Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  On Thursday, Nick was back at work. And he was glowing. Glowing as if he had been having one of those oxygen facials every day, or on a clean-eating detox (who did that to themselves?), or – most likely – he’d been sleeping with Honey or Chloe, or both together, and planning a new polygamy sect.

  ‘Emma, can I have a word?’ he called from his office door. It was the first sentence he’d uttered to me in days.

  I called back, ‘Sorry, Nick, I’m really pushed for time.’

  An hour later, he saw me chatting with Phil in the kitchen, and smiled warmly at us both. ‘Emma, congratulations. I, um, heard about your move. I’m not sure I said it before. I really need to talk to you before you go.’

  I looked up at him. ‘I’ve already sent you a list of all the handover items, where everything is up to. The hit rates. The market saturation. The customer feedback on the new logo. Social media hashtags around the new collaboration. IAH’s feedback. Everything. If you need anything else just shoot me an email.’ I smiled. Untouchable.

  Phil looked at me wide-eyed. Then at Nick, as if he were watching a game of tennis.

  Nick said, ‘OK,’ but didn’t sound convinced and left the kitchen.

  ‘What is going on?’ Phil demanded. ‘Why are you being so mean to McDreamy?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Oooohhhh!’ he squealed, clapping his hands together. ‘I smell gossip.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ I shook my head. ‘Just some people have another side, and when you see that, well, then you find it hard to see the good in them at all.’

  He leaned forward on his hand. ‘I’m intrigued. Spill.’

  I ruffled his hair. ‘Not this time, champ.’

  On Thursday night Nick left two voicemails, asking if I would please call him back. I didn’t.

  ***

  Friday was Macabre day, and also my last day in the office. I packed up the last of my things, gave back my keys to cupboards I didn’t think I’d ever opened and endured a cringy farewell party with the entire team, where they all said they thought I was amazing. (Glenn failed to admit he’d thought I was the coffee girl and couldn’t remember my name for the first few weeks.)

  ‘I’m kinda glad you’re going, coffee girl – the coffee you made was always crap!’ Phil teased.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’ll miss me. And on the plus side you’re getting my job! More work and hardly a skerrick more pay!’ I laughed.

  ‘Yes, get out, whilst the real star takes over.’ But his face got serious. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  He reached out and gave me a big hug.

  ‘Don’t worry, you always have the copy boy Kevin to hug if you get sad.’

  ‘Ear wax,’ I mouthed. Phil looked as if he was going to vomit.

  Bunches of flowers – too many to carry – lined my desk. A stack of balloons and a card. People really went to such an effort even for someone they’d never spoken to. At 4 p.m. I left, trying to juggle all the cards and flowers down to my Uber waiting below.

  Beth and Bel both came out from Reception to help me pop them in the boot. On account of their kindness I snuck them both the smaller bouquets and said, ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ they twittered like loving little birds, waving before heading back into the building, just as Nick rushed out of the elevator.

  ‘Emma!’ he called loudly, opening the foyer door and spilling out into the street.

  He ran over to me. ‘Did you get my voicemails?’

  ‘I saw some missed calls,’ I said not looking at him as I put the last bouqet in the boot.

  ‘You didn’t call me back?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ I closed the boot.

  Nick was standing there staring at me, like some puppy-faced Daniel Cleaver. But I’d seen Bridget Jones enough to know apologies meant nothing. It was a waste of time to even listen to whatever excuses he had. ‘I really need to speak to you.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About us.’

  I laughed hollowly. ‘I think I’ll take a pass.’

  ‘But you don’t understand—’

  I put my hand up. ‘There is no us. You made that really, really clear. There’s a you and – well, who knows, really? And now there’s a me and Alaska. That’s it.’

  ‘But, Em—’

  ‘No, Nick. You don’t get to talk to me now.’

