Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
By the end of the day I’m not the only one feeling the tension.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Connor this grumpy.
Even the guys seem beyond trying to lift him out of whatever mood he’s in, and since he doesn’t say a word to me, I don’t say a word back.
Every agonizing minute of this silence plays out with him and me sitting side by side.
Ben has been stealing furtive glances at me all afternoon, but when I look back at him his eyes dart away again. Eventually, I can take it no longer.
ANNIE: Do I have something on my face, Benjamin?
He shoots a crooked smile in my direction, then starts typing.
BEN: Hah, sorry.
BEN: I’m being weird aren’t I
ANNIE: A little
BEN: Just wanted to see if everything is OK?
ANNIE: Why wouldn’t it be
BEN: Pretty quiet over on your side of the table today, that’s all
ANNIE: Think you might need to direct your comments to the bridge troll on my left
He types and then stops three times. It feels like he’s choosing his words carefully. I can hear the tap of the delete key from here. All I can see is the very top of his fiery-red mop, bobbing up and down.
BEN: Did you guys have a fight or something?
BEN: Before the meeting I mean
BEN: I was there for that part
ANNIE: Maybe he’s just in a bad mood today
BEN: He wasn’t before
It’s like Connor senses we’re talking about him.
He pulls his headphones off and directs a question at Ben, effectively bringing our furtive conversation to a close.
He’s turned away from me completely—his back may as well be a brick wall.
It really brings new meaning to the phrase giving the cold shoulder. I can feel none of his usual warmth.
I scroll back through my conversation with Ben, which feels weirder the more I think about it, even for the fact that he had it with me and not Connor.
My mind snags on Ben’s suggestion that Connor wasn’t in a bad mood before, which, if I really think about it, I guess seems true.
I’m just not exactly sure why Ben’s first thought is that it has something to do with me. Why doesn’t he just ask him?
—
Uncharacteristically, Connor is the first one to leave. This never happens.
He stands from his chair, and I look up at him, waiting.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask cautiously.
“Going to work from home, I think,” he says, addressing this to the button on his coat rather than to me.
“Oh.”
“See you guys.”
I watch the back of his head retreat toward the elevators, my frown growing. Connor never works from home. What’s going on?
I look over at Ben. He raises his eyebrows like are you going to deal with that?
And you know what? Yes I am. I can’t handle both him and Shannon being mad at me at the same time, it’s too much. If Connor wants to be annoyed with me about something, he will have to get in line.
He’s already gone by the time I reach the elevators, which means he’s also no longer in the lobby when I finally hit the ground floor. I push through the doors and scan the plaza around me, craning my neck to see around all the people coming and going.
There’s no sign of him. It’s like he’s disappeared. I can only guess the direction he’s going in. If I get this wrong I’ll never find him now, and will have no choice but to follow him all the way back home. Like a weirdo. Or a stalker.
My luck holds—I pick the right direction and catch sight of the back of his head on the corner right before he cuts across the street.
I want to dramatically call his name, but even if he did hear me, he’d turn around right in the middle of the crosswalk and then be flattened by a taxi.
Which Ben would probably also blame me for, cryptically, over messenger.
By the time I race across the street it’s me who is almost hit by a taxi, but I don’t let this stop me. I jog the extra ten seconds until I am right behind him. Connor jolts when I reach forward and grab his arm, turning with a noise that sounds something like wargh!
He frowns when he realizes it’s just me, looking back toward the office like what are you doing I thought I left you back there.
For my part, I’ve been so busy catching up to him that I forgot to really work through what it is I’m catching up to him for, and now that we’re face-to-face, in addition to being out of breath (and lightly sweating) I also can’t think of a single word to say. I go with Ben’s thing.
“Is everything OK?”
“Sorry?”
His face is a picture-perfect translation of: ?????
“You seem like you’re in a bad mood.”
“I—OK?”
“If you’re mad at me about something, you should just say.”
I admit: my tone is accusing. I am rapidly losing sight of what it is I’m doing here. Meanwhile, the power of speech has totally deserted Connor. He is standing there gaping, his eyes roaming all over my face.
“You think I’m mad at you?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe. You’re being weird.”
“I’M being weird?!”
“Yes!” I say, indignant. “You are. You’ve been weird all day.”
