No Outside Food Allowed
My mom gave my room a thorough deep cleaning before I arrived, and the chemical fresh scent from the products she’d sprayed over every surface lingers.
I threw out most of the stuff from my old apartment. I don’t want to surround myself with those things, those memories, again. Everything I was afraid would happen happened. Yet relief is what rules me somehow. I inhale the lemon disinfectant and let it cleanse my lungs with carcinongens.
I pull the lid off one of the few boxes I’ve brought upstairs. Inside sits Miley’s zebra and the envelope from Cliff she’d given me as I left. Things forgotten in your desk isprinted in his writing on the front.
Recycling it would be nothing at all. If I do that, I can move on to all the things I’ve actually planned to do this afternoon: setting up my room, going with my mom to the store to get new things, researching programs at local universities. If I open this now, it would mean going back to that cubicle, back to that person.
I stare at it for too long. Finally, just as I’ve decided to take it to the bin, my mom calls my name from downstairs and I whip around, my arm hitting the envelope and spilling its contents onto the floor.
I bend down to gather it. It’s just napkins, Post-it notes that have lost their stickiness, old receipts. But my heartbeat halts as I pick up the first item: the Post-it note I’d grabbed off the donut box Cliff brought for the whole office that reads Not Poison ;). Next is the sketch he made to show me the set of Kidstreet. The napkin with the name Robin Winters written on it, from when we got milkshakes. The receipt from my bowling shoe rental. The ticket stub from the movies.
Why was I such a pack rat? I put all these things in that bottom drawer because they didn’t feel like garbage. They all meant so much to me. It’s so obviously laid out here.
Undeniable.
He knew when he came to see me. He knew when he left.
He knew.
I clock a Post-it note I’ve never seen before. There’s a doodle of a cat.Underneath is written: You’re brave.
Instantly my phone is in my hands. It’s urgent and ill-advised and impulsive.
He’s probably in Vancouver by now. He probably has moved on from our last conversation.
But it’s Cliff.
I bring up his number and type one line: I miss you.
I throw my phone on the bed. I don’t deserve an answer. Last time we spoke, he was reaching out to me—despite everything I did—and I turned him away. Why would he give me another chance?
After watching my phone obsessively for a full hour, I accept that no reply is coming. It’s time to move on. So I go downstairs to join my mom and get on with all the errands we planned for the day.
But late at night, as I’m brushing my teeth, my phone buzzes. Only one word sits on the screen, but I exhale with relief. My favorite word. Milkshakes?
I can do this. I just need to breathe through the tightness inside as I open the ice-cream-cone-shaped door.
This is Cliff. It won’t be bad even if it goes terribly.
The place is mostly empty, and the only sound is the buzz of the refrigerators. One bored-looking teen in a retro all-white creamery uniform stares at his phone behind the counter.
Cliff’s already sitting at the booth in the back, two Tiger-Tastic shakes waiting. He’s got a collared shirt on and a fresh haircut with just a bit of gel. So perfectly Cliff.
His gaze draws to me as I shakily make my way over.
“Hey, Jolene,” Cliff says when I reach him and lower myself into the seat across from him. He gives me a tentative stare, like he’s not sure what I’ll do next.
“Hey, Cliff.” I return a wobbly grin. There’s so much to say. But being near him... his eyes... my insides whoosh, and all the words I’d mapped out in my head leave me.
“I got you a donut,” I say, pushing the yellow box I’m holding across the table toward him.
He opens it up, taking in the rainbow-colored icing and sprinkles. He puts a hand to his chest and his lips part just a little. “This is amazing.”
“I think I owe you at leas—”
“No outside food!” the tired teen shouts from behind the ice-cream counter.
“Honestly, I did not expect them to care,” I say, and we both chuckle as Cliff closes the lid and pushes the box to the end of the table.
“So,” I start. “It’s official. You’re off the Supershops books.”
Cliff brightens. “Now we can say what we really think of that place.” The curl of his lips, the brightness in his eyes—they feel like home.
“Did you end up changing your pick for who you’d kill for a billion dollars?”
Cliff quirks his lip. “Oh, definitely Gregory. And I think he knows it too. We didn’t exactly part on great terms. Sent quite the report to corporate before I put in my notice.”
