by Ward, Alice
This is going to be hard, but it’s the right thing to do. In a few hours, it will all be over and I’ll be in a bubble bath with a pint of ice cream.
I turned back to my monitors. It was my job to design display layouts for the pottery show. I started dragging and dropping the pictures into different layouts, determined to have at least one option finished before I left for the day. Deacon’s warning about David was all the motivation I needed to stay focused on my job. Before I realized it, nearly an hour had passed.
“Staying late, Lauren?” My colleague Eve asked, peering over the wall of my cubicle.
She startled me; my eyes bolted to her and then to the small clock on the bottom corner of my right screen.
“Shit, not on purpose,” I replied. I quickly saved my work and shut my computer down. I stuffed everything but my phone into my oversized purse and set off for the door.
“Have a good night, Eve,” I called over my shoulder.
“You too, Lauren.”
I typed and walked at the same time, texting Eric with an apology and promising I was on my way. I unlocked my car, threw my purse in the passenger’s seat, and took another long, deep breath.
Time to get this over with.
***
When I arrived at the restaurant, Eric was waiting in a far corner booth. A basket of bread and a tray of dipping sauces sat on the table and the rich smells of garlic, pepper, and cheese filled the air. Eric stood when he spotted me and gave me a half hug.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered a few appetizers. We have stuffed mushrooms and an antipasto tray on the way.”
“That’s fine,” I assured him, settling in on the other side of the booth. “In fact, I’m not really that hungry. Did you order an entrée?”
He shook his head and reached for his water glass, washing down the tomato soaked bread.
A waitress arrived at the table with the rest of our food. She arranged the platters in front of us, took my drink order, and asked if we’d decided on our meals.
“I’ll just have an iced tea and the appetizers,” I replied.
“I’ll take an order of the pork cannelloni to go,” Eric added.
The waitress walked away, returning what seemed like seconds later with my tea.
“I’ll get that to go order put in now and let you know when it’s ready,” she promised.
“Thanks,” Eric told her.
She left again and I stared across the table, my heart clenched with anxiety. I took a deep breath, but Eric spoke before I could.
“Listen, Lauren,” he started. He wiped his mouth with a green linen napkin and pushed the nearly empty dip platter away from him. “I’ve had a lot of fun with you these past few months, but I’m not sure this relationship is going anywhere. I hope we can still be friends, but I feel like we’re just on different paths in life. I’m looking for someone who’s ready to settle down and start a family. And I know you want to focus on your art right now. I’m so sorry…”
I leaped into the conversation. “Don’t apologize,” I insisted, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I think you’re absolutely right. I really like you, Eric. I just don’t…”
“Don’t feel that spark?” he offered with a sad smile.
I stared back at him and a realization hit me. “You don’t feel it either?”
He shook his head and relief flooded my body. I let out a deep breath and popped a briny black olive into my mouth.
“I should have said something weeks ago,” Eric insisted. “But you’re so attractive and you’re such a genuinely good person. I kept telling myself the feelings would show up if I just kept trying. I have a sneaky suspicion you’ve been giving yourself the same pep talk.”
“I have,” I admitted, unable to believe this conversation. Or the relief. “For all the same reasons. I have to tell you, Eric, I’m more than a little relieved. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. But if you hadn’t done this today, I would have.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page. I want you to be happy, Lauren. And I truly hope you get what you want. You’re incredibly talented. I know you’re going to make a name for yourself. I just also know I’m not built for that kind of lifestyle.”
I nodded. “You’re talented too, Eric. What you do isn’t glamourous, but there’s a reason you’re so successful. You have a very easy, calming demeanor. I’m sure you put your patients at ease. And you deserve a woman who wants to settle down and build a life with you. Whoever she ends up being, she’s a lucky girl.”
“Do you know anyone you could introduce me to?” he teased with a sly grin.
I laughed and reached for a slice of salami. “Not off the top of my head, but I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
He relaxed back into the booth. “I’m glad we met, Lauren. And I really do hope we can be friends. It should be easy, considering that’s basically what we’ve been doing all along.”
In a sharp deviation from my usual dating behavior, I hadn’t had sex with Eric. We’d spent the night together and done other stuff. But I’d been under the impression his feelings were stronger than mine, which made me feel too guilty to let things go further.
“Well, as your friend, I have to say that this is the most mature breakup I’ve ever been through,” I told him.
The knots in my stomach had relaxed, making me realize just how hungry I was. I filled my small plate with cold cuts, crisp vegetables, and mushrooms. Eric passed me a breadstick and I dunked it in Alfredo.
“You were nervous,” he observed.
I nodded and took a large bite of the soft, cheesy bread. “Weren’t you?” I countered.
He shook his head and took another drink of his water.
“No offense Lauren, but you’re pretty easy to read. I knew this would come as more of a relief than a shock to you.”
My heart raced again and I let the breadstick fall to my plate. “Did you do this so I didn’t have to?” I whispered, unable to look at him.
“No,” he assured me. “I did it because it’s the right thing to do.”
