17. Lucienne
Friday, October 27th
I’ve been crying so much that I don’t remember what it feels like to breathe through my nose.
One second, I was reviewing some of the finalized pages of the site and the next I was reading about potential severance packages. Nothing made sense; I couldn’t understand what Colette was telling me. To be fair, I’m not sure she knew what she was saying.
They had her tell me about losing my job because she’s my supervisor, and then informed her of her own layoff. You’d think the departmental hierarchy would go out the door in a situation like this, but no. They had to dig the blade in just a little deeper.
Even though the layoffs would be formally announced today, I was advised to not work my last two days at Wilder. It was highly suggested. So, I didn’t. I packaged up my company laptop and sent it back to them, ridding my space of anything remotely related to my now former employer. And then I sat on my couch and cried.
I cried for hours.
I thought I was doing well. I thought I was making this work for me. I tried to prove my worth and support this change, but I didn’t try hard enough. In the end I wasn’t enough.
Redundancy.
The work I do is now simplified; anyone can do it. The template makes it easy to plug and play, no creativity needed. My skills are worthless; they aren’t valuable. I bring nothing to the table anymore.
I’m fighting with all I have to not let this reflect on me as a person, but I’m losing that battle. Deep down, I know Jude had no idea what had happened. I could tell by the look of pure confusion on his face.
His eyes were begging me to let him explain himself and I couldn’t. God, his brow was furrowed in desperate worry and just like when we first met, I wanted to reach out and smooth the anxious crease on his forehead, but I couldn’t.
My own anxiety had taken hold and I had convinced myself in that moment that he was complicit in me losing my job. Seeing him so torn up hurt my heart more than anything ever has. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to throw myself in his arms and tell him how sorry I was for ever thinking he would do something to harm me, but I couldn’t.
I’m fucking pathetic.
Instead, I closed the door in his face as he stood there clutching his chest, begging me to let him in.
I watched him sit in his car outside my house for an hour. It was too dark to see him, but I caught only glimpses of his head against the steering wheel. I crumbled to the ground near my bay window and stayed there, shaking with self-loathing and regret.
I lost my job and I feel like I’ve lost Jude, both on the same day. This man who has made me feel loved for the first time in my life and I drove him away, like I always do.
It’s time for me to admit that I’m the problem. It’s always been me. Jude deserves to be loved by someone who isn’t afraid, someone who can work through their own anxieties, meet them halfway. That’s all he’s ever done with me, and I couldn’t give him that in return.
I suck at my job. I suck at being a romantic partner. I suck at being a person, when it comes down to it. I didn’t think it was possible to suck so much at being a human being.
Colette told me that the project managers had to work with department heads, i.e., her, to determine which positions were no longer viable at Wilder. It turns out that the Web Design and Development department had some of the most significant cuts to the point that whoever was left would be absorbed into another department altogether.
Poof. Gone.
My job gone, Colette’s job gone, our department gone, Jude gone.
I have nowhere else to go, but being in my apartment is agonizing. It feels like there is a lead weight on my chest as I look around at every spot he’s touched.
Confessing his feelings for me on my couch, pressing me to him against the sink, making love to me in my bed, on the bathroom floor…
I stowed all of these memories around my home and thank God he didn’t take them with him. They may be all I have left. We never put photos up on my walls. Maybe that’s for the best.
Yesterday, Colette came by, and she held me while I cried my heart out. I told her about asking Jude to leave and she held me tight, trying to reassure me that I need to give it time. That he would forgive me. I hate myself for how I’ve treated him. I don’t know how I would even approach him after all of this.
I’ve been numb today. Not sad, not angry, just numb. I’m on autopilot, trying to think of everything I need to do in order to get back on my feet, but I’m running on empty.
Around lunchtime, there was a knock on my door, and I opened it to find a bag of Swedish Fish and an iced caramel macchiato waiting for me. It was the first thing that made me smile in days. Colette probably wanted to cheer me up, but also wanted to let me wallow in my self-pity.
I grazed on that bag all afternoon and even felt energized after my coffee, so I cleaned up my portfolio website, something I haven’t touched in years since working at Wilder. My resume needs to be updated and I should start scouring for jobs because my savings, even combined with the pending severance, won’t last me too long.