A satisfied thrill races through me at the thought of Gregory getting beat down by his own beloved corporate machine.
“When do you start the new gig?” I ask.
He swallows a sip of shake before answering: “Next week.” His face is bright and his passion comes through as he speaks. “I’m really excited about it. Nothing like Supershops. This time I’ll be focusing on large corporations that don’t yet have structures in place for employees to advocate for themselves.” He raises a brow in my direction. “I’ll be empowering them to organize and negotiate.”
“Amazing,” I say. It’s perfect for him. He’ll be so much happier at his old place. I take a sip of the shake to smother the empty feeling swirling inside.
Cliff continues. “In fact, some of the people I’ll be meeting with are employees at Supershops Incorporated.” His grin turns teasing. “Seems like the mass layoffs made some people recognize a major need for more employee protections.”
“Clifford!” I pull my hand to my chest. “Are you being a hero?”
His sheepish smile, I missed it—and I’m going to miss it so much. “I can’t help it,” he says. “That job was the wrong fit, but it helped me find the right one.”
He’s right, and a deeper part of me is genuinely happy for him. “That’s really great.”
I look out the window, toward the gas station across the street. The one he told me his grandma used to work at. “Is Grace happy you’re moving back to Vancouver?”
Cliff shakes his head. “Jolene, I wasn’t clear. I’m working for my old company, but the projects will be here.”
“What?” My chest swells, afraid to hope.
Cliff lets the straw hover beneath his lips before answering. “Sanjay and I talked. He’s expanding the company, and I convinced him he needed a guy in Calgary.”
He’s staying. A million emotions race through my brain. I want to say so much, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is a puff of air.
“I couldn’t leave my family again,” Cliff says, leaning closer. “But I need to be happy too.”
My heart does a somersault as the hope rushes higher in my chest. “I’m so happy for you!”
“So,” Cliff says carefully. “I’m not moving, we’re not at Supershops. What do we do from here?”
“We can try to be friends again?” I ask.
His gaze shifts to the donut box on the table before locking back on to me. “We agreed to be completely honest from now on?” He says it like a question as he leans closer. “Are we okay just being friends? Has it ever worked for us?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. It feels impossible, but I’ve wanted to tell him for so long. I thought I never would get the chance. “Cliff, I like you more than anyone else.”
His smile is instantaneous, so bright it hurts to see. “I know.” His lips quiver with emotion. “I emptied your desk drawer, remember? I know exactly how you feel. You’re maybe a little obsessed with me?”
I mock flick his straw. “You’re the one who showed up at the office at midnight, who came to my apartment—and that was all sweet, but I’m just saying...”
He leans farther across the table, and I’m like a sunflower to my light as I tilt to meet him halfway. The sugary shake scent lingers on his lips, and a rush pulls from where we meet, shattering through every part of me, replacing any thought, any worry, with this moment. This kiss. Us—
The employee behind the counter coughs loudly. Pointedly.
We pull apart, exchanging sheepish grins. “Okay, but let’s be real,” Cliff says. “I bet way worse things have happened in this shop.” He reaches out and takes my hand on the table. We both look down, staring at our fingers as they entwine. I want to stay right here forever.
But then the hollowness sets back in.
“Cliff, I... I need to say this,” I say, turning serious. He leans back, and my words are already in his eyes, in the pause of his breath. But I continue. “I’m not in a good place to date right now. I’m still pretty much a mess.” I let out a sigh, but the next part feels easier to say. “I’m working on myself.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand as the words settle between us. “Yeah, that’s... that sounds like the right thing.” He lets the hurt in his voice slip through a crack. “I’m really happy for you.”
I know he means it, but this can’t be it for us. I can’t let him go again. So I say, “But maybe we can meet up again? I might need advice from an HR professional about finding a part-time job, college courses, career things. Is that what HR does?”
“Yes. You finally got one right.” A small spark lights in his eyes. “But for good measure, we should plan to meet up more than once. We might need a few sessions.”
I nod. “Sounds reasonable.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll circle back with my availabilities.”
“Great. I look forward to working with you.” I release his hand on the table and hold mine out for a handshake.
He takes it, and as we shake hands, we both smile.
Deal made.