Redemption Arc

Chapter 1

Chapter one

A Long Holiday Weekend

The shift is palpable as I watch every person in the office walk towards the elevator, hour by hour, slowly emptying the space. Leaving me alone to my thoughts as the silence presses in.

A long three-day Memorial Day weekend. Margaret from human resources is flying down to Florida to visit her grandkids. Lena is planning to attend a music festival in Napa Valley. And what am I doing?

Good question. If you look at the PTO request, I submitted a few weeks ago, it would indicate that I have some type of plan.

Empty desks. Devoid of water cooler talk. Nothing left but this sharp pit in my stomach as the ticking sound on my watch grows louder than the sound of Chris’s voice.

My romantic dinner reservation at L’Etere is dying a slow, agonizing death. An elaborate dinner that has been strategically organized for months to help me gather the courage to initiate the “let’s live together” conversation.

Chris is sitting inside his giant glass box in the middle of the office, spinning around in his chair with his cell attached to his ear.

It’s becoming increasingly clear that leaving before nine simply isn’t going to happen.

Pushing off with my feet, I roll my chair a few inches to the left, just out of his line of sight and type: Sorry, it’s going to be a long night. Will pick up burgers instead.

A painful knot forms in my chest as I press send. Knowing us, this probably is par for the course, considering our history…

When you’ve been together as long as Aidan and I have been, you form traditions. Ours? Friday night burgers. Tuesday night tacos. A topic we never had to discuss because it was set in stone. It’s been that way since our third date.

I should probably just ask him over a burger anyway since that’s the night everything really clicked for us.

The date his black BMW refused to start up. Every time he turned the key, the endless cranking sound would appear. After several tries, we moved outside of the car, pleading to strangers on campus in fifty-degree weather.

“Hey, before my date dumps me for being a dumbass, do you happen to have jumper cables?”

To which I responded, “I won’t dump him if I can just get my free food. Please help me. I am a broke college student who is sick of ramen.”

Our first bonding activity before we became official.

College students, as you would expect, are apathetic to say the least. It took a total of two and half hours and a few puppy-dog eyes to land us at the only burger joint in town.

Sal’s.

Our conversation flowed from childhood friends to firsts we experienced, then switching up and discussing family dynamics. This was the start of me learning his tells—his lip twitching when the conversation landed on his family, or his eyes lighting up when he talked about sports or video games.

It was quick, fast and a landmark for our relationship. It was sealed with a passionate kiss that left me disoriented for weeks.

Would the butterflies flutter my stomach every time I saw him?

Would we always talk about everything and anything to each other?

Now, years later, we are still together and I wanted tonight to be the night we took the next big step.

“Baby, clothes aren’t cheap. Maddox is outgrowing everything. My car needs a new battery,” Blythe yells over the speaker.

Chris’s ex is on the phone. I’ve never met her before, but from all the conversations that Chris never tries to hide from me, I know she hates working for her own money and had a baby to get out of it.

“You want to track my expenses, go ahead. You would see I’m feeding and bathing our child, giving him the best life as a full-time mom and dad.”

With each groan and frustrated sigh that carries through the whole conversation that I overhear, I promise myself, Aidan and I will never be like them.

If we move in together, it would fix how distant we have been. With his business venture proposals and my crazy hours…

Seventy percent of couples move in together by the second year of dating. Did you know that?

We are in our fourth year, as my mother likes to conveniently bring up on every phone call we have. A “boyfriend on standby,” she has coined. Each time she said it, it would send me straight to the store to stock up on my stress foods: Reese’s and Twizzlers.

I think I may need some right now, because staring at my wristwatch only makes my heart accelerate faster. Torn between leaving and staying.

If I leave now, what would that say about me?

Public relations is all about image. My image said I was reliable and hardworking. You don’t get to be a strategist without a little sacrifice.

When I picked up my boss’s dog shit, I remembered that opportunity was waiting for me around the corner.

Talent is ten percent in this town. The remaining amount is pure drive. I had the ninety.

My phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the motivational speech I was just giving myself.

