32. Maddy
32
MADDY
I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing up and down as I sat in Jennifer’s office. I was afraid that if I was on the premises for too long I might run into Noah. My goal was to go straight to HR, submit my resignation, and then leave before we could meet.
I’d say this for Noah. He’d paid me well enough that now I had enough savings to quit and walk away if I needed to.
And I needed to.
Jennifer eyed me over the top of her glasses, frowning. “I didn’t see this coming.”
“The truth is, neither did I,” I answered, raising my chin defiantly. “But things changed.”
“So I see. ‘Effective immediately.’” She placed the letter on the desk in front of her. “Do you want to talk about it? This is a safe space, you know that.”
Part of me wanted to open up to this woman with the perfect mom-vibe, but I knew it was inappropriate. The breakup that had happened last night was personal. Sure, work played a major role in it, but it wasn’t like the problem was something HR could fix.
“That won’t be necessary,” I answered.
“Have you spoken to Noah about this?” Jennifer asked, one eyebrow rising.
I shook my head.
“Oof,” she said softly. “ Okay then. So we have a… situation on our hands. PR is not going to be happy to hear about this.” She paused to scrutinize me. “Are you sure you don’t need to file a report before you go?”
I finally caught on to what she meant. “Oh, no. Not at all. It’s nothing like that. I just realized it was time for me to move on, like I said in the letter.” I pointed at it.
“Yes, but…” Jennifer frowned, “…it’s just that Ken and the rest of the team are working on booking the two of you for some media appearances together…”
I was ready for this. “I understand, but they’re so good at crafting stories and doing redirects, I’m sure they can come up with one more. I’m not high profile and I’m definitely not used to media attention. They can say I got too nervous to do an appearance. Before long, this will all blow over, and I’ll be forgotten.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure you’ll be forgotten,” she said cryptically, leaving me to wonder if she meant the media or the mogul who used to sign my paychecks. “Anyway, there’s some paperwork you need to complete, then I’ll need your laptop and?—”
I placed it on the desk, along with Noah’s second phone and my keycard.
She glanced between me and the stack on her desk. “I see you’re well-prepared. That’s helpful, thank you.”
We went through the steps to officially sever me from PSM. Thankfully, I managed to stay focused on the tasks instead of my churning stomach. Sign here, initial here, here too, and then I was free.
Jennifer stood up and reached her hand out to me. I took it in mine.
“It was a pleasure working with you,” she said. “You were an asset to PSM, and I’m sorry to see you go.” She paused a beat. “I’m sure I’m not the only one.”
I pulled my hand back. “Thank you for everything.”
I was proud of myself for the way the tears didn’t start until I crossed my apartment’s threshold. Then I collapsed into the chair by the door and cried it out.
What the hell was I supposed to do now? I looked around helplessly. I was newly unemployed and single, and all I wanted to do was go to bed for a few weeks. But I knew I needed to keep busy in some way, to hold onto my sanity. I was still avoiding social media, I didn’t feel like reading, especially the romances stacked by my bed, and I had zero appetite.
I managed to type out a quick update for the girls, warning them not to call me and telling them I’d reach out when I was ready. We knew each other well enough to recognize when someone needed space, so I wasn’t surprised when my phone didn’t ring.
I was too keyed up to sleep, too depressed to leave my apartment, and too distracted to try to watch TV. Then the idea hit me: the last task that had really provided some solace when I was upset had been researching my dad’s writing. I had half a dozen boxes of his stuff stored in my hall closet. Maybe now was the perfect time to forget about my mess of a life and focus on the magic of his.
I pulled the first box out, dragged it to the sunny spot by the window, then plopped down next to it and dove in.
A few hours later I was surrounded by memorabilia—everything ranging from ticket stubs from college football games to the skin from a dirty old baseball. Touching the keepsakes made me feel closer to him. I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the boxes. There was so much more to get to.
The loud knock on my door wrenched me out of my thoughts. My mind jumped to the most illogical option for who was on the other side of the door, but of course it couldn’t be Noah. He didn’t operate like that. Goodbye was goodbye. No doubt he’d compartmentalized the end of our relationship and moved on to focus on the next crisis by now. I needed to stop thinking he was capable of anything more. I got up and padded across the room, ready to tell the delivery driver he needed to check the number again.
“Open up!” a voice demanded as the banging continued. “We have sugar and alcohol!”
Nia .
“And lots of hugs.”
Hope .
“She said ‘hugs’ not ‘drugs’ but I can make that happen if you need me to,” Nia yelled.
I’d told them not to call, but I didn’t tell them not to come over . I opened the door, and the second I saw them standing there with their arms outstretched the tears started. Between everything that happened with Noah and going through my dad’s stuff, I was about as emotional as I could get.
“Baby girl,” Nia said, pulling me into a hug, then Hope piled on, the plastic bag of groceries bumping against us. “Cassie sends her love and Scott offered to beat Noah’s ass if you want.”
