Love by Design

12. Jude

Friday, October 20th

Lucienne and I behaved ourselves.

We really did and it was nearly impossible, but somehow, we survived being within arm’s reach for hours without mauling each other. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m feeling greedy. A man possessed. But I’m sticking to my plan. I’m taking things slow—well, slow enough.

Some might think that ripping her clothes off in the middle of a park to eat her out isn’t moving slow. Time isn’t real anyway. And considering how desperately I’m pining after this woman, I’m going as slow as humanly possible.

The more I get to know her, the more I like her. The more I like her, the more I want her. And I already wanted her pretty fucking badly.

On Sunday, I’m going to take her out to the haunted house she mentioned. It’s supposed to be one of Vermont’s scariest attractions and if I’m being brutally honest with myself, I’m scared to death.

I don’t like haunted houses; I don’t like being scared. Gore, I can deal with; that’s fine. Things jumping out at me from the shadows? Just not for me. I’m a big baby about it and my worry is that I’ll start swinging if I get scared enough in a constricted space, surrounded by ghouls and zombies and ghosts. Despite all of this, the worst part is that costumes are highly encouraged at this event.

Lucienne was elated at the thought.

In between meetings, she was excitedly looking up costume ideas—not just for her, of course. No, not just for her. For me as well.

I must like her a fuck ton because I agreed to wear a damn costume. My one stipulation is that it couldn’t be a full-body costume, like those big inflatable dinosaur costumes or whatever. She squealed and clambered into my lap, kissing me and giggling excitedly.

I kissed her up against the door, rattling some frames as we clawed at one another. That was me trying to head home. Leaving her is getting harder and harder. When I got in my car, I counted how many hours I had to be without her until Sunday night. Roughly 52 hours, to be exact.

I’m in so deep.

The realization hits me in the chest and my heart squeezes. It’s gotta be that damn arrhythmia I self-diagnosed—that’s undeniably valid—because there’s no way the thought that I might be falling for her elicited that kind of physical response. Who the fuck am I kidding? She has made me feel and experience things I never thought possible.

When I close my eyes, all I see are her cornflower eyes, a dusting of freckles, dark curls, and patchwork dresses. No one else has even compared. But I can’t tell her. We’re discovering each other more and more every day. Our touches are becoming familiar, instinctual. I feel her on my fingertips, her lips on my skin.

But I can’t tell her. Not yet.

Earning Lucienne’s trust, those precious noises she makes just for me, has been a gift. I wouldn’t want to spend my time any other way. Doing anything else would be a waste of time. I’m fucking terrified that I’ll scare her away and lose her altogether if I say what’s trying to claw its way out of me.

I guess this is what love is.

It’s all consuming. It’s absolutely petrifying. And maybe it’s just two people who stumble into one another and find something they didn’t know they were missing.

Maybe love is grilled cheese sandwiches.

Whatever it is, I’m feeling it fully and irrevocably. I clutch my chest and sink into a nearby chair. This is the best feeling in the world, but my body sees it as a stress trigger and a panic attack is starting.

My hands begin to tremble and my palms become sweaty. If I hadn’t been sitting, the lightheadedness would have brought me to my knees. I’m in fight or flight but there’s nothing to fend off and nowhere to run.

I hear my phone buzzing continuously in my bag. I jump at the distraction. If I don’t find a way to calm down soon, I’ll pass out on my floor.

Daemon:You up for a drink? I need one.

Without fail, every Friday, Daemon invites me out. His timing is impeccable.

Jude:You’re buying. Where?

Daemon:You sure? It might be packed. I know that smaller, crowded spaces aren’t your favorite. The new place by the coffee shop. Think it’s called Red Cloverz Pub. Meet you over there?

Jude:See you in 10.

Church Street on a Friday night is exhilarating. Always bustling and lively.

I appreciate Daemon being courteous and thinking about my social anxiety in crowded spaces, but tonight it’s oddly a relief. The constant chatter and clinking of glasses is perfectly overstimulating and distracting enough that my panic attack subsides as soon as we snag a booth in the back corner.

There’s old newspaper clippings and antique gas station signs all over the walls. The lights hanging from the ceiling are recycled mason jars, some with tiny fairy lights and others with those giant gold Edison bulbs.

Our table is made of reclaimed wood with ocean blue resin detailing. And there’s giant Jenga out back in the garden. You couldn’t get more Vermont hipster if you tried.

“This is so your vibe, brother. With that man bun, you fit right in. Maybe you should bartend part-time; you’d pull in all the tips,” suggests Daemon.

I sigh and start flipping through the drink menu. I need a stiff one, immediately.

“What’re you getting? I don’t know what half these drinks are.”

“Dirty Bird, plus a shot of WhistlePig.”

I wonder what Lucienne would order if we went out to a bar. We’ve never gotten drinks together. Does she like liquor or beer? Mixed drinks? That’s something else I intend to learn as soon as I can.

“What in the hell is a Dirty Bird?”

“It’s basically a White Russian, but better. It has coffee liqueur, vodka, and half-and-half.”

“So, spiked coffee?”

“The best kind of coffee. I’ll get you one.”

