9. Morgan
Chapter 9
Morgan
T uesday brought with it the rudest awakening possible in the form of a performance review at work. At least I’d got to go play with Pablo over lunch; his pal Percy had been adopted as soon as the website had been updated to reflect that he was a Lhasa Apso puppy, which was much rarer. I’d come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn’t be able to find a pet-friendly place in my budget, but at least I could make sure he wasn’t lonely in the meantime.
I dropped my sunglasses at my desk in the “fundraising corner”, as it had been dubbed, which was made up of four desks smushed together into one big table. The six of us in fundraising – well, now five without Cara, as her role still hadn’t been filled – took turns in each spot so no one would be permanently stuck in the seats that straddled two desks, or the “manspread desks” as we called them.
I grabbed my laptop and exchanged loaded glances with Chloe before heading to my boss’s office; her review was later in the day. Simone was waiting for me, scrolling through a document on her computer that I recognised as my review form. I’d filled out the self-reflection a few days prior, not sure how to professionally say “I meet my quotas, but I also couldn’t give less of a shit as long as I get paid, and I’m sure that’s clear to everyone around me.”
“Have a seat,” Simone said, tilting her head down to look at me over her reading glasses, pointing to the chair opposite hers at her desk. Her tone was casual enough, but I still felt like I’d been called into the headmaster’s office, causing me to perch nervously on the edge of the chair rather than settling into it like I normally would.
We went through the form together in a way that told me she could tell I didn’t give a shit, but she also didn’t give much of a shit, so it was fine. I would be getting a pay rise in line with inflation, and my quota was going up by ten percent like it had every year since I’d joined. It was the world’s most monotonous performance review, which was fitting for what felt like the world’s most monotonous job.
Until it wasn’t.
“What’s your vision for your future here, Morgan?”
I actually blinked, trying to figure out if I’d heard her correctly.
“You mean for, like, my career?” It was the most idiotic thing I could have uttered, but my brain hadn’t processed the break in status quo yet.
“Yes,” she said, a twinge of exasperation in her tone.
“I’m not sure,” I said, sitting forward, wracking my brain for anything at all that would be professionally appropriate. But the only thing I could find for several seconds was “I have no vision for anything in my life, much less this dead-end job.” Thankfully my still-mildly-hungover brain managed to filter that one.
“Well,” Simone said, throwing me a much-needed lifeline, “have you ever thought about moving into events?”
I somehow managed to keep my nose from actually turning up at that comment. I’d helped on the autumn gala last year, and it had been the worst three months of my life. “Not specifically,” I said.
“Well, Aaron from the events team is going on parental leave at some point soon,” she said. “And between you and me, he’s let me know that he’s unlikely to come back. So there could be a promotion up for grabs.”
I didn’t like where she was headed, and my leg bounced nervously in front of me.
“Now, you helped Aaron with last year’s gala, did you not?”
I nodded, swallowing hard.
“Well, I’d like you to cover it this year, in addition to your usual work. And assuming it goes well, as soon as Aaron makes his departure official, his job would be yours.”
I knew she was expecting some gratitude from me here; the Event Coordinators made almost ten grand a year more than I did in my current role. And who actually liked being a glorified telemarketer? So I saw disappointment settle over her when I didn’t immediately begin thanking her.
But then I remembered my current predicament. I’d be moving out soon, whether I liked it or not. With any luck, the gala would come and go without a moving date, and I could save enough to tide me over in a more expensive place until the promotion became available. This could be a game-changer for me in terms of what I could afford on my own. Maybe I could even get a dog-friendly place…
So I smiled.
“I’m in,” I said, trying to project the confidence I thought she was looking for.
“Brilliant,” she said, bringing her hands down on the stack of folders on her desk. She grabbed one of them, clearly placed conveniently on top for this conversation, and handed it to me. “Here’s all the collateral from last year: the invites, the programme, the menu. Aaron will have everything else. I’ll have him put a meeting in your calendar for next week to get started.”
“Thank you,” I said, standing up to go.
“You’re the right person for the job,” she said from her seat as I left the room. “I know you can do this.”
I smiled and nodded thankfully as I left the room, but the smile dropped as soon as I shut the door behind me. Because I knew she was right; I could do this. But I also wasn’t being given a choice, as was the case with most things in my life, it seemed.