I laughed through my tears. “Not necessary but thank you. You guys didn’t have to come.”
“Of course we did,” Nia said as she scooted past me. “No way we’re letting you go through this alone.”
Hope saw the box and everything spread out around it, and her breath caught. “Is that what I think it is?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to feel close to him. I guess I need him right now.” I dropped my head and surrendered to the tears again.
Hope pulled me into a bear hug and Nia rubbed my back until my sobbing stopped.
“What do you want to do?” Hope asked. “Eat? Sit and talk? Find a hitman?”
I sniffled. “I think I want to finish what I started. At least this one box. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Nia said as she headed toward the box. “I love looking through memories.” She pulled out a photo album and started flipping through the pages. “I hope this isn’t rude to mention, but I stand by my opinion that your dad was a total hottie—especially when he was this young. No wonder you’re so damn cute.”
“Let me see,” Hope jogged over and glanced past Nia’s shoulder. “Ooh, yes!”
I laughed. “He always did have quite the fan club of women.”
Nia sat down with the album, and Hope fished out more photos from the box.
“Come sit,” Hope said. “Tell us who everyone is in these pictures.”
I walked over and plopped down beside them. The tension in my chest started to loosen as I talked through the wonderful memories. Thinking about the happy times helped. I hadn’t realized how much I was missing him. My dad had always been my confidant, and he had the best advice for me. But I couldn’t imagine what he would’ve told me to do about the Noah situation. Maybe he would’ve told me to “follow my heart”? As if I even knew what that meant.
Nia and Hope were immersed in the old photo albums, so I reached into the box and pulled out a notebook. It wasn’t the type I’d ever seen him use for work; he always had a slim reporter’s notebook. The sight of his familiar scrawl on the first page brought a tear to my eye. I pressed my hand to the page as if I could absorb some of him through the ink he’d used.
I expected to find his usual stats and scores gibberish, but what I found on the pages was nothing I expected. This was a story. Still about sports, of course it was still about sports, but this was more of a long-form article. The human element behind the competition. The first piece was about him watching a father and young son at what was clearly the boy’s first professional baseball game. My father described the setting so vividly I could almost smell the park. The story tenderly described the birth of a fan, and the beauty and wonder of passing the love of the game down a generation. He didn’t bother to mention which team it was because the piece wasn’t about a specific team.
It was about family .
The loose idea that had always been racing around my brain finally started to take shape. I’d loved the morning I spent writing a few weeks ago, but in that moment, all it had been was a distraction. Now I felt like it could be something more.
“Guys, would it be weird if I started writing again?”
Hope cocked her head at me. “Oh my gosh, you haven’t talked about writing in forever. Do you have an idea?”
I held up my father’s notebook. “It’s actually his idea. Telling the stories behind the sports. Describing the game of life that makes the game on the field possible. Like Matthew Garrison helping with his mom’s recovery.”
“Would that make you happy?” Nia asked in her typically pointed way.
I thought about it for a beat. “Yeah. I think it would.”
“Then do it. We’ll be your beta fish.”
I laughed at her. “Beta readers , you dork. And thanks, I’ll need your help. I’m rusty.”
I went back to reading the notebook. It felt like my dad was sitting beside me, telling me stories.
“Hey, look at this one,” Hope said as she handed a faded photo to me. “He looks so happy here. Is he somewhere in Europe?”
In the blurry shot, my handsome father was standing in a public park with a series of tall cement trees behind him. My stomach clenched when I figured out why it looked familiar to me. “That’s Barcelona. Park Güell. I’ve… I’ve been there.”
“With Noah,” Nia finished for me as she leaned closer to scan the photo. “You sent us the pictures.”
“That trip changed everything between us.” I sighed. “Like it matters now.”
Remembering how stupid and happy I’d been with him felt like a fresh cut. I had been so na?ve to think Noah could ever put me first! I let out an angry sigh.
“Do you miss him?” Hope asked in a whisper, like she knew it was a dangerous question. She reached out and put her hand on my leg.
“I don’t want to think about it, okay?” I looked into the box for a distraction.
“You know that’s not healthy, right?” Nia asked. “All of those bad feelings are going to sit in your gut like a piece of undigested chewing gum. Talking is good, talking is therapy. And hell, we’re about as cheap as therapists get. Couple of bottles of wine and we’re square.”
“Speaking of wine…” I said as I stood up.
“That doesn’t get you off the hook,” she yelled after me as I walked to the kitchen. “We’re going to go deep on all things Noah.”
I spun around to face them. “Can we not? I know I can’t hold it in forever, but just for today can we not talk about Noah fucking Parker? Okay?”
Hope’s eyes went wide, and Nia grimaced at her.
“Whatever you want,” Hope said cheerfully. “You’re the boss.”
That would be a first.