by Whitney G.
“Claire?” She cleared her throat. “I want you to know that none of what I’ve said to you over the past few weeks is personal. It’s simply me trying to be the best mother I can be.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think? He needed you when he was nine—not twenty nine.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the monster he makes me out to be. And you don’t know a damn thing about what was happening when he was nine—except the fact that you were twenty years old back then so—”
“Get the fuck out of my office or I’ll call security.”
“Touchy today, are we?”
I picked up my phone and hit seven.
She stood up and stepped back towards the door. “I was just coming by to drop off that gift. You can think of it as an early dinner present. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight... This should be fun.” She gave me an evil smile and it took everything I had not to jump over my desk and beat her into the ground.
The door slammed shut and I sank down in my chair. I didn’t even bother opening the box. I tossed it into the trash and hit nine to cancel the security call.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually talked Jonathan out of canceling dinner tonight. I’d told him that he and his mom needed to keep trying to work things out, that I would be there for him the entire time.
What the hell was I thinking?
“Claire?” Jonathan burst into my office with two security guards. “What’s the problem?”
“Huh?”
“You called security...”
“Oh, right...” I watched as his guards walked around my office, opening and closing the connecting doors and closets. “It was a mistake...I’m sorry. I hit nine to cancel.”
“Thank you very much, gentlemen. False alarm.” He waited for them to leave the room. “You look pale. You sure you’re alright?”
No...“I’m fine. Are you tracking my phone calls?”
“I get notifications about all emergency calls—text messages for regular employees, a phone call if it’s coming from you.”
“Oh...” I leaned back. “Are any of my coworkers out there? Did they see you come up?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes and walked over to me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What are you talking about?”
He cupped my face in his hands. “You’ve been on edge lately...”
Your mother’s been harassing me. Say it. Say it! “I’m just overwhelmed with a lot of assignments. That’s all.”
“Hmmm. I’m sure I can fix that for you. Do you want to cancel dinner tonight? We don’t have to go.”
“But your therapist said that—”
“My mom is still acting like she doesn’t remember any of the things she did when I was younger...She was just here for a session and I walked out. I don’t think our relationship is reparable.”
I sighed. I thought about saying, “It’s not. And you know what? I hate her too. Let’s cancel dinner and I’ll tell you all about it,” but my motherly instincts won out. The two of them could fix this, they needed to fix this.
“It just takes time. Don’t cancel...She may have a strange way of showing it, but I think she’s willing to do whatever it takes to be a mainstay in your life now.”
“Based on what I just told you?”
Based on what she’s been doing...“Just trust me. Keep the dinner reservation... I’ll be there.”
Last Friday night
I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows of the ocean view restaurant and watched the waves hit the bay rocks over and over. I was dreading this dinner so much that I was tempted to run out on the patio and dive into the sea.
When Jonathan dropped me off at home hours ago, I’d found another “gift” from Denise. I tossed it towards the trashcan, but it fell short a few feet and the contents of the box tumbled out onto the floor: They were pictures, and not just any pictures. Recent pictures of Ryan and Amanda enjoying their amazing life together—walking along the river with their two young children, kissing one another as they strolled through the park hand in hand, laughing at nothing at all. They were sitting on a rock at me and Ryan’s old spot—our favorite downtown park. They were running down a cobblestoned street at Disneyworld, with Ashley and Caroline not too far behind them.
How did she get these?
I stopped looking through the pictures and felt myself shaking, feeling angry and hurt all over again. I told myself that I wasn’t going to cry, that I wasn’t going to read the little notes she’d written on the back of every picture, but I slumped down to the floor and read them all.
I read every single word as tears fell down my face: “Fourteen years down the drain...” “You think Ashley and Caroline will actually respect a stepfather that’s only thirteen years older than them?” “You don’t think he’ll ever want kids of his own? Really? Ryan clearly did, and Jonathan will too...Maybe not until he’s in his thirties, but he will. You know that.” “Look at how Amanda and Ryan are aging together. She has a streak of gray and so does he...Are you going to be able to dye your hair every week? Isn’t the Age-Away regimen time consuming enough?” “I’m only trying to help you...I can help you find someone more suitable in no time...”
My phone started vibrating and I snapped out of my memory. It was a text from Jonathan: “On my way. Can’t wait until dinner is over :-).”
I smiled and noticed another text. From Denise: “I know you have no reason to believe me right now, but I am so very sorry about the way I’ve treated you over the past few weeks...Jonathan and I are on our way to the restaurant now and I...I didn’t realize how much you meant to him. I thought you were a cougar that was after his money—I’m sorry for ever thinking that and calling you out of your name. Can we please be civil with one another at dinner tonight? I really am sorry.”
I didn’t respond. It was too late for an apology—much too late.
