15. Dee
Chapter fifteen
Dee
“Did you imagine your life would look like this when you were younger?”
Dylan looks up at me with a hint of surprise.
He takes his time answering, his movements unhurried as he continues to chop away a bell pepper at the kitchen counter.
He got home thirty minutes ago after teaching drum lessons all day.
He insisted on making stir-fry tonight, my favorite, and my mouth is already watering at the aroma filling our apartment. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” I close my laptop—I can’t look at one more job description tonight—and fidget with the corner of the blanket wrapped around my legs. “Sometimes I wonder why I ever made plans at all. I used to tell my parents that I wanted to play basketball professionally.”
That has him pausing, putting down the knife, strong hands gripping the edge as he leans against the countertop, warm smile spreading over his face. “I would have loved to see it. What went wrong?”
I gesture to my body, rolling my eyes. “I’m short, Dylan. And as it turns out, I’m about as coordinated with a ball as a lion would be knitting.”
He bites his lips, fighting a grin now. But he can’t keep the playfulness out of his voice. “So, basketball was unfortunately just out of reach. What was next in the plan?”
I roll my eyes, but continue. “After my athletic dreams were turned to dust, I think it was an astronaut, firefighter, then maybe a marine biologist?” My stomach pulls tight with the memory.
“What?” Dylan asked, spine straightening and brows furrowing. “What’s that face for?”
I shrug, embarrassment washing over me. “I had all these dreams. All these ways I envisioned my life, but I only ever planned for success. I never thought about failing.”
“And you think getting laid off is failing? Dee, you know better than most that it’s not an uncommon experience. It’s not a reflection of you.”
He doesn’t get it. He’s not the one being told he’s not good enough. He’s not the one being analyzed and assessed and found lacking. He’s not the one being rejected day after day.
“It doesn’t feel like I just got laid off. It feels like I just dove off the high dive and bellyflopped and my skin wants to fall off. I don’t even know what I want to do next. I’ve applied to over eighty jobs.” I level him with a glare. “Eighty, Dylan.”
I know I’m qualified for these positions.
Hell, I’m overqualified for some of them.
Six months ago, I wouldn’t have been questioning my own abilities, but I don’t feel that same drive to climb to the top.
I pushed myself for years at my last job.
Taking on extra work, always trying to prove I could do it as well as any of the guys on my team, and trust me, I was outnumbered.
“I’ve even started applying to jobs outside of data analytics and still nothing,” I add. “I don’t know what’s next. I don’t have a plan. It feels like I’m not steering the ship right now.”
I drop my head to the side, leaning into the back cushion of the couch, letting it all finally spill out of me. All this false bravado. All this confidence I’ve been forcing to the surface, when really, I’m drowning in doubt.
Maybe I’m not as good at what I do as I thought. Maybe pursuing what I considered the safe, smart business career was playing it too safe, and now I have nothing to show for it.
Dylan watches me, taking his time before saying anything. “Did you ever think that maybe being a little lost at sea might lead you somewhere better? Maybe it doesn’t need to be scripted all the time. I’m honestly shocked to hear you’d want it that way. Spontaneity is kind of a Dee trademark.”
“In play? Sure, but at work? I want to feel like I accomplished something.”
“You did. Now, you’re onto the next something. Don’t discredit what you’ve already done, just because that chapter ended. It’s still something to be proud of.”
“But I don’t know what that next something is.” I slump lower onto the couch. “What do you think I should do next? Give me a lead. Inspire me, oh wise one.”
“I don’t think you should decide that today. I don’t think you should even think about it.”
“Earth to Dylan…I have bills to pay. I need a job.”
“Have no fear.” He levels me with a look. “Daddy’s here.”
“Oh my god, gross. I used to like it, but now you’ve gone and ruined a good thing.” We both laugh. He returns to cooking and I sit, fiddling with the drawstrings on my sweatshirt.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks a few minutes later, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“I swear, if you try to flip this on me, using a weak moment to tease me, I’m going to come over there and shove a slice of that pepper up your nose.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just threaten me…with a pepper. Did you like your last job? I mean really enjoy it?”
“You can poke fun all you want, with your fun, hotshot concert hall job, but I really loved what I did. I loved taking something chaotic and making sense of it. Giving it meaning and purpose and allowing people to act on it. The company wasn’t the best, but they weren’t the worst. Clearly, they got in over their heads, but they treated their employees decently, they donated to worthy causes.
Yeah, the culture was kind of a boy’s club.
But you know I have no problem speaking my mind where that’s concerned. ”
“Naturally. So if the problem wasn’t the work, maybe it was the team. You were at Keller’s a long time, but they won’t all be like that.”
I shrug. “Maybe this is the inevitable fallout after living in a world that’s constantly demanding that I achieve more, be my best self, transform my life into this picture-perfect aesthetic, God forbid anything stain the sunset on the beaches of happily ever after.”
I wanted to be perfect, but ended up perfectly confused.
