Chapter 29
Chapter
It’s jarring, going back to real life on Monday morning.
That moment on the yacht rattled me, but Mark Winterson was so charming at dinner that I forgot about it for a while.
He laughed at my jokes, stole a kiss on the cheek, fed me some lobster.
I took as many pictures of the fancy spread for Mom as I could, and afterward, we went back to his place again.
Now the TKCORP lobby is bustling, and that whole thing feels like a scene from a different world. Voices echo around the high-ceilinged room, and there’s a bottleneck forming around the entrance to the elevator bank as people are slow to badge in.
There’s Greg, up ahead—somehow I’d recognize the back of his head in any crowd. He’s standing with Sarah, Morgan, Al, some of the accountants.
And I remember with a start that I went all weekend without responding to his texts, and I probably ought to talk to him.
“Greg!” I call across the lobby, and he turns and meets my eye.
But then Mark Winterson sidles up on my right and slips an arm around my waist.
“Hey, there you are,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. Right here, in the middle of the lobby, in the bright light of day.
Wow, hard launch, okay!
My co-workers are all staring at me. I can practically hear Morgan’s jaw drop.
“I looped in HR, of course,” Mark Winterson says in my ear. “It’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Greg’s still turned this way. And it’s strange, but I can actually see his face shift as though in slow motion, like he’s registering the scene playing out before him on a delay.
He’s usually so relaxed, always laughing at everything. All life is too serious to take it too seriously. But I can’t remember the last time I saw him looking this crushed.
Sarah tugs on his sleeve from behind, and he follows her as they swipe through to the elevators.
I squeeze Mark Winterson’s arm and say, “Late for a meeting!” before I dash across the floor, through the turnstile, and slip into the elevator.
But as the doors close, I realize the mistake I’ve made. We’re all packed in here—my teammates, a bunch of the accountants, a smattering of people from other departments—and everyone is gawking at me.
Grace from Sales giggles and nudges my shoulder. “Damn, girl, didn’t know you had it in you!”
Beside her, Sarah swats her arm and mouths something I can’t make out. Somewhere in the far corner, Al coughs.
Greg’s standing by the elevator buttons. I’m on the opposite side, trying to catch his eye over the heads of the people between us, but he seems very determined not to look.
Some people get out on the third floor, and I take the opportunity to loudly whisper: “Greg! Greg, can we talk?”
Morgan leans in, on alert for gossip.
“Um, yeah, sure,” Greg says, glancing up. He’s blinking a lot, dazed. “Stop by six for a second?”
The elevator dings for the sixth floor, and all the accountants pour out ahead of us. A couple of them give me a quick little up-nod. “Hey, Ruby,” one guy mumbles.
Greg and I get out and linger in the hall before the entrance to the open-plan-office part of the floor. He stares at the industrial blue carpet for a long moment before gathering himself to ask: “Is this really what you want?”
“Um.” I swallow hard, all the win-win-win reasons from last night looping in my head. “Yes?”
“Then everything’s fine.”
“Okay?” I squint into the sun that’s coming through the tall windows behind him, with their view of the TKCORP parking lot and the old pool across the street. “Is it, though?”
Greg looks at the ceiling and sighs, like he’s fighting with himself.
There are so many things I want to yell right now, but maybe they don’t totally make sense. Things like: What do you want from me? And Why are you acting this way? And I thought I was doing the thing that would preserve our friendship! Not ruin it again!
He gestures behind him, not looking at me. “I should get to work. Bye, Ruby.”
And he walks away while I stare at his back.
I run into the elevator and go straight to the bathroom on the eighth floor, tucking myself into the corner of the biggest stall so no one can recognize my shoes, like an old co-worker in New York taught me.
I don’t know why Greg is acting this way, and I don’t know why I’m acting this way, either.
But as emotionally clogged as I am so much of the time, for some reason the tears are coming hot and ready, all this water springing onto my cheeks faster than I can wipe it off.
I start laughing, even though I’m still crying. What the hell, body?
People come and go in here, politely ignoring my sniffling.
Someone slides a tissue box under the stall door, and I recognize Sarah’s perfectly manicured hand. But I’m slow to get to the door, and by the time I open it, she’s gone.