calculations so deeply, I almost convinced myself it never existed.
Even if it did, it was water under the bridge. We’d been married for eight years.
“You had no right,” I finally manage.
“Look, I’m sorry if I caused problems, but maybe the real issue is why your wife didn’t know about something that fundamental to your relationship.
I was drunk, and I’m not the keeper of your marriage.
” Trey’s voice hardens slightly. “And while we’re asking uncomfortable questions, why the hell have you stayed in touch with Carmella all these years?
Honestly, I was surprised to see her there. ”
“That’s not—” I begin, then stop. “We’re colleagues. Professional acquaintances.” I don’t mention the gala or how Carmella wants to be with me. I’m sure Trey has seen the tabloids.
Trey snorts.
“I’ve already put Carmella in her place. There are no romantic feelings between us. And I didn’t think Elowen would be self-conscious about it. That was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Trey’s voice rises. “You kept a relationship with a woman you explicitly compared your wife to, and you think the issue is Elowen being ‘self-conscious’?”
Put that way, it sounds indefensible. And it is.
“You’re right. I’ve been an idiot.”
“No argument there.” Trey sighs, his anger deflating slightly. “Look, Jules, I’ve known you since we were twenty-two and too dumb to realize our privilege. You’ve always had this thing about optimizing everything, including relationships. But people aren’t spreadsheets, man.”
I slide down the wall, suddenly exhausted. “I know that. Intellectually, I know that.”
“Then why did you let Carmella hang around all these years? Why did you bring her to that charity thing after Elowen left? Hurtful to read about that in the papers, rather than hear it from you, by the way.”
The questions force me to confront motivations I’ve avoided examining.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I didn’t think about it that deeply.”
“Well, start thinking.” Trey’s voice softens slightly. “Because if you want any chance with Elowen—and I’m not saying you deserve one—then you need to cut Carmella out completely.”
“I know.”
“I don’t mean telling her you aren’t interested in dating her. I mean, send her a clear message that your friendship, professional life, or whatever you want to call it, is permanently over. If that’s what you want.”
“Of course it’s what I want.”
“Then prove it. Starting with Carmella. Tell her to leave you alone in all regards, then delete her number. No…block her number.”
I absorb his words. “You’re right,” I say again, the words coming easier this time.
“I know I am.” Trey’s voice carries a hint of his usual humor now. “And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry about the bar thing. I honestly thought she knew. It’s a total meet-cute.”
“It’s not your fault.” Another admission that would have been impossible an hour ago.
We talk for a few more minutes, Trey offering suggestions on approaching Carmella that range from practical to absurd.
When we hang up, I remain seated on the floor with my back against the wall.
The floor! Realizing I have no idea when this carpet was last vacuumed and steam cleaned, I jump up and brush off my pants.
Note to self: Virginia needs to vacuum nightly.
I stand, pocket my phone, and straighten my shoulders. The path forward isn’t about winning Elowen back through another cold strategy. That would be a bitter irony. Instead, it’s about becoming the kind of man who deserves another chance.
It’s late, so I decide to go home. Thank goodness Elowen has the kids. I’d hate to have a babysitter watch them all hours of the day and through the night.
The parking garage is nearly empty, with only a few scattered cars belonging to other corporate die-hards who can’t seem to go home at a reasonable time. I sit in my Audi with the engine off and pull out my phone.
The text message field glows empty. How do you invite someone to dinner when your only purpose is to end a decade-long friendship? Is there a protocol for that? Elowen would know, but I don’t think asking her would be appropriate. Plus, she’s likely asleep.
I type out a first attempt: Carmella, I’d love to catch up over dinner this week. Are you free Thursday evening? We could try that new place on Madison you mentioned.
I stare at the words, dissatisfied. They’re way too friendly. My intent was to give her one final happy memory before I end our friendship, but the “I’d love” phrase feels wrong and is actively misleading.
Delete. It’s just a text message. I can do this. Don’t overthink it.
Second attempt: We need to talk. Dinner Thursday, 8 p.m., Carlyle’s.
Hmm. Too abrupt, and somehow, it sounds like the beginning of something rather than the end. Plus, Carlyle’s is not the vibe I’m going for. The cheapest menu item is forty dollars. She’ll get excited.
Delete.
I run a hand through my perfectly styled hair, destroying the Julian Plaza brand. What’s my goal here? To end on a happy note with Carmella, where there is no ill will, go our separate ways, be up front, and respect Elowen.
I take a deep breath and type again, aiming for something between my previous attempts, which highlights my intention: Carmella, would you be available for dinner at Castellano’s this Thursday at 8? There’s something important I’d like to discuss.
Perfect. Castellano’s is a mid-scale restaurant. It’s not too high-end to suggest we’ll be ordering champagne, but better than Taco Bell at midnight. We’ll have one more good meal together, have a discussion about our ending friendship, and then return to our lives as we always should have.
My message is enough to show respect for our history, but not so intimate that it suggests romance. I read it once more, then hit send before I can overthink it. My phone pings almost immediately.
Julian! I’d LOVE to see you Thursday. Castellano’s is perfect. They have a private back room we can sit in. I’ve been hoping we could talk properly and get all misunderstandings out of the way.
Uh…okay. It reads both good and bad. Misunderstandings can imply that she’s aware I misled her into thinking there could ever be more to our relationship. But it could always imply that she thinks my Tinder comment was a misunderstanding.
I keep Trey’s advice in my mind. Be direct.
I’ll remember it on Thursday. What could I say now, anyway?
“Actually, I’m taking you to dinner to end our friendship completely”?
Better to have this conversation face-to-face, where I can make my position unmistakably clear.
Text messages get skewed, and that is not direct.
I start the car, the engine’s sound filling the parking garage. As I pull out, I think about Elowen. I have no right to expect her forgiveness. No reason to believe that ending things with Carmella will somehow magically repair what I’ve broken, but I can hope anyway.
Because I’d choose an ended friendship with another woman if it leads to even a chance of reconciling with my wife. Either way, I’m ready to learn who Elowen and our children truly are.