The waitress returned to the table and announced that Eric’s meal was ready and waiting at the front register. He thanked her and she disappeared again. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table.
“I’m going to go,” he told me. “Don’t worry about the check. I’ll take care of it on my way out.”
“Thank you, Eric.”
I sat awkwardly in the booth, not knowing if I should shake his hand, stand to hug him, or just let him walk away. He decided for me when he stood and moved for the door before I had a chance to react.
I must be pretty arrogant to have not seen that coming. I tried so hard to convince myself he was the right man. I didn’t even consider the fact I might not be the right woman. I got off easy on this one. I know I did. And Saturday, when I see Asher, I’ll be a free woman.
***
I arrived at the museum at seven-thirty the next morning. I wanted to impress David by having all of my layouts ready before our meeting. The office slowly started to fill and the aromas of coffee, perfumes, and colognes filled the air. Around eight-fifteen, Eve stuck her head over my cubicle wall again.
“Good morning, Lauren. Debby in accounting brought donuts this morning. They’re in the breakroom. There were only a few chocolate ones left when I was in there, but if you hurry, I bet you can get one.”
“Thanks, Eve. A donut sounds really good, actually.”
She disappeared and I reached for my coffee mug. I washed down the cold remnants of my last espresso and set off for the break room. I found three huge bakery boxes sitting on the table and no line in front of the Keurig’s. I sat my mug in the first machine, popped a cup into the top, and turned back to the table while it brewed. I loaded a paper plate with a chocolate donut and a bear claw, retrieved my coffee, and headed back to my desk. David approached me as I stepped out the door of the breakroom.
&n
bsp; “Already taking a morning break, Matthews?” he asked with a sneer.
“No, sir. I came in early this morning and didn’t have a chance to eat breakfast. I’m just taking this back to my desk.”
Like every other person does in this office all day long.
“I trust you’re ready for our meeting?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be in your office promptly at nine. I’m almost finished with the pottery layouts. I’ll email them to you before I leave my desk,” I offered.
“That won’t be necessary,” he replied, his voice low and ominous. “What I need to discuss with you has nothing to do with the show. I’ll see you in a half hour, Matthews.”
“Until then, sir.”
I rushed back to my desk, no longer interested in my breakfast. I sat the plate in the corner and told myself I’d eat once the meeting with David was over. I didn’t care if he wanted to see the display layouts or not.
After hearing David’s clipped tone, I felt more motivated than ever to show him what I was capable of. I turned my attention to my computer and had the layouts in David’s inbox five minutes before the meeting. As I steadied myself to walk to the meeting, my cell phone vibrated across my desk. I retrieved it and read a text from Asher.
“Still on for tomorrow? I thought we’d meet around eleven.”
I’ll text back later.
I smoothed the jacket of my navy dress suit and set off for David’s office. His door was open and he was behind his desk, waiting for me.
“Shut the door,” he instructed.
I obeyed and settled into the chair across from him.
“Ms. Matthews, I’m assuming you already know why you’re here,” he began.
“Actually sir, I don’t. At first, I thought you wanted to discuss the Egyptian exhibit, since it’s one of Deacon’s projects you’re taking over. Other than that, I’m not sure why you want to talk to me.”
David cleared his throat and pushed back his shoulders.
“Ms. Matthews, the acquisitions department received a surprising phone call a few days ago. Did you or did you not go to the home of Asher Reynolds, purporting yourself as a representative of the museum?”
My face flushed hot and I felt as if I’d taken a bowling ball to the stomach. I’d never expected to get into trouble for going to Asher’s house. I shifted nervously in my seat and tried to find my voice.
“I went to Mr. Reynolds home,” I admitted. “I met him at Deacon’s opening. He called a few days later and told me he had some paintings he’d like to donate to our permanent collection. Sir, I told Mr. Reynolds I wasn’t the person to speak to about this. I tried to put him in contact with the right office, but he refused. He said he was only comfortable with me, so I went. I looked at the paintings and I told him the proper process to follow, that’s all.”
“And when you received the phone call from Mr. Reynolds, did it ever cross your mind to tell anyone? Or did you hope that by ignoring the proper channels, you’d get recognition for bringing in a large donation all on your own?” he pressed, his eyes narrowed.
“I… I wasn’t thinking of myself at all, sir. I assure you. I apologize if I overstepped my position.”
“You know, you artists are all alike,” he snarled. “This place is just your day job, not your true passion. You prance in here and act as if you’re special because you know how to push paint across a canvas. It’s very apparent Ms. Matthews that you, like your precious Deacon, consider the museum to be your day job. And I’m sure that you, like him, plan to leave the moment you sell your first painting. Am I correct?”
Deacon sold his first painting nine years ago. But yeah, I get where you’re going, David.
I straightened myself in my chair and crossed my legs. “I do plan to pursue a career as an artist. But I don’t plan on letting that affect my position here.”
“Well, I’ve made it easy for you. You no longer have a position here,” he told me, his voice firm and flat.
“What?” I gasped with surprise. I knew he was upset, but I also knew he didn’t have the power to fire me himself. Charles and Paul, the two head curators, were the only ones who could make that call.
