To See You Again (36 page)

I let go of her hand and lean forward and cup her
face, kissing her gently, first on her closed lips, then her nose and forehead.
She leans and rests her head on mine. I'm in agony waiting for her reply. I've
put everything I've got out there and now it's all up to her.  

Her answer comes soft and quiet. "I'm not saying
no, Collin, but I do need some time. I need to figure my life out. I just got
out of a relationship, my job is horrible, and you're right, I don't make time
for the things in my life that make me happy, and I haven't, for a long time. I've
lost myself somewhere along the way. When I'm with you I feel like everything
is going to be OK, but I don't want
you
to be what fixes
me
. That's
what all my other relationships have been—a crutch, a bandaid, whatever you
want to call it. This time I need to be my own solution."

I pull back to look at her and I take her hand in mine
again. "You're not saying ‘no'?" She shakes her head. "Do you regret last
night?" She shakes her head again. "OK then, whatever you need. I'll give you
some time." I kiss her forehead, and then stand. I feel completely drained, and
it takes every last ounce of my remaining energy to walk away from her. I head
to the bedroom where I get dressed and collect my things. When I come back out
she's still perched in the same place.

As I approach her, the words just start tumbling
out. The spontaneity of it is terrifying, but withholding from her has been
disastrous in the past, and I need to do everything I can to show her how I
feel. "Rachel, this coming Friday is my birthday. I don't expect you to figure
out everything you need to know by then, but I'd really like to see you. It
would mean a lot. Could we plan on that?"

There it is. A plea dropped at her feet. I stare
at her profile feeling exposed and terrified, but there's also a shred of hope
in there, too and I'm holding on to it with all I have.

"Yes," she says, quietly. "I'd like that."

"Alright. We'll skip lunch this week, but come to
my place after work on Friday, OK?"

She stands and hugs me. "Thank you for
understanding, Collin. I'm not trying to be unfair to you."

I embrace her tightly and just whisper, "Friday."

I spend Sunday morning going through all of my
finances and trying to figure out what my most frugal budget can be. I'm
relieved to discover that overall I'm in pretty good shape, actually much better
than I thought. I've been financially independent since college and I've always
been way more of a saver than a spender. A calm comes over me. I could quit
tomorrow and last at least six months, maybe more, without doing much damage.
Maybe I can really do this?

In the afternoon, I stand in front my closet with
my fists at my hips. I decide to go in search of my old songbook I'd had in
college. After forty-five minutes of digging around in the back of my closet, while
precariously balancing on a stool, I have filled up a bag of miscellaneous
items I can donate to Goodwill, but am no closer to finding my old notebook.
How funny it feels to be on a clueless search for something, that at one time
in my life, I never would've left home without. Still standing on my rickety
stool, I survey my bedroom. Where the hell could it be?
I hop down and
lay flat alongside my bed, the sage dust ruffle draped over one eye. On the
floor, centered under my mattress, is a long, green cardboard box. I've had
this forever, but haven't opened it in ages.

Using a yardstick I successfully slide it out and
awkwardly drop it onto my bed. I prop up some pillows and settle in next to the
box, removing the dusty lid.
There are heavy piles of letters, photos
and other random memorabilia from the start of college on. I continue sifting
through things until I come upon a Steve Madden shoebox. I run my fingers along
the black writing on the top, remembering both the box and its significance so
clearly it feels almost unbelievable I could've ever forgotten.

While preparing to move to Chicago with Vanessa,
I'd carefully sifted out anything that reminded me of Collin from my
belongings. At the time, I'd talked a big game about throwing it all away, but
Vanessa had convinced me not to.

"It's not always going to hurt like this. Those
are tokens of good memories and good times. Just save it," she'd reasoned.

I pull the box onto my lap and pop off the top.
Contained within it are concert tickets, photos, letters he'd written to me
over holiday breaks and summers spent apart. I even saved some of the envelopes
.
I extract a crumpled piece of notebook paper and flatten it out. Collin would
sometimes leave snarky notes at my apartment for me to find later. This one
starts out as a recipe and then halfway down the page he'd written: "Never mind,
I don't want you to set the kitchen on fire. I'll just make this for you on
Wednesday after class."

I giggle aloud, recalling how he'd done just that
and had teased me relentlessly for asking for a recipe in the first place. He'd
insisted I would never bother, and I worked best with the toaster and microwave,
two appliances the recipe most definitely didn't call for. I giggle again
thinking how most of my meals are still takeout or microwaved these days.