“No one is expecting you to find your happily ever after before you turn twenty-nine. You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“I guess, after years of pushing so hard, I’m left feeling like my best isn’t enough. When I signed on for my internship, I had to push to prove myself.”
I kept climbing higher and higher, taking on bigger projects, managing a heavier workload at the same pay, all to play the game. Get more opportunities to do more of the same, more work for the same pay.
“It was competitive,” I say. “It’d be nice, I guess, to work somewhere that was more collaborative than that. Somewhere that valued teamwork over pinning us against each other just to capitalize on our drive to prove ourselves.”
My shoulders drop and my chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. I glance at Dylan, uncomfortable with how easily he drew this out of me. The girls and I haven’t even talked about this.
They probably assume I’m fine since that’s what I show them. Why can’t Dylan accept that answer too?
“What about that interview that fell through with your old coworker. Did they ever reschedule?” he asks.
“Not yet, but the hiring manager emailed me,” I say, lacking any real enthusiasm.
“You don’t want it?”
“It’s not that. I mean, maybe it is.” I shrug.
“Phil was fine, but I know it’s going to be more of the same.
And I’m tired of having to prove myself.
Tired of having to work three times as hard to get the same amount of respect.
Tired of not being respected by the people I’m working with.
” I shake my head. “Enough of my drama. What about you?”
“What about me?” He returns his focus to cooking the meal in front of him, but I don’t miss the tightening of his shoulders and the tension returning in his jaw.
“Well, you’ve managed the Bridge for how long now? Is that where you want to be?”
He shrugs, not lifting his gaze.
“All advice, no introspection,” I muse. “Only I have to spill my guts on the floor? Join me in the word vomit soup, would you?”
“First of all, that’s gross. I’m making us dinner,” he deadpans.
“What are we having?”
“Not soup. Thank God,” he mutters.
“I’m serious, Dylan.”
“Me too. I’d probably have to start over if that was the plan.”
I pause, waiting for him to give in.
“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ve been biding my time. The owner has been considering selling the Bridge and retiring, on and off, for about two years.”
“And you…what? You want to buy it? Shit, are you my sugar daddy?”
He laughs then, dropping his head low before meeting my eyes. “I could be.”
“Go on, Daddy D,” I say with a wink.
He laughs, relaxing and returning to cutting vegetables.
“There are so many incredible local bands, smaller artists just finding their feet. Our current owner won’t put any effort into finding new voices.
He’s looking for the easiest, most surefire way to make a buck off the shows we host. But if we really want to be a part of the community, we need to invest in the community. ”
“Like with the kid’s drum lessons.”
His eyes flicker to mine with warmth. “Like the drum lessons,” he confirms with a smile.
“Well, can’t you make those decisions as the GM?”
“You’d think, but given that he’s planning to sell, he’s trying to invest as little in the venue as possible while still making a profit. He won’t allow for any flexibility in the budget.”
“And you’d handle it differently?”
“I’d take more risks. He’s playing it safe.” His tone is careful, measured, like he’s talked himself down with these same words countless times before. “Not sure I can completely blame him. He wants to retire and feel financially secure.”
“But if you were the owner…”
“If it were up to me, we’d branch out beyond our typical concerts.
A wider variety of musicians, taking a chance on lesser-known groups.
Even expanding the type of events we take on.
Several groups have reached out, asking if they can reserve our building for more than concerts.
Conventions, weddings, you name it. There’s demand for it.
The building is historic. Mostly original brickwork.
Beautiful. But it would require a lot of planning.
Restoring a few areas that need it. Building up our staffing.
All investments needed to build up even bigger in the future. ”
He’s lighting up, like he’s forgotten where he is, his gaze is focused on the counter in front of him, but his mind is running a mile a minute.
He’s talking with his hands. He’s thought this through probably a thousand times, argued with himself over the validity of the risk… and the potential rewards.
“What do you get out of this?” I ask, intrigued by this version of him.
“Everything,” he says on an exhale. “Sure, we might not bring in a profit again for a few years. The rest of our usual business would probably tide us over. But the relationship with the community? It has the potential to be something special. A place for people to count on. A place for people to connect. I would have killed to perform in a venue like the Bridge when I was in high school. We could have high school band nights, supporting young artists, giving them that experience. And weddings in that venue?”
I can picture it perfectly. A ceremony on that stage would be incredible.
“Well.” He shrugs it off. “It’s all a pipe dream until he finally decides to sell.”
“I like seeing this side of you,” I admit, catching both him and myself off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I guess I always seem to get sarcastic, smart-ass Dylan.”
“I’m still a sarcastic smart-ass.”
“Yeah, but one with passion,” I say sincerely. “Looks good on you, Daddy D.”
He laughs rich and deep, a burning in my belly forming as I watch his jaw work. Yeah, it shouldn’t look that good on him…but it does. And I find my mind turning over, ideas loosely taking shape, inspiration swirling low, building into something that feels a lot like the passion Dylan speaks with.