“After we received the call from Mr. Reynolds, I went to Charles and Paul with my concerns. They agreed that we can’t have you moving about town like a wild card, claiming to represent the museum while no one here knows what you’re up to. They’re also concerned about your dedication to the museum. Here are your termination papers. Unfortunately, you haven’t been here long enough to be due any severance. But a check for your accumulated sick and personal days is in here.”
He passed me a thin manila envelope and rose to his feet. “I’d like you out of the building in a half hour, Ms. Matthews. Please gather your things and leave your security badge with reception.”
I wanted to argue and fight for my job, but I knew the effort would be futile. Instead, I rose from my chair and extended my hand. I was determined to leave the museum with my head held high. David accepted it and gave me a limp shake.
“I wish you well, Ms. Matthews,” he offered in a pathetic attempt to be a grown up.
“The same to you. And I hope your nephew enjoys my desk.”
I turned and left without waiting for him to react.
“Everything okay, Lauren?” Eve asked when I walked past her cubicle.
“Everything’s perfect,” I assured her.
I sat down in my chair and opened my single desk drawer. Aside from a few flash drives, everything in the drawer belonged to the museum. I tossed them in my purse along with the few pictures of me and my friends I’d pinned to the cloth wall.
Maybe I can make it out of here without anyone realizing what’s going on. The last thing I’m in the mood for is a bunch of “oh no, she’s been fired” sympathy stares.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked for the front entrance with my head held high. A single coworker asked where I was going, and I lied and said I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment. When I reached the reception desk, I tossed my badge to the counter and moved swiftly for the door. Once I reached the safety of my car, I pulled out my phone. I hit Deacon’s speed dial, relieved when he answered on the first ring.
“I just got fired. Can I come paint?” The words flew out of my mouth and then I sat silently, hoping he wouldn’t press me for details.
He blew out a breath, the air causing static in my ear. “I’m home. Come on over.”
I turned on my engine, sped from the parking lot, and set off for my mentor’s townhouse.
***
“I can’t believe that bastard fired you,” Claire said with a sigh. She filled a wine glass with merlot and slid it across my coffee table.
“I wish I could say I’m surprised. But David’s never tried to hide his dislike for me. And Deacon warned me yesterday that he’d be looking for a reason to fire me. I never thought I’d get in trouble for going to Asher’s house. But if he hadn’t fired me for that, he’d have fired me for something. I guess it was just a matter of time.”
“I wish there was something you could do… some sort of appeal you could file or something,” she said, pouring her own glass of wine.
“I don’t want to work somewhere I’m not wanted,” I insisted. “I spent the day in Deacon’s studio. I took out all of my aggression on a canvas.”
“I’m glad you feel better, but have you come up with a plan? I know you won’t be paying rent soon, but you still need a paycheck,” she warned.
“I have my resume ready. I just sort of stumbled into the museum position, thanks to Deacon. I’m really better suited for a gallery or a graphic arts firm. I’m going to look through the online classifieds Sunday night and start applying Monday morning,” I assured her.
“As long as you have a plan. You know, Lauren, this will probably work out for the best. Like you said, you were never really suited for the museum in the first place. I assume if that had been your dream, you’d have majored in art history
instead of modern contemporary.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. I took another sip of the wine and felt warmth spread through my body.
“So, now that I’m sure you’re okay about being fired, spill it,” she insisted, her eyes narrowed with impatience.
“Spill what?” I asked, taken aback by the question.
Claire grabbed a throw pillow and playfully hit me in the shoulder. “Your time at Asher Reynolds’s house. I want details. What was he like? Are you interested in him? Are you going to break up with Eric?”
I let out an amused snort. “Actually, Eric ended things yesterday,” I began.
“What?” She stared at me, her mouth in a little ‘o’. “And you didn’t tell me? Okay, start from the beginning Lauren. When did you go to Asher’s?”
“Wednesday night.”
“Then start there,” she instructed.
I hesitated. “I don’t want to get into too much detail. Asher seems very protective of his privacy.”
“I don’t need specifics,” she insisted. “You don’t have to tell me where he lives or anything. But what was he like? Do you think he’s interested in you? Did you really just talk about museum stuff, or did it go further than that?”
I smiled at her list of questions. “It started with museum stuff. He showed me the pieces he wants to donate and then offered me a glass of wine. We sat out on his deck for a little while and he asked if we could be friends. We’re going to the arts festival in Golden Gate Park tomorrow.”
“Just as friends?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” I assured her, a little too firmly.
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” she teased. She took a sip of her wine and turned back to me.
“So what happened with Eric?”
“I was planning on breaking up with him. I messaged him yesterday and asked if we could meet after work. I gathered all my nerve but seconds before I opened my mouth, he opened his. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t feel a connection between us. Eric said he’s ready to settle down and start a family, and I’m just not that woman right now. It was actually the best breakup I’ve ever had. I doubt we’ll hang out together. But if we run into each other at a bar or something, it won’t be a big dramatic deal.”