Next, I pull out a picture of us and smile at how
happy we both look and
how young.
I replace the paper and photo and
carefully cover the box and set it on my nightstand. I think I may have an idea
for Collin's birthday, and just the thought of it is giving me butterflies. I
glance over at the larger box and my old songbook catches my eye.
Finally!
I
yank it out and make a silent promise to tune my guitar tonight and determine
just how rusty I am. I struggle to recall the last time I played. It's been
years. It wasn't that Beckett was against my playing music, he was just sort of
indifferent. From his perspective, if it wasn't advancing me with my primary
work goals, there wasn't much point. I can't really blame him for it though,
because I bought into it. I subscribed to this notion that working this one job,
as hard as I could, was going to fulfill me. I'd had tunnel vision, and for a
long time there was comfort in that. That hyper-focus had deluded me into
believing I didn't need anything else. I know better, now.

*** *** ****

"Jen Markham, please."

Jen was my supervisor when I was first starting
out. She struck out on her own about five years ago and has contacted me more
than once to come join her in her small business. She's done well for herself,
her company has grown, they have some great accounts, but I never seriously
considered making a change. I was so sure, if I kept plowing away under Tim, I
would be able to really climb the chain where I was. Taking a risk with her
felt like too much of a leap of faith.

 "Hi, this is Jen. Is this Rachel?" I recognize
her raspy, yet confident, voice immediately. Thank God she sounds happy to hear
from me. I'd always worried that maybe I'd burned a bridge after turning down
more than one offer from her.

"It is. Hi Jen! How are you?"

"I'm doing well. It's wonderful to hear your
voice! You were just on my mind the other day."

"I was?"

"Yeah, we were burning the midnight oil, and we
decided to order in from Rico's."

"Oh, I love that place!"

"I know you do. I can't eat there without thinking
about you." She chuckles softly.

"Those were some fun nights. Long nights, but good
ones." I smile, recalling my first couple of years at the company. How
different late nights are there now.

"I swear Rachel, you had some of your best ideas
after ten o'clock at night. You were light years ahead of your peers."

I laugh nervously. "I'm not sure if that's so true
anymore."

"Uh, oh. I know that tone. What's troubling you?"

Everything.

"
Don't
tell me Tim has drained the life out of you. He has a knack of doing that with
the best ones. I swear it's because he's threatened. He's such a weasel, but I
digress. Sorry! I guess I shouldn't rag on your boss like that." She may be
apologizing, but she doesn't sound the least bit sorry. It's common knowledge
she didn't leave on good terms with Tim.

"It's fine, I mean, I think I've really seen him
in a different light these past few months." I take a deep breath. "That's
actually my main reason for calling. I was wondering if there was any chance in
the world there might still be a place for me with you." I feel my heart
beating faster.
Am I really doing this?

"Rachel, why do you sound afraid to ask me that?
I‘ve told you many times you always have a job here. I was completely serious.
We'd love to have you. I want to be clear about expectations, though." Jen's
voice becomes more serious. "We can't compete with the salaries they have
there. We're just not big enough yet, but we're growing year by year. What I
can tell you, is your creativity will be celebrated here, not squandered. There
will be a lot more freedom. Also, we've done a lot to modernize things. You can
work from home, we have really flexible schedules, and this is a happy place to
work. You'll love our team, and they will adore you, like I do. We work hard.
We play hard. That's what makes this place great." She's using her sale's voice
now, and I'm sold. Completely and totally sold.

"Jen, it all sounds like a dream. I don't know
what has taken me so long, and the money isn't an issue as long as there's room
for me to grow."

"With hard work and the right goals, growth is
always possible, Rachel." Hearing her voice reminds me of her energy and
positivity, and I feel a surge of hope rise up within me. I'd forgotten what it
felt like to be energized by something.

"Um, this is incredible! What's the next step?" I
grab a pen and a piece of scrap paper.

"Tell you what, let's meet for lunch tomorrow and
you can be more properly introduced to Jeff. I have final say with hiring, so
if you're telling me you want this, then it's yours, but I think it would be
great for you two to meet. This is a big decision and you need to be sure."

"I'm finally ready, Jen. I'm sure. Just tell me
when and where." I scribble down the details and proceed to thank her a half a
dozen more times.