No point in fighting it. Besides, I have no clue what I want right now. Anything with hard liquor sounds pleasant enough so long as it isn’t a straight shot. And coffee? Well, that just makes me think of Lucienne more.

“Hello, I’m Amie. What can I get you two?”

As Daemon opens his mouth to speak, he does a double take. He gapes and fumbles the drink menu in his hands.

That’s interesting.

“Um—hey, yeah. Two Dirty Birds and a shot of WhistlePig,” he stammers.

“And two waters, please,” I add.

She smiles, jotting down our order on a notepad. She’s attractive, which I’m sure Daemon has noticed. Her flaming red hair is tied in a messy ponytail, a few strands hanging in front of her face. Her eyes are a deep brown; at least, I think they are. I couldn’t quite confirm before she walked away.

Once she reaches the bar and starts chatting with the bartender, I look over at Daemon, whose eyes are locked on her. I jab his arm.

“Stunned into silence, huh?” I laugh.

“I—uh—did you see her?”

“I do have eyes, so yeah.”

His face is flushed and he’s scratching the back of his neck. Daemon is nervous. This is rich. The king of smooth talk is stammering and stuttering over a woman. My wingman days may not be over quite yet. Here I thought we had left those behind in college.

“Did you bring me along as a wingman or what? I’ll go talk to her if you want—”

He grabs my arm as I try to leave the booth.

“No, don’t. If she’s still here when we leave, I’ll talk to her.”

“Whatever you say. So, what’s up? Why’d you need to grab a drink?” I ask.

Daemon seems to collect himself, but his demeanor isn’t exactly cheerful. He’s looking agitated and the panic rises in my throat again. I was hoping for a chill, laid-back evening, letting a slight buzz calm me down. It doesn’t seem like that’s in the cards for me.

“Bene-dick gave me some not-so-great unofficial news today,” he sighs.

“What kind of not-so-great unofficial news?”

There were no rumblings of anything throughout my day. Greg was a pain in my ass today, as per usual. He was making a lot of passive-aggressive comments about our progress on the design front. Timelines have been his concern for weeks now, but today he kept making digs at Lucienne’s work.

That, to be frank, pissed me off.

Greg loves this new system and thinks it’s the best thing Wilder has implemented in years. Though I can see why he might think that, I also see the other side. I see how Lucienne’s job is impacted, how her creative spark is dulled. She’s also told me the web developers aren’t happy about it. It seems like everyone at Wilder, except upper management, loathes this system.

It makes me feel guilty. As a project manager, I helped implement it. I put it in place; I worked with Daemon to get everyone trained up and coordinate a new team structure. It was a huge change for our organization, and it impacted so many departments. I’m just doing my job and meeting the needs identified by people who are way above my pay grade. I don’t know; I worry about that disconnect.

“Well, I thought I should tell you, but it’s just a rumor right now, okay? The new system is working great, apparently, and there’s a lot of redundancies in personnel and job duties as a result, according to upper management. Your team identified this as a risk way back when we were first considering this, so that’s not new. But yeah. There’s talk there are going to be layoffs. Bene-dick may be an egotistical maniac, but he’s not a liar.”

The color drains from my face, I can feel it. Layoffs? That’s never fucking good.

“Layoffs? When?”

Daemon raises his hands and shakes his head. “Honestly, Jude. That’s all I know. It’s just a rumor, I said. I mean, I’m kind of worried about it because I think it’s going to impact people who we need the most, the creative people. You know, the people who actually do the work in the first place. This system automates so much and since these fuckheads don’t understand their jobs or the work, they’ll think it’s strategic or cost-effective to get rid of them.”

The entire Web Design and Development department has targets on their backs. This is exactly what Lucienne has been worried about. From the beginning, she’s talked about how her job is restricted, how this system renders her useless. Even though I didn’t believe it because I watched firsthand how much she brought to the table, it doesn’t mean others will think the same thing.

Sure, there are templates, but those templates don’t know where or how to apply branding in a consistent way. The templates don’t know how to create an aesthetic or elicit an emotion by combining color, imagery, and fonts. You need someone who is an expert in design. The templates are also optimized for all different devices, so where does that leave our web developers? They can’t code anything; they just test what’s pre-built.

My panic is rising again and I rub circles on my chest with my fist.

“I need to tell Lucienne,” I say.

Daemon aggressively shakes his head, his eyes wide. “No, don’t, Jude—I shouldn’t have even said anything in the first place. Don’t panic her over nothing. Besides, it’s not your job, yeah? You’re crossing a line, don’t you think? It’s not up to you to bring this up to her. That’s up to her supervisor or department head—you’re neither of those.”

My temper is flaring because he might be right. Lucienne and I may be working on the same team, but the hierarchy in our departments is different. Even though she reports to me on this project, I’m not her supervisor and it’s not up to me to tell her about potential layoffs.

The sick and twisted irony is that my team will likely play a hand in making these kinds of layoff decisions in partnership with other department heads.

“What if she loses her job, Daemon? And I didn’t give her a warning? Then what?” I snap.

