8. Dylan
8
DYLAN
I ’m not one to typically look at someone’s phone while they’re texting or getting a phone call. I respect people’s privacy. However, when Parker looks down at his phone, his grip on the device tightens, and his coloring goes ashen as if he’s seen a ghost. I’d argue that’s a dramatic response for a phone call. At least, that’s not my usual response.
So, naturally, as any other red-blooded human would, I strain my neck forward–a move disguised as a stretch–to see if I can get a glimpse of the name on the other end of that call. Before I can, Parker declines the call and places the phone face down on the table.
“Sorry about that.” My eyes catch on his as he fusses with the wrapping of his food. The wrapping of my own sandwich begins rustling as the table shakes ever-so-softly. I chance a glance under it, and sure enough, he’s bouncing his leg, causing the entire piece of furniture to move. He’s having difficulty sitting still, and it only piques my interest even further.
“You sure you don’t want to get that?”
He shoves another bite of sandwich in his mouth. “Positive.”
Seconds later, the entire table vibrates again as his phone rings a second time. Whoever is calling sure as hell is persistent. He immediately declines it, now shifting in his seat. I refuse to break eye contact with him, but he avoids my gaze.
“Everything okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned about what could make a grown man seem this uneasy.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Anyways, how are you settling into the city?” He trudges forward, acting as if the phone calls never happened. Of course, it’s not that simple because the vibration resumes before I can get a word in.
He lets out a defeated groan, lifts the phone, making a point to keep the screen facing his chest, and points to the door. “Do you mind if I run out and take this really quickly?”
“No, of course not. Do what you need to do.”
Parker shoots me an appreciative look and rushes up, answering in hushed tones as he stands. Again, like any other sane person, I slide over to the edge of my seat to eavesdrop. Although I can’t hear much of his murmuring, I swear I hear him mutter the name Olivia.
I fall against the back of my chair, the air whooshing out of me. It all makes sense now. The way he went pale the minute he saw the caller ID. The way he turned his phone face down on the table, hiding it from me.
He has a girlfriend.
I don’t know why I assumed he was single. He’s a good-looking guy. Okay, that’s an understatement. He’s the kind of attractive you see online that makes you question whether or not people like that exist in real life. Not to mention the fact that he’s only grown hotter with age. Between the golden skin from all of the time he spent in the California sun to the stubble that makes him look just the right amount of disheveled, it’s sickening how exquisite one man can be. What kind of model-esque man like that wouldn’t be in a relationship?
Olivia. It’s no surprise that she has a hot name. I bet she’s super leggy, looks beautiful without makeup, and doesn’t have morning breath when she wakes up. She’s probably a model. Or an influencer who only shops at Erewhon and occasionally drinks natural wine because she doesn’t want to drink her calories.
Jesus, I’m spiraling. Why do I even care? I take a deep inhale, trying to tame the anxiety that is building. The man is allowed to date. We broke up years ago. It’s only natural to move on. I may not have, but I’d like to think that says more about the modern dating scene than it does me as a person. At least that’s what I tell myself every night before I fall asleep in my bed–alone.
I peek at the door and see him heading back to the table. I subtly grab my napkin and dab the sweat beading on my forehead.
Act normal. Everything is fine .
“I’m so sorry about that. Ol-” he begins apologizing, but I cut him off, not trusting myself to hear the rest of that sentence. I don’t need him to see my jealousy rearing its ugly head only minutes after I agreed to work with him. This lunch is the first time we’ve spent an agreeable amount of time together, and I’d rather not make it awkward before we dive head-first into working beside one another.
“Don’t even worry about it. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“But-”
I interrupt again, “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Anyways, I think you were asking me a question before we got interrupted.”
He stares at me for a few seconds too long, eyes narrowed, evidently at a loss of what to say to my gruffness. Good, I’d rather he think I’m rude instead of caught up on the fact that he’s with someone.
“Uh, yeah. I was asking how you’re settling into life here. ”
I take a swig of my soda, trying to hydrate my parched throat, but it’s useless. I suddenly have no interest in being here. In fact, I’d rather be dealing with Katherine’s treachery than be buddy-buddy with Parker.
Time for the classic escape plan. I grab my phone from my purse and look at the screen, which currently displays a whopping zero notifications. He’s not the only one who can hide his phone.
