Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” Sutton doesn’t make a joke about needing her grandma to come and defend her with a knife or a flipper or a spatula. I think she would normally have. She’s off her game. She does not look pleased to see me, but she’s not entirely surprised either.
I haven’t stepped in yet. I’m still on the concrete step that leads up to the door, and Sutton takes advantage of it. She steps out in bare feet and closes the door loudly behind her. Once she’s certain it’s closed, and she’s out of hearing range, she crosses her arms and leans back against the door.
“Why are you here? I thought I was pretty clear in my wishes to never see you again.” Her heart isn’t in being mean. I don’t know if it ever was. She’s trying to be firm, but she honestly doesn’t look well. Her face looks more like she’s trying not to puke than it does angry.
“I know.” Swallowing is like trying to get a gym sock down my throat. “I know that.” Smooth. Try something else. Try half of what you rehearsed in the car.
“So?”
“So…uh…I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried after I got your email.”
“Worried because you won’t have anyone to look after you? Worried as in you don’t want to put the time and effort into training someone else? Worried you’re going to get behind on your reports and other work? Worried that the company is going to suffer because I bailed on you? Or worried about me?”
“About you.” I wish I could say it without a tremble in my voice. It hardly sounds convincing, and obviously, it’s not, because she rolls her eyes.
“Right. Well, I’m okay. Going to be fine. I meant what I said. I didn’t think it was appropriate to work there after you know. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I was tired of pretending. It was weird. I didn’t think it was ever not going to be weird. I just want to go to a job where I don’t have to feel like I’m living a double life.”
“I never meant for you to feel that way.”
“Yes, well, it happened. It’s not all your fault. I have a big part to play in it too. I just couldn’t deal with the fallout. Honestly, I needed a change anyway. I had been there for years, and I want to do something else. Something more…I don’t know. Creative. I…yeah. I’m not going to ask for a reference—”
“I’ll give you one. Of course. I’ll mail it to you?” I don’t want to ask for her number or her personal email. That would make her feel like I’m trying to trick her or pressure her into giving it to me.
“Uh, thanks. Is that all you’re here for? Just to tie up loose ends? If you are, then I can tell you I’ll be fine. And so will you. You’ll find someone else and train them, and everything will be great. You are more capable than you think. I meant what I said at the end of the email. I…yeah. I’m sorry I had to bail like that. I should have given two weeks, but I just couldn’t.”
“It’s fine.” Tell her. Tell her, you idiot.
“Okay.” Sutton’s throat bobs, and she swallows convulsively. She’s become even whiter, which is kind of alarming because she was already a terrible shade of pale before.
“Are you okay? I mean, you obviously haven’t told your grandma yet, but are you actually sick?”
“No.” She shakes her head, unconvincingly. “I just ate something last night that settled wrong.” She half turns, searching for the door handle like we’re finished.
Maybe we are. Maybe for her, this is all she wanted to say. Maybe I was wrong about it meaning anything. Maybe she just really didn’t want to have the kind of work relationship where we’d slept together, making it really awkward for her. Maybe there was no other actual feeling behind it other than what was done was done, and she couldn’t undo it and couldn’t live with it, so she had to quit.
Tell her. Tell her, dumbass. You’re not going to get another chance. “Wait!”
Sutton’s hand freezes on the handle. She angles halfway back around. Her face looks strange. Sad. Alarmed. Horrified.
“I’m sorry.” I search my mind, trying to grasp at some of what I rehearsed in the car. It was shitty for sure, but it was also better than nothing. “For everything. I’m sorry I pretended as if what we had was nothing. Like it didn’t happen. It wasn’t nothing. Not for me. And it did happen. Yeah, it happened. Like, a lot. I mean, it really happened. I’m sorry for shutting you out. For hurting you. For being a huge dickhead. I’m emotionally stunted, and it’s been a long time. No, I mean, it’s been never. I’ve never felt anything like this before, so I panicked. I shut down. I had to block it all out, not talk about it. Pretend like it wasn’t real because that would make it real, and I didn’t know how to make it real, and I—”