Chapter 3
Chapter three
Behind the Bench
In red, “One Missed Call” appears on my phone mere seconds later. Something must be very wrong.
I set my status as “away” in Slack and sprint toward the elevator. When the doors open up to the lobby floor, I search for Aidan’s name.
Seconds away from pressing his contact, my screen short-circuits, instantly forming red and blue lines across the middle of my phone. Each color repeatedly flickers against the glass.
My body naturally glides behind the red-haired woman ordering an overpriced macchiato. It takes about fifteen aggressive taps on my phone for the blue and red lines to stop flashing.
Instead of bringing me back to my home screen or even to Aidan’s name, something overtakes it. Without touching the glass surface, I’m scrolling down my contact list, running down a series of names until it lands on Ms. Silva’s number.
My phone was only purchased two and half months ago. I would remember if I dropped it in water or concrete. If that guy at the phone store sold me a refurbished phone for the price of a brand-new one, I’m going to lose it.
To any bystander observing this, I am pleading to a phone, acting as if my dog died, whining to a cellular device. When the second person in line shoots me a glance, I force myself to take deep breaths.
As I inch further in line, the phone screen eventually returns back to normal. This time, when I tap Aidan’s name, the call goes through.
“Hey, baby,” I say, stepping forward in the line for coffee.
“My friend who I play Echoes of the Undead with—you know, Joe—he does game design for a living and he wants to collaborate with me. How cool is that?” He sounds out of breath, like he just went for a run.
I nod instinctively, realizing the gesture is pointless because he isn’t here to see me.
“You there?” he asks before I have a chance to register.
I quickly scramble for words. “Yes, baby, that’s amazing!”
From there, his ideas spill out one after another. His excitement keeps the energy of the call alive.
“Yeah, seriously. I’ve hated all my other VC proposals. But getting in on the ground floor for this would be legit. I see so much opportunity here, Charlotte.”
“You are definitely made to be in the gaming industry. You got hours of gameplay to prove it.”
“I know it’ll be so much better than working for my dad’s company. Anyway, sweetheart, you had a meeting today, right?”
“I did, yeah. It was kind of a big deal.”
“Oh! Joe is calling. Do you mind if I call you later?”
Before I can respond, the call disconnects.
I mutter irritably, “Love you too, babe,” as I inch forward in the coffee line, the words lingering unanswered between me and the dead call. Maybe the Whitmores will finally be satisfied with us. The board meeting was my start and this could be his.
With a deep breath and a long sip of my coffee, I prepare myself to go into Chris’s office to hand deliver the edited memo for our monthly team meeting.
If I drop this off for his review, it could lead to sharing another idea I had for another client at the firm. He seemed so impressed with me an hour ago that I should really capitalize on this.
With the paper pressed tightly against my chest, I walk up to his door, ready to knock. I grip my knuckles and firmly press my fist on the glass door.
Without looking at me, Chris gets up, with one swift motion to open the door then dropping back into his chair to return to his phone call. His voice edged with disdain to whoever is on the other line.
“I am telling you that the numbers are wrong! None of this is adding up!”
My smile falters as I stand there, frozen, forced to hear the rest.
“Tell them!” he snaps. “If we don’t get first dibs on the talk show interview this upcoming Saturday night, we will sell a story to Lenz and Vine that Chasity Rhodes is a racist who cherry-picks her guests. If I don’t hear from you by noon, I’ll know exactly what your team has decided.”
The call ends abruptly. A new shouting match down the hall starts up.
His blood pressure must be through the roof, so much so that I should buy Tums in bulk with how his voice strains with every word and the vein in the middle of his forehead pulses.
I’m going to add that to my shopping list this week.
“What do you need?” Chris says, clearly annoyed.
I don’t answer, shaking my head from left to right, letting the paper slip from my hand before hurrying out of the room.
At least the boardroom was a win. I focus on that until all my work is finished. I leave the office at nine p.m.
Another twenty-dollar rideshare and another thirty minutes spent watching the streetlights and neon signs pass by on my ride home.
All I want is a bubble bath and a nice glass of wine.