My phone vibrated again, and I saw another text from her. “I know you don’t owe me anything and you have every right to be angry with me, but can we PLEASE get through this dinner without incident? He won’t talk to me anymore if you tell him what’s been going on or make a scene...I’ll do whatever it takes to repair what I’ve messed up. I take everything I said back...Can we please start over? I think we could be good friends if we tried.”
No response.
I kept watching the waves roll over one another, trying to prepare myself for this terrible dinner.
By the time Jonathan and his mother finally arrived, I’d had enough time to think things through, to make up my mind about this impossible relationship: I decided that I would get through dinner without incident. I would be polite to Denise and make sure that Jonathan never left my side, but after tonight, he and I would be over.
August 15, 2013
Dear Journal,
There are two ways to write a Two Weeks’ Notice.
If you want the traditional going away party with stale cake, cheap punch, and terribly recited poetry, you need to include the following lines in your letter: “I’ve learned so much from working with this company and I hope to apply my knowledge to my new position. Thank you for having me on your team throughout the years and I hope my contributions have been as meaningful to you as yours have been to me.”
If you don’t give a damn about the company you’re leaving and the thought of a going away party with your co-workers makes you want to jump out the window before you can officially quit, you can simply sum up your letter in two short sentences: “As of [insert date] I will no longer be working for this company. Effective immediately.”
Last week, I received a call from Signature Advertising—the premier advertising agency on the West Coast. They’d saved my application from four years ago, keeping it in an “Over Budget” folder since they thought my salary request would be too high. But now, they were “willing to spend whatever [they] needed to,” so they offered me the job over the phone—no interview necessary.
>
I was thrilled, but I told them I needed forty eight hours to think about it.
I was actually going to turn it down. I was going to tell them that I was enjoying my work at Statham Industries and would keep their offer in mind for the future. Yet, but right before I could make that phone call, one of my associates brought the top idea for the sPhone red into my office: “First it was blue, like the skies above your head...Now it’s full of love that will never go dead...Coming soon, the new sPhone red.”
I’m done with this shit,
Claire
Chapter 26
Claire
One month later...
I dabbed the corners of my eyes with my sleeves and swiped another pile of crumpled Kleenex into the trash can. I was sitting in my expansive corner office at Signature Advertising, bored out of my mind.
As the regional chair, all I had to do was make sure the directors were getting their jobs done and host a weekly mentoring session with a few associates. I’d thought that I would at least get a good laugh from those sessions, but the associates here were completely different from the ones at Statham Industries: They actually knew what they were doing.
Their ideas were amazing—way beyond their years. They could write ad copy within minutes, something that took my old associates hours to do. They hardly ever knocked on my door for assistance, and when they did, it was only to show me another remarkable idea that they’d come up with.
In fact, they were so perfect that I spent all last week in my office with the door closed and watched movies.
So much for having more responsibility and fulfillment...
Since I had so much free time, all I could think about was Jonathan, and I couldn’t help but cry. I was missing him. Terribly.
Each time my phone rang, each time my doorbell sounded, and each time there was a knock on my door, I hoped that it was him—telling me to come away with him, telling me that he wasn’t going to let me walk out of his life so easily.
I even woke up this morning reaching out for him, thinking we’d fallen asleep together.
It was for the best, Claire...It was for the best...
“Miss Gracen?” My secretary called my line.
“Yes?”
“There’s someone here demanding to see you. I said that you don’t have any appointments scheduled for the day, but—”
Jonathan?! “Send him in please.” I wiped my eyes and stood up, straightening my dress. I prepared myself to say “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. Let’s just pick up where we left off” as soon as he walked through the door.
The door opened; in walked Sandra and Helen.
Oh...
“Well, it’s good to see you too!” Helen laughed. “Could you try not to look so disappointed to see your two best friends?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to.” I sighed. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re making sure you don’t bomb within your first ninety days.” Helen set down a cake that read ‘Sixty more days to go!’ on my desk. “Looks like you’ve been crying—again.”
“No, I haven’t...I just have—”
“Allergies?” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Please. Have you called him yet?”
I shook my head and the two of them exchanged glances.
“You know, I’m not a huge fan of the monogamous relationship thing,” Helen said as she sat on the edge of my desk. “That aside, I really think you should call him and tell him everything his mother was doing to you...I honestly think you two were made for each other—age gap and all. I’ve never seen sparks like that fly between people—and that’s saying a lot coming from me. I mean, I could literally feel the electricity whenever you were in the same room together, so you need to rectify this ASAP. Oh and random, who is the guy that sits at the side desk in the downstairs lobby?”
“Ashton?”
“Dark brown hair, green eyes?”
I nodded. “That’s him.”
“Is he single?”
“He’s nineteen...”