When I hang up I think back to when she was
mentoring me early in my career. She was always open and encouraging, but still
pushed me to do more and to never stop learning. Her advising extended beyond
learning the ropes of the company. She sought to guide me, and the other young
women I started with, in our careers, as well. I still reflect on the many
nuggets of wisdom she bequeathed to me regularly.

She seems eager to hire me now, but I can't help
not feeling worthy of it. What would she really think if she could see the
professional I'd become? I've been slinking around feeling wounded from the
innumerable assaults I've endured lately from the mean-girl brigade, but have
been careful not to examine too closely how I've contributed to becoming their
prey.

One night during my first year, while working late
with Jen and a few other young women, a casual conversation about one of our
female supervisors turned ugly. Sarah, the most precocious of our group, made a
rather biting joke about the reviled supervisor's appearance. Jen had been unusually
quiet up until this point, but as soon as there was an audible break in our
chorus of laughter following Sarah's barb, she'd interjected curtly, "Let's not
lower ourselves this way." The room fell into an instantaneous silence and
Sarah turned scarlet, reeling from Jen's obvious disapproval. Jen was held in
high regard by all of us, and to disappoint her was a significant failure. She
turned to face us and said, "Women gain nothing by tearing each other down.
Look around these halls, ladies. Pay attention! Don't be fooled—this place is
still very much a boy's club. Trust me, no matter how hard you work; they still
own the damn place. This is their world, and they may have grudgingly let us
in, but only with lower paychecks, less respect, and a hell of lot more hoops
to jump through. No one wins when women turn on each other professionally or
personally. The gossiping, the disrespecting, the excluding—all of that keeps
us that much farther away from our goals. You don't have to like each other,
but you need to recognize the team you're on. Respect, professionalism, common
ground—use this to guide yourself and your behavior."

Her speech was equal parts humbling and inspiring.
I wanted to be that kind of woman, that kind of professional. I've managed to
stay out of the gossip pool and some of the other pitfalls she'd warned against,
but have I leant a helping hand to my fellow woman? Rarely. I've failed. I
didn't fulfill that dream Jen had had for me, or the one I'd had for myself.

I think about Meredith and how different things
might've been, had I taken her under my wing in the same way Jen had with me.
What's happened to me that I was so blind to that? Jen would never have treated
me the way I did Meredith. Somewhere along the way I have become as cold and as
unforgiving as Tim. It's no wonder I've felt unhappy for years. I could fault
him, but if I'm really honest, I've been complacent in this change in myself, blaming
everything on a corporate culture that has been as punishing toward me, as I
was in turn to others. I can't erase the past, but, moving forward, I can make
things different in my life.

*** *** ***

I have only four days until Collin's birthday. On
my way into work, I call Reba. She answers on the first ring and doesn't even
bother to say hello.

"You better not be calling me to cancel dinner
this Friday," she lashes. Geez, remind me never to piss off Reba.

"Hi to you, too, Reba. No, I'm not calling to
cancel for Friday, although I didn't realize we were all having dinner." There's
a sudden flash in my mind of the three of us having successive dinners
together. Images of imagined holidays and birthdays spent with each other flood
my mind, and I feel a warmth wash over me. Like a collection of misfit toys,
combined we make a family. For the first time in my life I'm not trying to
break my way into something that I feel separate from. I'm not the outsider.

Reba sounds mildly annoyed as her melodic voice
rings out over my car speakers. "Don't worry, I'm only going to crash his
birthday for a little while and then I have plans. So you guys can have your
alone time." She says ‘alone time' in a way that suggests Collin has disclosed
some of the recent events between us to her. It makes me sort of giddy to think
he's excited enough about an ‘us' to have shared his feelings with Reba.

"I'm not worried. I'm glad you'll be there…but
listen, I'm calling you because I have an idea for a birthday gift for Collin, and
I really need your help to make it happen." Before I can say more, she cuts in.

"Awesome! Count me in!" The exuberance in her
voice reflects my own excitement for the coming weekend. My stomach, on the
other hand, always my internal touchstone for emotion, gurgles with the bizarre
mix of enthusiasm and trepidation I'm feeling. I have a major hurdle to leap
today.

"OK. I'm pulling into work now, so can I text you
the details later?"

"Yeah, text me when you get a chance. I'll help in
any way I can."

"Thanks so much, Reba."

*** *** ***