“Look, brother, remember what I said? If things are getting too complicated you have to—”

“I’m falling for her, Daemon.”

I just blurt it out. I didn’t want to; I didn’t intend to, but it happens. I knew our relationship could get complicated because we work together. I’m a realist, but I’ve been putting off any conversation with Lucienne about it because things have been—things have been perfect. We work well together, in more ways than one.

I never thought that the possibility of her being laid off and me having to participate in that decision-making would be a real-life situation we would have to deal with.

“Here are your drinks!”

Amie places our collection of drinks on the table gingerly, giving Daemon a small smile.

“Thank you, Amie. You’re a doll.” He shoots her a big grin. She blushes and nods as she turns away.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I will shoot my shot, Jude. Let’s just pause for a second. You’re falling for her?”

I drop my face into my hands as I try to slow my breathing. If someone could put me out of my misery right now, that would be great. I take three huge gulps of my drink. That half-and-half makes my stomach churn, but the coffee liqueur goes down smoothly.

“Yeah, Daemon. I am. And now you tell me this shit.”

It isn’t his fault the timing really sucks. He downs his drink faster than I thought was humanly possible and spins the glass in his hands.

“Shit, Jude. I don’t want to sound insensitive, but isn’t that a little fast? Like you’re sure about this?” he asks.

“I haven’t said anything to her and I don’t plan on it, alright? But now—this complicates things.”

“It fucks things up, actually.”

“Yeah.” I lean back against the back of the booth, staring up at the ceiling. “And no, it’s not too fast. She’s the most outstanding woman I’ve ever met. The second I saw her in that elevator, I was done. It just happened, slowly and then all at once, man.”

“I’m not trying to make you second-guess your feelings. Sorry.”

His eyes are soft and he claps his hand on my shoulder, leaving it there. He doesn’t mean to be critical; I know it happened fast, but I couldn’t stop it. My thoughts are so jumbled that I can feel a headache starting behind my fucking left eye.

Daemon, yet again, starts to sing “Hey Jude” by The Beatles.

I’ll kill him right here in this booth.

He is not singing that fucking song right now. “You’ve got two seconds to get a head start if you don’t want to get hit,” I threaten. Wishing The Beatles never wrote that song feels like blasphemy, but oh well.

“You really let her under your skin—”

“Daemon, I swear to fucking God.”

“Thought it might cheer you up.” He downs his shot, hissing through his teeth as the whiskey burns down his throat. “I can sing something else if you want me to,” he suggests.

I’m still sulking into my hands.

“Okay. Why aren’t you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I don’t want to scare her off and now it seems like her world could be turned upside-down. I don’t want to add to that stress by spilling my guts,” I explain.

The crowds are getting louder as everyone’s drinks start to take effect. The occasional scream or high-pitched cackle sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know what to do. I could do what I do best and procrastinate, just put this off until I need to deal with it. The thought is extremely appealing right now.

“And what? Now you’re worried that if she’s laid off, she’ll dump you or something? You don’t believe that, right?” asks Daemon.

“If I don’t give her a heads-up, it’ll be like I’m lying to her or betraying her in some way,” I sigh.

“Damn, right—this is a problem.”

I’ve had enough.

The longer I’m here, the worse I’m feeling. The noise is getting to be too much, and I know Daemon is trying in his own way, but he’s not helping. He can’t give me a foolproof solution because there isn’t one. All possibilities leave me with the potential of losing her, in some way, shape, or form.

If I withhold this information from her, she’ll think I betrayed her, especially if I have to help inform layoff decisions. If I tell her and she thinks I didn’t advocate for her or her work, she could blame me for not protecting her job. She’s so fucking smart, but I know that’s where her head will go. Mine would too because being with someone you work with isn’t easy.

Everything gets messy and intertwined.

My decisions at work that impact her translate to how I feel about her outside of work. That’s how it is because how do you compartmentalize those kinds of things? I’m feeling so resentful toward Wilder for putting us in this situation. And I’m mad at myself for not being able to handle this.

“Whoa, where are you going? Jude, come on.” Daemon shouts after me as I pull my jacket over my shoulders and head for the front door.

“Home. Thanks for the drinks.”

I feel guilty, but I’m too angry and confused to care. Daemon doesn’t chase after me and I’m glad he doesn’t. Church Street is still bustling as I walk down the cobblestone road. Strings of lights line the street and the only businesses open are restaurants and bars. I’m chilled by the night air, the sweat on my brow causing me to shiver.

I want to see her so fucking badly, but that’s not a good idea. I’d make a stupid decision, like tell her how I feel or how she might be at risk of losing her job.

I want to focus on our upcoming date. I need to distract myself and enjoy these moments with her, for as long as I can. I take out my phone and text her.

Jude:Did you decide on any costume ideas?

Lucienne:Hmm, not yet! I’ll be shopping tomorrow. I have some really good ideas though. You’ll see.

Jude:What’s your favorite alcoholic drink?

Lucienne:Classic Cosmo, but honestly IPAs are my favorite non-mixed drink.

Jude:Tell me about all of your favorite things.

Tell me now, just in case I don’t get the chance to ask again.