  I felt giddy. Who was this take-charge girl who didn’t want a partner? Scratch out Step 3. Screw being well behaved, or doing what everyone else expected me to do. And I didn’t need him to say he was sorry about us – blah, blah, blah. I got into the backseat of the taxi before he could say anything else, closing the door.

  As I did I looked up at his face, which genuinely looked concerned, and I felt a twinge of sadness for a second that it hadn’t worked out between us. Because we had had a wonderful connection. Better than anything I’d ever experienced. Suddenly, I didn’t trust myself to hear what he had to say, and didn’t trust what I’d do. I could feel him still standing there, as if he was going to open the door and get in after me. So, I locked it. And before he could say another thing, I leaned forward and, just as they did in the movies, I said to the driver, ‘Drive. Quickly.’

  Chapter 28

  The business-class lounge was decadent – thank you frequent flyer points from all those years of travelling. I’d been offered a glass of Champagne as soon as I entered, and was now nibbling on some grapes and a slice of Brie by the window, staring out on Sydney and her lights glowing in the early evening.

  My parents had dropped me at the airport – and how different it had felt from when I’d left the last time, seven years ago. How different I felt now, from just last week, when I was still another Maker clone.

  Today, instead of wearing a white silk singlet, and black cigarette pants – my uniform the last few months – I was in an old vintage Ralph Lauren red knit jumper I’d managed to find at the bottom of a box in my cupboard, tight blue jeans and white tennis flats.

  Due to finally giving up my chip, wine and mac and cheese late-night-snack habit, now that I was actually happy, the weight had literally dropped off me in the last week. I somehow managed to fit into my size twelve jeans with almost absolute perfection. No tightness. No circulation being cut off. My hair was piled up into a messy bun and I had on zero make-up. Not a bit.

  I sighed happily. I was going. Leaving. To go to my dream life. For real.

  Everything about it had seemed so rushed, so quick, I hadn’t stopped to catch my breath. Until now. I checked my watch: 7 p.m. The Macabre event would just about be starting. The red carpet would be filling up with all the guests, the caterers would be running around like crazy, pots and pans clattering in a steamy kitchen, the giant multicoloured skulls would be hanging from the ceiling, with candles in their eyes, and I felt relieved that I wasn’t there. That scene had never been me. Too glamorous. Too stuffy. Too fake.

  I sipped some more Champagne. What a relief it would be when I got on that plane, stretched out in business class, watched Bridget Jones’s Baby twice, and drooled as much as I wanted, without having to worry that someone like Nick or Honey was going to pop out of their perfection pod and discuss the plain girl with the big (now medium-sized) bum. In fact, I could walk around without worrying about bumping into him on the streets. Or at work functions. Or awkwardly avoiding him in the office. In fact, I never had to think about him ever again.

  ‘Emma.’ I was thinking about Nick so much I could actually hear his voice in my head, saying my name.

  ‘Emma.’

  I shook my head. I could not go loopy just hours before Alaska.

  ‘Emma.’

  Someone touched my right shoulder and I jumped a little. Turning around, I was startled to find myself facing Nick.

  My mouth fell open. ‘What. On. Earth. Are. You. Doing. Here?’

  He was wearing tight dark blue jeans, a white shirt, blue blazer, brown loafers and a dark grey scarf tied around his
neck. His dark blond hair was styled in a windswept way. I could see the girls on nearby couches turning around to get a better look. I caught a whiff of his smell – leather, coconut and minty man soap. At his feet was a large duffel bag, with an airport tag on it. He was clearly on his way somewhere, and what were the actual chances our planes were leaving on the same day, at around the same time? Thanks, fate. Thanks a lot.

  ‘I needed to talk to you.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have just emailed me?’ I drummed my fingers on the table in front of me. I couldn’t believe he was there. He was the last person I wanted to see.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’ My mind started racing. What was so important he needed to see me? Had I stuffed something up? Did I forget something with Macabre?

  ‘I needed to ask something.’

