4. （GOOD）bye
VERENA
4
Jae’s attempt at gratitude fell flat, a feeble attempt to bridge the widening gap between us. “Thanks, Verena. Really.”
“For what?” I asked, my voice edged with frustration as I turned to face him. The strain of the day etched lines of sarcasm into my words.
“For handling all of this with such grace,” he offered, a poor plaster over the crack in our dynamic.
I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up, bitter and sharp. “It’s what I do, right?” I retorted, my smile tight and devoid of any real humor. “Put out your fires, handle your schedule? Drop everything for you?” Each word was a pinpoint strike on the pretense we’d maintained for so long.
Jae opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to defend or to deflect, but I wasn’t interested in hearing more excuses or platitudes. I turned on my heel, marching toward the car with a purpose, leaving him standing amidst the throng of travelers, a silent witness to my departure.
Each step felt like shedding a layer of the persona I had built—the ever-reliable, ever-present assistant, always ready to dive into the fray for Luminous, for Jae. But no more. This was the moment of reckoning, the climax of years spent in the shadows of greatness, years of my needs and desires being systematically overshadowed by the demands of a job that had consumed my identity. The realization was sharp, a clarity that cut through the fog of obligation and loyalty that had clouded my judgment.
As I slid into the car, the finality of the moment settled in. This wasn’t just another task to be checked off my endless list. This was my exit, a step into the unknown, propelled by the recognition of my worth beyond the confines of my role as Jae’s assistant.
Jae’s voice cut through the tension, a tentative olive branch extended in the midst of our silent battlefield. “I know you’re mad about your birthday,” he began, his tone a blend of caution and genuine concern. “I shouldn’t have asked you to work late, but this was a big opportunity.”
“Mad?” I echoed, my words sharp, a defensive barrier rising instinctively. “Mr. Lee, of course not. It would be unprofessional to be mad. I’m doing my job, sir. If there’s something I’ve done wrong, please, enlighten me.” My voice, cool and collected, belied the turmoil within, a storm of emotions I refused to unleash. There was power in containing my rage. In controlling it.
He sighed, a sound of frustration and maybe a hint of sadness. “Come on, Verena. I know you’re upset. Remember college? You used to yank on my ear and drag me around campus whenever you were pissed at me. Just let me have it so we can get this over with.”
I scoffed, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lee, but I think we need to stick to the agenda.” My response was curt, the formal address a pointed reminder of the line that had been drawn between us.
“Stop with the Mr. Lee thing; it’s pissing me off,” he countered, the frustration now evident in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee,” I repeated, my tone unwavering, a clear indication that the professional veneer would remain intact.
His next question was almost a whisper, a sign that the layers of our professional dynamic were peeling away, leaving the raw, unresolved heart of our relationship exposed. “What did you want to talk about?”
I checked my watch; it was time for our scheduled meeting, a fixture in our relationship that had become as routine as it was essential. “You’re right, Mr. Lee. It’s time for our scheduled meeting. I have five things on the agenda,” I started, my voice steady despite the storm inside.
As I navigated through the list of updates, my voice steady, I noticed Jae’s reactions—a blend of surprise and something that might have been gratitude once. “I’ve sent over the notes from our meeting with Mr. Harrison,” I started, keeping my tone professional, detached. “His concerns are highlighted for legal review.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jae interjected, a standard reply that felt devoid of warmth.
“And the patent issue has been resolved. Plus, I’ve drafted and sent the cease and desist to our competitors over their false claims,” I continued, ticking off each item with precision.
“Good job,” he repeated, his voice flat, the phrase echoing in the space between us.
“I’ve gathered a resolution team to address the problem with the project managers to figure out why they are behind schedule,” I replied.
Then, as if sensing my growing detachment, Jae leaned forward, his voice sharpening. “I need a solution, Verena. Not just updates.”
“Of course, Mr. Lee,” I replied, my response automatic, a shield raised against the vulnerability of our fraying connection. The formality of his title, once unheard of in our conversations, now hung heavily in the air, a barrier as tangible as the walls of the car enclosing us.
A sigh escaped him as he rubbed his temples. “Once again, stop with the Mr. Lee, Verena. It’s like you’re talking to a stranger.”
“Apologies for the formality, Mr. Lee,” I persisted, the address a deliberate choice, a line drawn. The once seamless blend of our professional and personal lives had unraveled, leaving us tangled in the remnants of a partnership that had once felt unbreakable.
And then, the moment of truth, a cliff I had been inching towards without fully realizing the depth of the fall. “I also just emailed you my letter of resignation,” I announced, the words tumbling out into the space between us, heavy with finality. My gaze shifted away from him, unable to bear witness to his reaction, a mix of shock and confusion I wasn’t sure I could face.
In the suffocating silence of the car, I finally voiced the decision that had been crystallizing within me, my tone clipped, the epitome of professional detachment. “Mr. Lee, I have decided to resign from my position at Luminous. I will remain for one month to ensure a seamless transition, assist in hiring my replacement, and oversee their training.”
Jae’s reaction was a blend of shock and disbelief, his words tumbling out in a rush. “What the fuck, Verena? Resign? Just like that?”
“Indeed, Mr. Lee,” I continued, my voice unwavering, each word meticulously chosen to underscore the professional boundary I was enforcing. “I’ve also prepared a job posting for your review. Upon your approval, I intend to proceed with the posting.”
“After everything we’ve done here? You’re just going to leave?”
“My decision is final,” I stated firmly, refusing to be drawn into emotional turmoil. “I believe this to be in the best interest of both my professional development and the continued success of Luminous.”
He was searching for a foothold in a conversation that was slipping away from him. “But why, Verena? We can fix whatever is wrong. Do you want a raise? More vacation days?—”
I cut him off before he could continue, my tone as cool and collected as ever. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Lee, but my decision stands. I have outlined the necessary steps for my departure in the memo attached to the job posting.”
“Stop calling me Mr. Lee!” he finally exploded, the strain breaking through his shock. “What the hell happened to us, Verena?”
I paused, allowing myself a moment to look at him directly, to let the full significance of my decision—and our fractured friendship—sink in. “We ceased to be us the moment professional demands overtook personal regard, Mr. Lee. I’m merely acting in accordance with the current dynamic.”
Before he could muster another response, the car came to a halt in front of the office. I stepped out, leaving behind the shell of a relationship that had once meant the world to me. “Goodbye. I wish Luminous all the best.”
As I walked away, the door closing with a soft thud behind me, the finality of my actions settled in. I had not only resigned from a job, but had also closed a chapter on a friendship that had been eroded by years of neglect, hidden under the guise of professionalism.
The office lights glowed in the night, a beacon of what had been and what could have been. As I walked down the bustling street, each step taking me further from Jae and Luminous, I felt a strange combination of liberation and sorrow.
The conversation, however, was far from over. It was merely the beginning of a reckoning that would redefine us both.