My phone buzzes and I reluctantly pick it up to see a text from Colette.
Colette: Day 3. I’ve watched Bridesmaids five times to feel better about my life.
Lucienne:Did it work?
Colette:No. Want to watch Saw tonight and pretend that life is all sunshine and rainbows?
Lucienne:I’ll skip the whole pretend thing, but a gory movie works for me.
I appreciate her so fucking much. Even though she’s also upset about being laid off, she’s still trying to make me feel better. I love her, but it’s also not her job to lift me up when I’m feeling like complete crap.
One of these days, I will make it up to her, for years of caring for me. If I can start with Colette, maybe one day I can love someone back the way they deserve.
“How many times did you break down today? I’m tapping out at four. There are no more tears left for me to shed. I”m running dry.”
Colette has her arms wrapped around me. Her hair is disheveled, her face bare. I bury my face in her hair and laugh. It’s weak but it isn’t forced. She makes me feel normal.
“The past few days have been one constant breakdown, so I don’t think I have a running tally.” I close the door behind her and we sit on the couch, my legs draped over hers.
Colette leans her head back and stares at the ceiling. “Now that I’ve had some time to clear my head, I guess I should have seen this coming. You did. You kept trying to tell me. You always see the big picture,” she sighs.
I scoff, sitting up on my forearms. “If only my incredible foresight could help me make better decisions and maybe avoid bullshit when it comes my way.”
The last thing I need is my anxiety to be validated. I cross my arms and try to ease the tension in my jaw as it begins to quiver. I refuse to cry again.
“Hey, Lucy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean you were right. I kept trying to convince myself that everything would work out, but it didn’t.”
I sit up and hug her. I’m trying to do better; it’s my turn to be supportive, not be sarcastic. “No, I’m sorry. I—I know what you meant. You’re optimistic, Colette. There’s nothing wrong with that. I admire you for it. And I’m so sorry this happened to you too. We’ll job search together, okay? We can make a day of it soon.” She smiles and kisses my cheek as I rest my head on her shoulder.
“Thanks, Lucy. I love you.”
“I love you too. So much.” I huddle closer to her.
We turn on the movie and sit in silence with one another for a good chunk of time. This is just the kind of distraction I needed. Tomorrow is new and I’ll get up, cross something off my list, and do it again the next day.
I can do this.
“Have you heard from Jude?” she asks.
My breath hitches at the mention of his name. I can feel his hands on my waist, his smile against my temple. I can hear his praise in my ear. I shudder and tuck myself closer against Colette.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Lucy, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps.
Her reaction catches me off guard. She takes the remote from my hand and pauses the movie, removing my legs from her and turning to me head-on.
“For fuck’s sake, what?” I say, taken aback.
Colette glares at me and slaps my knee.
“Ouch! What the hell?” I hiss, pulling myself out of her reach.
“You were fragile and in pieces on Wednesday, but I’m not going to be nice now.”
“Yeah, no shit I guess!”
“How do you not see how stupid you’re being?” she snarls.
The way my emotions have felt like whiplash the past few days is starting to take its toll on me. I can’t figure out where this hostility is coming from. “As if I’m not feeling shitty enough, Colette. Come on.” I roll my eyes and pull my knees to my chest.
“Maybe you should feel a little shitty about this. Did you consider that?”
“Congrats. I do.”
“Is it because you know you could just talk to him and work through this? Because you know you’re throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you if you don’t?”
I have to remind myself to breathe. My lungs won’t expand enough for me to take a deep breath. “I blamed him for everything. I shut the door in his face. I had a chance to talk through it with him and I threw it out. Like every other time he tried to talk things through with me. I—I don’t deserve him, Colette,” I whisper. I bite my bottom lip and the tears spill down my cheeks. I wasn’t going to cry. I didn’t want to.