* * *
By the time the weekend rolled around, I couldn’t ignore the cleaning any longer. The estate agent was officially coming round in a couple of days, and I figured I’d better get started. So I put my headphones on, put on the audiobook of a new rom-com, and got to work.
I started by throwing a load of whites into the washing machine, which meant changing my bedsheets. Then, riding the wave of momentum that created, I boxed half the throw pillows and stashed them in the gross storage cellar; I hated to admit it, but the lounge looked significantly less cluttered as a result. I scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, and even dusted the skirting board, which was so dusty that I wondered if it had ever been dusted at all.
Then I took a step back, looked at the downstairs through the eyes of a prospective buyer, decided most prospective buyers were probably boring, and decided we probably didn’t need all three rugs. I tried to get the most garish one out from under the sofa, but I couldn’t do it alone, so I changed my mind and decided the boring buyers would just have to deal.
I was just putting another load of washing on when a text message came through, the ding of the notification so loud in my headphones that it made me jump. I pulled my phone out of the chest pocket of my dungarees and saw that it was from Chloe:
Really glad you came with us this weekend! And now we’ve got the ren faire to plan, yay! Xx
I tapped out a reply:
It was so fun! And yeah, lots to plan! Let me know when I need to send you money for the flights and stuff
This was new; Chloe and I had never messaged outside of work before. I hadn’t had a texting buddy other than Cara in forever. Not that one text constituted a texting buddy, but still … it was a start.
I smiled a few moments later when another notification pinged, letting me know I’d been added to a group chat called “Wench Please”.
I sat down on the sofa for a break, and the second I did, I felt all the motivation drain out of me. So instead of doing the half dozen other things on my list, I grabbed my tablet and went over to my window seat.
Instead of resuming the character portraits though, I opened up a new file and just started drawing as lines and colours flashed in my mind: some grey shapes, some green grass, and finally some squiggles that could be water. It was the river. Now that I knew what I was doing, I went back and refined some of the shapes, then debated how to approach drawing the water, which had been so crystal clear; I’d never tried to draw anything quite like it. But eventually I got there, focusing on creating reflections and refractions instead of the water itself.
And before I realised what I was doing, I was adding more shapes to the scene: one taller and more golden, the other paler and smaller, as close as they could be to one another in the water without touching. The negative space between them was almost more conspicuous than contact would have been. Looking at it, I could remember what it felt like to have the current moving around me, pushing me towards him, his eyes on my face, his body heat at my front…
Nope, okay, that was enough of that. I turned off my tablet and chucked it away from me faster than if it had burned me.
I shook off the memory, but I couldn’t shake the sense that something important had happened. Jack was right: it had awakened a desire to do something more. Something interesting. Whatever had come over me that morning that had made me want to go swimming, that didn’t seem to be going away.
I pictured myself doing all of the things Jack had talked about. Hiking, camping, kayaking… I’d never done any of it, and I would have said just a couple of days ago that it was too far out of my comfort zone. But how could I say that for sure if I never tried?
Then again, how exactly did one go about going on a hike when one had no car and no survival skills?
I only knew one person who would be able to say for sure, and luckily I’d just been added to a group chat with him.
I took a deep breath and looked down at the list of group members, using process of elimination to find Jack’s number; there were two that didn’t have names next to them, and one of those had a picture of a blurry figure with a lilac buzz cut. So I tapped on the other one – the one without the photo, though I could easily picture the golden blonde hair and chiselled face that should be there – and messaged Jack, trying to suppress the images that flashed in my mind from my little replay a few minutes ago.
So how does one… hike?
Then, for good measure, I added:
(This is Morgan, btw.)
And then, probably not good measure anymore but equally urgent:
(I got your number off the group chat. Sorry if that’s weird.)
I regretted the last message almost as soon as I’d sent it; of course it was weird that I texted him within ten minutes of having access to his number, and no amount of apologising would make it less so. But the only thing worse than the message would be deleting it and having him be able to see that I’d deleted a message. So I stuck to my guns, staring at my phone as if I could summon a reply.
Nearly two minutes later, it worked. He started typing. And ten seconds after that, his message came through:
One finds a hiking buddy. Free Friday evening?
Also, +200 XP for asking. Nice one.