  ‘Which is why you could have used email. It’s a trusty little technological solution for when the other person doesn’t want to talk to you.’ I held up my phone to show him how easy it was. ‘Besides, shouldn’t you be at Macabre?’ I said pointedly.

  ‘Yes. Probably. Well, no.’ He looked nervous. ‘Can I sit?’ He motioned to the chair opposite me.

  ‘No.’

  He cleared his throat and kept standing, which was slightly annoying, because he was very tall, and that meant I had to look up at him. I don’t think I remembered him being this tall. ‘Well, firstly, I wanted to apologise for yelling at you. I was stressed and frustrated when I found out about everything, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Emma.’

  I scoffed and took a sip of my Champagne. ‘That’s what you want to apologise for?’

  He stood there awkwardly for a second, shifting on his heels, before he said, ‘Emma, I’ve been trying to tell you this for a while now.’

  He paused and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Spit it out,’ I said without looking at him.

  ‘I like you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I really like you. I always have.’

  I stared out of the window. ‘I think it’s a little late for this, Nick.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  I spun back around towards him. ‘Well, actually, Nick, there are many reasons why it’s a little late. Firstly, this is my trip to Alaska, and you can’t spoil it by turning up and making this about you. Secondly, you had a chance with me, in fact several times, but you blew it. And thirdly, you think I’m a liar, about everything,’ I said, throwing his own words back at him.

  He looked extremely uncomfortable, which, I had to admit, I was quite enjoying. ‘Actually, Emma, there’s a bit more to that story, some gaps, that we’ve never really discussed. And I wanted a chance to fill them.’

  I looked down at my watch. ‘Well, you have twenty minutes until I board. And you can take no more than five of them. I have Champagne that needs to be drunk, and some emails to send.’

  He nodded. ‘OK, well, I came to just say something that I’ve been trying to tell you since I saw you in the foyer of Maker that first day. I liked you when we met in Fiji. When I saw you at the bar that first time, I couldn’t help noticing you …’ he hesitated.

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not the kind of girl that gets noticed in a bar, so don’t give me that story. Like you think this is some rom-com.’ I dropped the last bit in there so he’d realise how silly he sounded.

  ‘You were to me.’ He leaned forward slightly to emphasise his point. I could see the pulse in his throat. ‘There was something about you. And then I saw you at the bar downing whiskies. You were hilarious. Sassy. You told me you wore a Goddamn pink swimming cap doing aqua aerobics with people three times your age. You didn’t care at all what anyone thought about you. That your mum was trying to fix you up with men in the pool that you didn’t want a bit of.’

  ‘Well, they tried to drown me,’ I said huffily.

  ‘Yes, sassy then and sassy now. But also lovely.’ He looked at me. ‘So lovely.’

  I was lovely?

  ‘And we had the best night. Didn’t we? Do you remember that swim at the beach?’

  ‘Naked crazy swim,’ I mumbled, shaking my head.

  ‘Yes, that naked crazy swim on the beach. Do you remember everything we spoke about that night?’

  I shook my head. I could, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  ‘We spoke about life, Emma. About the universe. You said your favourite planet was Saturn because you were sure it rained diamonds.’

  I tried not to smile. ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did. You said you love dogs, but you couldn’t get another one, because when your retriever died it crushed you for years. You said that you write in a journal. That you dream of living in a cottage …’

  ‘With chickens and a veggie patch,’ I said haughtily. ‘So you’ve made your point – you have a good memory.’

  ‘Emma … I …’

  I stared at him, and could tell he was nervous. His voice started wavering a little. I was enjoying it a little – actually, a lot.

  He continued, ‘I really liked you, and I wanted it to be something real, not just a one-night thing. But you left the next morning after I made you breakfast. I wanted to take you for a walk to the beach, have a seafood lunch. Get to know you more.’

