Ch. 25 A Long Way To A Lost Home
I stare at my phone, specifically at the text from Marcus. Ella looks over my shoulder anxiously.
"He's not coming." Ella sounds just as disappointed as I feel.
"Now do you believe me?" She's frustrated with all of us and herself.
After Kyle told us what happened, we were all a little ashamed and heartbroken. Maybe we could have handled it better.
"You know what the worst part is?" Ella sounds small, "That he was genuinely trying to protect us. After everything that happened with my family and yours, and what happened to him, he was simply trying to look out for us—"
"—And we doubted him, questioned his intelligence and then left him be." I think not sorting it out might have been the biggest mistake we made.
Ella's voice is watery. "You better lock yourself in a room with him until he caves and takes us back."
I nod. I really might have to resort to drastic measures.
—------------------------
I stare at my computer screen, disbelief probably etched in every line of my face.
The marketing pitch looks like it was put together by a two-year old.
Nolan is doing everything he's supposed to, saying the right words, concentrating on other projects—but the team...
It's been a week since Marcus offered it—three days since I accepted my promotion.
The team is pissed off—and they are protesting in increasingly creative and time consuming ways.
The presentation in front of me has all the data I insisted they include, but the fonts, the alignments, the color scheme—it looks like a bomb exploded in a crayon box.
Which means this is the third all-nighter I'll have to pull to fix it.
If I don't tell them exactly what I want, to the last detail, then they will screw it up.
I need to find the will to push back. I cannot do their jobs for them.
I inhale deeply. The numbness is better some days, but worse on others.
I didn't see Marcus today at all, and I'm grateful. He still wants to have that talk, and I'm still not ready.
I'm not sure if I want to be.
I shake my head and get back to fixing the mess in front of me.
Thank God it's the weekend tomorrow.
—-------------------
I stand by the railing on the roof, the sun nearly set.
It's warm under my palms, and soothing.
The whole world is painted in shades of pinks and oranges, like candies have exploded in the sky.
I still have the amended documents sitting on my desk, unsigned.
Everytime I ask Celeste to talk, or ask that she sign the contract, she deflects and delays.
She's not looking much better. The stress is clearly getting to her.
I pull out the candies I got—mango flavored lollipops—her favorite.
I hope they can bring some cheer to her.
Monday.
I'll let her process a little more over the weekend, but we're not delaying the talk beyond Monday.
—------------------
I stare at the mango candy sitting on my desk.
No note, no fanfare—just a bunch of candies—my favorite candies, that no one knows about, waiting for me.
Warmth flickers in my chest, just enough to create a ghost of a real smile, and I pop one in my mouth.
As the sweet candy melts on my tongue, the day somehow feels less bitter for a change.
—-----------------
Sunday dawns cloudy—and lonely.
Usually, whenever I'm free like this, I used to end up at Keith's, sometimes for breakfast pancakes, and often for family lunches.
Now though... Sure, they were right to support Celeste, and I'm glad that they did... But they also... I shake my head.
It doesn't matter.
I stare at my schedule and the lack of files. I hate being efficient at times like these. I flip through my messages again.
Christopher found Madison's work place. She's a Trauma Surgeon now—but it doesn't really help us.
He's following up on leads, though he admitted they were thin. I try to think of any, and I remember my instincts telling me Nolan might be able to help.
Should I ask him out for a coffee? Things have been tense between us since the bullying incident.
I'm debating just that—I even have Nolan's contact open—when my doorbell rings.
I'm still typing up the text when I swing the door open.
There, standing at my door, flowers in hand, completely relaxed in slacks and a t-shirt, stands Keith.
"Are you going to keep gawking at me? Or will you let me inside?" He pushes past me, shoving the flowers in my hands and walks inside.
"Ella sent those—for you."
Right. That makes a lot more sense.
I blink and follow him inside. "What are you doing here? I didn't think we had any work scheduled."
He drops onto my couch like he owns it. "We didn't. Do I have to find an excuse to see you now?"
"What are you, my girlfriend?"
I set the flowers carefully on the dining table before dropping in the seat across from him.
"If I was, we'd probably have avoided half the trouble we find ourselves in."
I roll my eyes. "How's Ella?"
"Contrite. Ashamed. Guilty as all hell."
I blink. Why would she—?
"Same as me, and everybody else."
"I see." I'm not sure what to say. No one has ever tried to make amends to me—but this clearly seems like an attempt.
"Drink?" I ask him. I don't know what else to say.
"Coffee, if you're offering." He looks around while I brew some.
"I must say, this is going extraordinarily well. I was expecting to be kicked out by about—" he looks at his wrist watch, "—now."
I snort involuntarily. I pull out two mugs, pour the coffee and hand one to him.
"So, why are you here?"
"To lock myself in a room with you until you forgive us and take us back." He says it with a completely straight face, like it's the most reasonable thing in the world.
I choke on my coffee, scalding myself in the process.
"What the hell? Go lock yourself in a room with Ella."
"I would, but she won't allow it until you forgive us." He smirks, and I can't help my lips lifting in amusement.
"In all seriousness, though. We're sorry. All of us. Even Legend will be once he answers any of our calls."
"Legend's ignoring you guys?"
"Yes. He picked a useless fight with Ken. But you know him—they'll be unbearable once he comes around, which should be by this evening."
I roll my eyes again. "Well, to spare myself from being locked up in a room with you, let's just say I forgive you."
"Kyle told me you cut that 'walk-away' clause."
"I did." I blow on my cup and take another sip. "I found out she's innocent. I don't have definitive proof—yet." I tap the screen of my cellphone, "But I will, soon."
He nods. "I'm glad. Does Celeste know you know?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. I've been trying to have that talk with her."
"Do you need our help? With anything?"
"No, not so far. I was the one who screwed up. I want to be the one to make amends. As it is, I'm managing well enough. I'll let you know if I need any."
His lips purse, like he's trying to think of something to say. "For what it's worth, we all really are sorry."
"It's not like you all were wrong to doubt me. I clearly was in the wrong."
He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up my hand.
"It's fine. I'm not mad. I'm even glad that you questioned me. Made me question the narrative I'd built in my head.
"The truth should be out soon enough. I'm sorry I tried to get in the way of all their friendships. That was...uncool."
Keith opens his mouth to say something before snapping it shut.
He clearly looks like he's struggling with something.
Keith finishes his coffee and gets up. "Will we see you next Sunday?"
"I'm not sure, Keith. We'll see."
He swallows hard. He takes a step towards me, as if to hug me, before stopping himself.
"I truly hope you come home soon. I'll see myself out."
Something about his words resonates within me.
Home... So that's what it feels like I lost.
Maybe, hopefully... we'll all find our way to it.