I don’t want to talk about my day. I don’t want to think about the fire or our new client.
No, I just want to drop my things on the floor and sink into a tub of bubbles and hot water.
Aidan walks out of the bedroom when I walk in, beaming with energy.
And I can barely hear a thing. The words feel like Woodstock talking to Snoopy.
All his words are meshed together as exhaustion seeps in, sleep deprivation hitting me all at once.
My brain is only able to process the words “going on a trip” as I open every cabinet in the kitchen.
My stomach growling more intensely, trying to find anything appetizing or even edible in my whole apartment. It has been hours since I ate a real meal.
Opening my fridge, there’s only one pint of milk, some eggs and a container of three-week-old Chinese. Has it been that long since I went grocery shopping?
Aidan trails behind as I move through the kitchen, sorting through the expired snacks and rotten food.
“It’s our big annual trip and so far, you barely reacted to anything I’ve said all day.”
I cross my arms, trying to brace against the exhaustion, locking my jaw to keep myself from yawning. I know admitting that I wasn’t really listening isn’t going to help, but still, I say it anyway.
“I’m sorry, can we please restart this?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes. “I said, do you still want to go to the Hamptons to see my family?”
I stared at him blankly. While this trip was annual, it was never easy to endure.
Purebred and prepackaged, with cold eyes and colder smiles, the Whitmores exist on another level of reality entirely, somehow making Aidan seem the most normal out of them all.
From the moment I step through their pristine doorway, I can feel the quiet judgment settle in.
His mother scanning me like a clearance rack. “That’s an interesting dress—vintage?” Translation: You look cheap.
His sister, Greer asking if I’d “ever thought about a nose job,” as casually as if we were trading skincare tips.
His brother, Jonathan only speaking when he had an undeniable point to prove in every conversation, keeping score so that he was always ahead.
And his dad? Silent, watching, like he was mentally photoshopping me out of their family portraits.
Anytime Aidan wasn’t around me in their presence, my chest would break out in hives, stumbling on every word I should or shouldn’t say.
I spot a can of Pringles hidden in the back of the cabinet, like it’s been waiting for me. I pop the lid, shoving several chips in my mouth with urgency, crunching through them in one bite.
“Sounds… relaxing,” I mumble through the chewing, masking the spike of irritation in my chest.
Another weekend of Let’s Pretend I’m Worthy for the Whitmores.
Aidan smacks his lips while eating, saying, “It’s in a month. I know they are difficult. Trust me. They are just as hard on me as they are on you.”
I press my lips together, trying to think of a response that isn’t sharp and bitchy.
The lights suddenly flicker in a rapid motion and when they finally stabilize, the picture frame that was once resting on my TV stand is now on the floor.
The glass shards surround the brittle photocopy of a picture taken four years ago. In the photo, I am wearing an olive-green dress and Aidan is in a pink polo and jeans. Both of us blissfully sitting on the grass of our old campus’s quad mid-picnic, unaware of anything but that moment together.
Now the frame lies several feet away, resting lopsided on the ground. Above the frame, a shadow stretches across the wall, briefly taking the shape of another person. I shift, stepping forward to study the wall.
“Did you see that?” I murmur to Aidan.
Aidan rubs his jaw a few times before letting out a large sigh—saying “I’ll get a broom,” completely unaware of what I just said or the shadow above the screen.
“No, it’s fine,” I snap. “I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“Did something happen at work?”
“I just got called out in a meeting today. I was actually trying to tell you earlier on our phone call this afternoon—”
“Was it Chris who called you out?”
“Not exactly. I mean, Chris invited me to it, which he never does for new clients. I’m just a little on edge about it.”
“Hey, access is good no matter how it happened. As the Whitmores always say, better to be in the outfield than to be sitting—”
“Behind the bench,” I finished. Aidan grabs a handful of Pringles from the can, leaving a smirk on his face as he pops a chip into mouth.
He disappears into my bedroom.
I walk over to the shards of glass covering our faces. Remembering how easy life was back then when the stranger on campus offered to take our photo.
Now, on the floor, all I can feel is a dull ache in my chest, my thoughts about how today went echoing louder than before.