“I’ve never heard you say something so incredibly stupid,” sighs Colette. She’s smiling at me with a look of complete perplexity. “Lucy, you of all people deserve to be loved so entirely. You’re fiercely stubborn—God, you are so stubborn when you know you’re doing the right thing. You care for others so deeply, it’s almost scary, like I don’t know where your capacity to give so much love comes from, but I envy it. You’re gorgeous, just in case you forgot, because you always do somehow. You’re intelligent, you’re creative—one of the most creative people I’ve ever met—and you’re miraculously loyal. So communication is tough for you. It’s tough for all of us. What matters is that we keep trying. You don’t see yourself like somebody who loves you, and it’s time you try.”
I’m blubbering like a big baby.
I can’t even see Colette as she throws herself at me, holding the back of my head and pressing me to her gently. She pats my hair and lets me soak her sweater in tears, maybe some snot. It all mixes together when you cry like this. My hands are tucked into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, but I wrap my arms around her and grip her tight.
“You’re his world, Lucy. I saw it the second I saw you two together at the haunted house. He moved with you, so in sync. He looked at you with so much adoration. It was right there in front of you,” she explains, rubbing my back.
“W-what d-do I d-do?” I choke.
“Well, you can start by giving yourself some grace. Then, you can text him or call him or just go to him. I’m sure he’s waiting for you to come to him.”
She lets go and takes my face in her hands. “Tell him everything you just told me. You’ve already given him your heart and he’s kept it safe, hasn’t he?”
I nod, blinking my vision clear.
“H-how? How do I—I’m n-not good at t-this stuff,” I sniffle.
I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to do to fix this. I need her help. I’ve never been good at this. My brain is too fuzzy to think straight.
Colette takes my hand in hers. “Why don’t you write him a letter? I know it’s hard for you to say what you feel in the moment, so maybe if you write it down and read it to him, that could help.”
A letter. It’s a romantic gesture I never considered. Maybe I could unravel all of my thoughts and feelings in a way that makes sense, in a way that he will understand.
Use your words.
I’ll try, Jude. I’ll try.
Iwrote the damn letter. Now it’s sitting on my coffee table waiting to be read. Since Colette left, I’ve been staring at it as if I’ll catch it running off to Jude on its own.
If I take my eyes off of it, he’ll somehow get it before I’m ready to give it to him. It’s a dastardly little thing. It even fought me when I stuffed it into the envelope and scribbled his name on the front.
But I wrote it in blue ink, my favorite color. I didn’t write a novel. It’s concise, organized (whatever that means in this scenario), and heartfelt. I’m equally nervous and elated to have Jude read it, though I don’t know how I’m going to get it to him yet.
I could leave it at his apartment door and run away, but he’s on the fourth floor. He’d beat me downstairs if I took the elevator. That’s too awkward.
I could leave it at the front desk at Wilder, but then I run the risk of someone else seeing it. That would also mean I’d need to step foot in that stupid building where I no longer work and I’m too bitter for that. The wound is too fresh, and I don’t subscribe to the whole “rub some dirt in it” crap.
My last option would be to ask him to meet me and hand it to him myself. Again, I’m left with two options: I could run away as he reads it or I could stand there dying slowly and hope he sweeps me off my feet instead of telling me off.
Look at me conducting a risk assessment. Hopefully Jude would be proud.
I decide that reaching out and asking him to meet me is the best option, so naturally I’ve had our text thread open for hours, typing and retyping the message I want to send. Nothing seems adequate, so I settle for something simple.
Lucienne:Can we talk?
Those three little dots don’t pop up. I stare at the text window for a few minutes. Still nothing. Well, this just doesn’t seem healthy.
Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the couch cushions. I’ve cried a lot and now I’m angry at myself for creating this mess. I would earn gold in the Fuck Up Your Own Life Olympics.
Worried I may have missed a response, I fish my phone out of the couch. Nothing. I check the time and it’s after midnight. I guess I can’t expect everyone to be up late trying to work through a crisis, but if anyone would be up pacing their living room, it would be Jude.
I’m exhausting myself.
I trudge down the hallway to my bedroom and when I look at my crooked quilt and bunched sheets, my heart lurches painfully.
I see him sprawled out, his thighs poking out from under white sheets. His arm over his face, that single dimple as he smiles. His honey brown hair tussled and free.
When I think about heartbreak, I always thought it would be explosive.
It isn’t. It’s happening in slow motion.
A used coffee mug in the sink, a dented pillow, a frame askew on the wall.