“Then he’s perfectly legal.” She eased off my desk and walked towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Sandra shook her head. “Why do we put up with her again?” She walked over to my side of the desk and patted my back. “I agree with everything she said about you and Jonathan...I’d never seen you that happy until you started dating him. You need to tell him about his mom.”
“What would be the point? She was wrong for handling it the way she did, but her main message was right. It would never work out. I’m too old for him, and I knew that from the beginning.”
“Okay, you really need to stop—”
“She knew exactly what to say to get to me...She knew throwing my age in my face would break me down. She knew that would make me leave him...”
“And you shouldn’t have let her do that...You should have told him as soon as it started.”
“I just...” I sighed. “He claims that he doesn’t care about his mother, that he sees her as a burden sometimes, but that’s not true...He wants them to have a good relationship. He’s wanted that his whole life. That’s why he always pays for her to go to rehab, that’s why he’s always hoping that this time is the time she’ll get it right, and I think she finally did. I didn’t want to stand in the way of that; that wouldn’t have been fair to him...I keep telling myself that I did the right thing, that I saved myself an even bigger heartbreak down the road but...” Tears fell down my face.
“Did you tell him that you loved him?”
I shook my head. “Why would I? We were close but...I didn’t love him. I liked him a lot and—”
“Claire...” She pursed her lips and gave me her stop-bullshitting-me face.
“I wanted to...I was going to tell him but—” I stopped and shut my eyes. “I knew I was going to break up with him the next day so I didn’t.”
“It’s going to be okay...Stop crying...”
“So! Ashton seems like he might be just the guy to break me out of my disappointing-dick-spell! He is definitely well endowed...” Helen walked back into my office. “He also gave me five packs of mini-Kleenex, so...” She tossed them over to me. “Let’s take you out to lunch, shall we? That’s step one to getting you back to normal.”
I walked down to the edge of Ocean Beach, so far that I could see Jonathan’s beach house in the distance. I thought about running towards it and knocking on the door, but I held back.
I’d been doing this every weekend since we broke up: going to the deserted part of the beach, lying out on the sand, and thinking about all the things we’d done together.
I reached into my purse and pulled out the small box he’d given me the day we broke up. I’d been carrying it around with me every day, but I’d held off on opening it because I didn’t want to be reminded of how foolish I was for breaking things off with him.
Unable to suppress my curiosity any longer, I sank down to the sand and flipped the top open: Inside was a beautiful golden necklace with a single anchor charm. Next to that necklace was another one—a silver one with several shimmering charms: There were white and red flags—melded together with “Claire & Caroline” etched onto the back, a silver yacht, an anchor with the words “Yours, Always” signed into the sides, a bottle of wine with our initials on the label, and then there was an “M” and an “L” that were intertwined. The “L” was bolder than the “M” and it was covered in a bright pattern of crystals.
“ML”? What does that mean?
I couldn’t think of any place we’d been to that had “M” and “L” in the title, and I couldn’t remember any conversations we’d had about those two letters.
“My love”? “Mid-life”? “My love” probably...
I placed it around my neck and ran my fingers along the charms, wishing that he was here—explaining what every charm meant and making love to me out in the open...
“Miss Gracen, is everything okay? Is something wrong with my idea?”
&n
bsp; “What?” I snapped back into reality. “No, Tiffany...Your idea is perfect.” As usual...
“Well, thank you! That means a lot coming from you! And thanks for letting all of us meet you in a coffee shop. Our old director never did anything like that.”
I smiled. “My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your day.” I shook her hand and watched her walk out of the shop.
I’d spent all morning meeting with my associates at the Starbucks across town. I’d told them that they needed to show me their ideas, make a short pitch, and once we agreed on it they could have the rest of the day off.
Was she the last one I had to meet today? Doesn’t that make fifteen? God, I’m losing it...
I was trying to do everything I could to break my routine, to start getting over Jonathan and anything that reminded me of Statham Industries. I hosted staff meetings at pastry shops, found a new park to do my weekly running, and drove out of my way to go to a different beach when I wanted to relax.
I even asked Helen and Sandra to set me up on group dates on the weekends to prevent me from sulking alone at night. But, no matter how nice some of those men were, none of them compared to Jonathan. At all.
I stood up and ordered another cup of coffee, stopping once I saw the front page of the Wall Street Journal. The headline was “Too Good to Pass Up!” and Jonathan was on it. He was smiling in a well-tailored tuxedo and standing on stage addressing his employees at the IPO ball.
Don’t pick it up...Don’t pick it up...You have to get over him, you have to get over him...
I grabbed my latte and sat back down. I desperately wanted to text him “Congratulations” or ask “How does it feel to finally be public?” but I wasn’t sure if he would text me back. And I knew that if he did, I would disregard whatever he said and write “I miss you.”
I opened my folder and started going though the directors’ proposals, making small notes here or there, shaking my head at how perfect their work was.