Aidan: I was really looking forward to our night out…

My fingers are ready to reply, but I can feel a set of eyes on me as I pretend to work. All I can do is mindlessly cross off items I had already completed today on my notepad.

A faint voice cuts through, forcing me to look up. When I do, all I see is his sleepless stare. Those piercing green eyes and shaggy brown hair dangling in front of me.

I purse my lips together, give him a once-over, then return back to my checklist in a matter of five seconds.

My philosophy being that there is no point in conversing with the people who came in and out of this firm.

The front desk people who didn’t have a nameplate were just an afterthought.

The next day would come and the introductions would start all over again.

“Is Chris Blackburn here?” the man finally asks.

I nod at my paper, pointing to the man giving me a dissatisfied sneer.

Chris immediately locks eyes on the newcomer, exhibiting a grin that only I could tell was forced, leaping out of the chair and opening his arms to this disheveled man with a levity that I only ever saw with prospective clients.

With each signature on the dotted line, I could visibly see the dollar signs flashing behind his eyes. An expression I had witnessed time and time again when a new client entered the firm.

They both grip each other’s hands tightly, each trying to size up the other on who could lift more at the gym.

This is already off to a great start…

“I can’t wait to get started,” Chris says. The rest of their conversation is muffled as he shuts the door, purposely looking at me to signal that I am unwelcomed. Focusing on the clock, I try to forget about this new prospect.

One day that will be me.

I’ll have a shiny office with a fancy nameplate. Until then, if Chris asks me to pick up dog shit, I’ll grin and bear it.

If he asked me to buy Christmas gifts for his family, I’d do it—no questions asked. These are the sacrifices. Because being an assistant isn’t supposed to be a forever thing.

After twenty minutes and lots of fidgeting, I receive an email titled, “New Client - Holden Strauss.” The contract was attached to the email for him to sign. This could either go one of two ways: Chris would have me deep-diving on his profile or finally send me home.

Twiddling my mom’s silver opal ring on my index finger, I mutter to myself, “God, let this be a good thing…” and read the rest of the terms out loud.

This must be the day of people loving to sneak up on me when I’m not looking, because Chris is standing right in front of me.

Three feet away, Holden is lingering nearby with a big, shit-eating grin as words roll off Chris’s tongue. “What was that?”

Sliding the ring up and down my finger, my words tangle in my head.

“My mother… is just inviting me to go shopping this weekend.” My shoulders shrug nonchalantly, trying to convince myself of my own lie.

Chris squints his eyes at me while laying his leather-bound notebook on my desk. The word “Confidential” is underlined several times on the page reserved for Holden.

“Uh-huh… please type up any notes and give Holden a rundown on how we operate in our follow-up to the contract.”

I nod in agreement as he shuffles back to his desk. I then take the scribbles on the pages and put them on a new Word document.

Like I’ve always done since I’ve started, I add a few suggestions to punch up the strategy Chris has laid out for Mr. All or Nothing before sending it back for final approval.

A minor win, since my primary goal is to nod, type and fetch. Speaking is a privilege I don’t have.

Chris shoos me out of the office once the notes are typed up. I bolt for the elevator. The countdown starts now, as I have thirty minutes to get across town to get the burgers Aidan requested. I frantically called Sal, the owner, as I exit the elevator.

“Just another forty minutes, please!!”

He softens. “If you were anyone else, I would say no, Piccolina…”

For him to stay late means I have to endure a long-winded story about these two “punks” who tried to dine and dash earlier today. Droning on about our generation and our lack of respect these days…

The phone call takes up the majority of my car ride there. But, as promised, Sal greets me at the door with burgers in hand. By the time I make it to my apartment door, it’s 10:30 p.m .

My limbs drag across the threshold, so exhausted that not even the greasy smell of these delicious burgers can revive me.

I leave my purse on top of the table. Sal’s burgers are probably cold and mushy. The best part of the burger is the pickles, which are most likely so soggy that even a quick reheat in the microwave won’t fix them.

I find Aidan already in my apartment when I arrive, hunched over with a blanket draped across his back, blonde head of hair facing the TV.

On the verge of collapsing, Aidan remains oblivious to my current state as I walk toward him.