“Shit, I have to run. Katherine just texted me saying she needs me in the office right now. It seems urgent.” I collect my belongings, wrap the rest of my sandwich up, and stand. I still have half of my food left, but I don’t have the heart to take it to eat as leftovers later. My appetite is gone, and I’m not exactly in the mood to eat something with so many memories attached to it. Even if it is one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in god knows how long.
That’s the thing about relationships. Once they end, the little things take on a brand new meaning. That song you used to belt at the top of your lungs in the car together threatens to bring you to tears every time it comes on the radio. You can’t put on your favorite sweater without thinking about how he said it brought out the color of your eyes. You catch whiffs of the cologne he always wore, and you’re brought right back to the day that you smelt it for the last time while you cried in his arms. Even something as simple as one of your favorite foods becomes tainted.
“You don’t want to take that with you to eat later? You barely ate.” He eyes the trash in my hand, and my gaze finds his. He’s looking at me as if I’m fragile–like one small move will shatter me completely.
My defenses go up, and I’m torn about how to react. On the one hand, I should’ve known that he’d catch onto my mood shifting. He’s always been very attentive. Very caring. On the other, I don’t need someone babysitting me. I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.
I place a light hand on my stomach, feigning an ache. “I’m suddenly not feeling too great. Do you want to take it with you?” I ask as casually as I can manage, but my voice betrays me and wavers.
He can tell I’m lying. I can see it in the way his eyes flicker and in the small step he takes toward me, but he knows better than to argue. “No, that’s okay. I hope you feel better. I’ll email you after I meet with Evelyn tomorrow, and we can schedule a meeting?”
The corners of my lips twitch up in a pained smile. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks for meeting me.” I give him a terse nod and just about run out the door, tossing my trash on the way.
As soon as I’m outdoors, I gulp down a breath of frosty air. It burns my lungs, but I’m grateful for how it eases the roaring chatter in my mind. With every exhale, my chest loosens, and the panic slowly subsides. For many, finding out your ex is in a new relationship leads to break-up songs on repeat, tear-filled journal writing sessions, and anger-fueled workouts. Not anxiety attacks. But I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics–especially concerning matters of the heart.
My anxiety has plagued me for years, and no matter how far I’ve come to alleviate myself from the overwhelming sense of dread that grips me, there are still moments when the world feels too loud.
I can’t help but peek over my shoulder to see if Parker’s following me after my sudden goodbye, but he’s still sitting at the table, staring blankly at his folded hands resting on the table. Before I can regret my decision, I take out my phone again and text Scarlett.
Dylan: You mind covering for me if I take the rest of the day from home?
Scarlett: Of course not. Everything good?
Dylan: Long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Thank you! I owe you!
Scarlett: Just bring me the tea and a latte tomorrow and consider us even.
I tuck my phone back in my pocket and head in the direction of the subway station. Now that I’ve gotten some fresh air–as fresh as it gets in New York City–I can think more clearly. Parker having a girlfriend doesn’t change our dynamic. It’s not as if I was running to get back together in the first place.
Although, he was definitely laying it on thick at the office yesterday. Come to think of it, what kind of asshole flirts with someone while they’ve got a girlfriend? My stomach churns for an entirely different reason now. Parker’s always been faithful, and what, that changes suddenly because we have to work together?
I know that we have a past and blah blah blah, but that’s no excuse to step out of your relationship. I feel my heart beating in my chest, my frustration rising. My love goggles got the best of me. The sandwich, the compliments—I was blinded.
Now that I’ve separated myself from the situation, I feel my blood boiling. I’m not going to be the person that comes between a relationship. I whip out of my phone again and draft a text to Parker.
Dylan: Sorry I had to leave so abruptly. But, I just wanted to let you know that although I’ve agreed to work together, it doesn’t mean that we’re suddenly going to become friends again. I spent years without you in my life, and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon. I’m happy to be civil, as my job depends on it, but that’s where I draw the line. I hope you understand.
Without an ounce of regret, I hit send, turn my phone off, and shove it into my purse, prepared to go off the grid. I know it’s brutal, but it needed to be done. I am not going to be a homewrecker, and I’m certainly not going to allow myself to get emotionally invested in someone who has already hurt me.
Once I’m on the subway on the way home, I open my latest read, hoping to replace my current reality with one that’s a lot less chaotic. But, as I scan the words, I’m unable to absorb a single thought. Instead, I find myself saying a silent prayer that I didn’t just royally fuck everything up.