  Was he about to go over everything in our past with a fine-tooth comb? Because that was going to take a long time. Could we speed it up? I had a flight to catch. I really needed another Champagne, or perhaps something stronger to get me through this very strange and weird moment. I mean, what boss in their right mind found their ex-employee at the airport and started talking about their one night in Fiji? And the more he talked about how lovely I was, the harder it was to forget how it felt when he kissed me. When he held me. Right, that’s it, Emma, I chided myself, you will not let him Daniel Cleaver his way back into your life or your pants.

  ‘You had my mobile number and I didn’t have yours.’ He paused. ‘And you never called.’

  ‘I called.’ I said. ‘I texted and I called, and I sat at a restaurant done up like a trussed-up turkey at Thanksgiving.’

  ‘I didn’t get a call?’ He looked bewildered, astonished.

  ‘Because you can’t write. Your ones and sevens. You have horrible chicken scrawl.’ I said with disdain.

  ‘You called.’ He smiled then, not a nervous smile, but a large genuine one. ‘You liked me too.’

  ‘Oh, stop looking so smug. I liked you for a bit. Sure. But that was then, and this is now.’

  ‘I hoped you’d call me, when we got back to Sydney, but when I didn’t hear from you, I thought you didn’t like me. Even though I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The feeling on the beach wasn’t something I’d had before. I felt like I’d found someone I could be myself with.’ He paused.

  I remembered that feeling he was talking about, but that was before he decided to sleep with me and then leave. And before I’d found out about Honey and Chloe. Where the hell was that waiter?

  He shrugged. ‘Then I got a new job, and when I walked in and saw you there, I couldn’t believe it. I was going to tell you that it seemed like the universe was putting us in one spot, for some reason—’

  I held up my hand. ‘But if you liked me so much,’ I said, feeling great that I was catching him in his own lie, ‘why did you completely shut me down and talk about seating charts?’

  He looked slightly hurt. ‘You told me you regretted saying you wanted to be with me.’

  Oh, yes. I had done that. But it was because I had been trying not to fall for him, not because I hadn’t wanted to be with him.

  He continued, ‘And I just agreed, because I felt I’d misread the entire situation. Sure, we had banter, and a connection, but I didn’t know how to read it. And when I heard you planning dates with Phil, I thought you didn’t consider me like that.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I said stubbornly.

  ‘You didn’t?’ he said softly. ‘It seemed to me like maybe you did. When we hugged at the cemetery.’

  ‘You hugged me,�
�� I stated plainly.

  ‘Yes, but you leaned into me, and, and … didn’t you feel that too?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘Then things got confusing, yes, we hugged, but I didn’t know if you were still dating other guys, or if you liked Lachlan Groves.’

  ‘Lachlan Groves,’ I practically spat. ‘Disgusting.’ Then I added honestly, ‘Well, I didn’t know if you were dating Honey or—’

  ‘Honey!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘Let me see, there was the dinner at Oil and Salt. Oh, the doggy date at the park, apparently about “work” when Honey was supposed to be at the spa, the way she looked at you, when you were together—’

  Nick interrupted. ‘Emma, for the record, I wasn’t with Honey. I’ve never been with Honey. And I don’t want to be with Honey. The reason I went to dinner with her is because Glenn told us to give her everything she wanted. Yes, she was flirting a little with me, but she did it with everyone. I even saw her do it with you, Emma. She’d give you the wide-eyed look, and ask sweetly for something. Same as she did with me. I want you to know, it was work – and nothing more. And the park was because Tom had taken photos of her being in a rather messy state when she met some marketing guy, who’d taken her out and got her drunk, and she had begged me to help her fix it, without telling anyone. She found me at the park that day. I was there with Sherlock, and then suddenly she was talking to me about photos and dancing on bar tops and kissing someone, and asking all these questions about who Sherlock was, and then suddenly you were there. Nothing else.’

  Oh, the marketing guy. I did remember something like that. I’d thought she meant Nick. Oops. ‘Well, what about a little text message I happened to see? “When are you coming over?” sent to you at MIDNIGHT.’