Retrospectively, maybe he wasn’t mad before. But he’s definitely mad now. He rubs at his temples, weighing up what he wants to say to me. Or possibly praying for patience.
“You never got in touch this weekend.”
“So you are mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” he says. “I’m—I don’t know, disappointed, I guess. You said you were going to call me, and when I didn’t hear from you all weekend, I thought, that’s fine, you’re busy with your sister. But then you came in this morning and you wouldn’t even look at me.”
He glares at me, but it’s not angry. It’s wounded. It all clicks into place.
“You thought I was blowing you off.”
His hands are in his pockets, and he gives me the smallest little shrug imaginable. “What was I supposed to think?”
“Not that.”
Instead of looking at me, he’s looking at the ground, toeing at a pebble beneath him. My heart clenches. He’s not convinced.
“The truth is—” I take a deep breath, hating that I have to tell him this. “The weekend was a disaster.”
He looks up at me then, his head tilting to the side. A silent invitation to continue.
“I was not the bigger person,” I say pathetically. My hands dangle uselessly at my sides. “After I left your place, I went to meet my sister at the wedding dress shop for her appointment and we got into a huge fight.”
I trail off, my voice cracking on the word fight and I can feel my mouth twisting, my chin scrunching up under the pressure not to cry. Whenever this happens, I completely lose control of my nostrils. They’re flaring in and out while I work to calm myself down.
One more deep breath and I manage to swallow back the tears that are threatening.
“I said something really mean, which I am way too embarrassed to repeat to you, and then she, well, she told me she hated me.”
“Annie—”
“I was really disappointed in myself,” I continue, cutting off any attempt at sympathy.
“And worried you were going to be disappointed in me too. That’s why I didn’t text.
And this morning when you asked me, I knew you’d see right through me if I even attempted to talk about it, and I just panicked. ”
He doesn’t say anything, just gently steps forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So I guess in a way I was avoiding you, but not because of that. I want—” My fingers tingle with nervousness. Strange that something I feel so strongly is also so hard to put into words. “I want to do the exact opposite of avoid you, basically.”
I hold my breath, waiting to see if he believes me. He catches my hand in his, raising it gently to his lips.
“OK,” he says. “Then let’s go. I’m starving.”
—
He marches us across the street and to the taco spot on the corner, ordering us both a mountain of food and instructing me to elbow my way into a spot by the window.
It’s standing room only, so I hover, stretching my palms along the white tile countertop in front of me, claiming as much space as I dare.
He really wasn’t lying when he said he was hungry. By the time he’s inhaled his first taco, his whole demeanor has changed. His shoulders drop, his posture relaxes. He’s back to the calm, easygoing Connor who somehow never seems to have a care in the world.
“I thought you were going to give me hell about the meeting,” he says, wiping at his fingers with a crumpled napkin.
“I am,” I tell him. “As soon as I finish eating.”
He huffs a laugh. “That’s allowed. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”
Connor’s apologies disarm me every time—I’m powerless to resist the simple honesty with which he delivers them.
I take a swig of my orange soda. “Not even going to attempt to defend yourself?”
“If I was,” he says casually, “I’d say that I had just been dumped and then bamboozled by the boss in front of my whole team, and was feeling testy.”
“You hadn’t been dumped.”
“I didn’t know that at the time.”
I tug on his sleeve. “I know you’re joking. But—I don’t like that you thought that.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just ducks his head into my shoulder and plants a kiss on the side of my neck. Heat blooms from the spot where he touched me.
He straightens. “I’m reluctant to repeat my opinion on the templates since it made you so mad this morning.”
“I can feel the ‘but’ coming.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work,” he admits. “But I swear I didn’t tell Brad I think he should kill it.”
“OK.”
“I will talk to him again,” he promises me.
“The thing is, though, he’s really on one with the whole free tier thing.
Even if the integrated templates were ready, I’m honestly not sure he’d go for it—he wants to push the software in a completely different direction.
There’s nothing I can do to change that. ”
“Of course.”
“But Annie,” Connor says, searching my face. “Don’t repeat anything from that meeting this morning. The stuff about rolling out 3.0 ahead of schedule and plans for a float are lockdown confidential. Now would not be the time to fall foul of Brad.”
Now would be the time to admit I’d already gone downstairs and strongly hinted at all this, but I don’t want to ruin this moment. Instead, I make a mental note to remind Andy to play it cool, then banish the subject from my mind.