by Claire Cain
“I’m so, so sorry,” I said again.
“Listen, don’t worry about it. This is… this is probably better anyway. I have to actually jump off, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? Can you just let me know for sure Friday?” His voice was different now, his words clipped, and I felt a flare of alarm go up.
“Oh. Ok, yeah. Yes, I’ll let you know. Talk to you soon,” I said, trying not to let my voice betray my hurt or surprise.
I stared at the phone for a minute, then set it down. I couldn’t tell what I was feeling other than surprised. Was he mad at me? Did he really have to go? He said he knew I had to “do my thing,” right? He seemed understanding, but also upset. Ugh.
By Friday morning, I couldn’t breathe. Sure, my lungs were exchanging CO2 for O2, but other than that, it wasn’t happening.
Before you tell me that doesn’t make sense, just go with it. You know the feeling. It’s like there’s a shuddering, hacking feeling with each breath, like there’s a labored pressure in your lungs. In my lungs.
I hadn’t heard from Luke since the call. That was the longest we’d ever gone without at least texting, even on a busy week, since we’d been together. Well, I texted, but he didn’t respond. I’d sent him a “hey how was your day” the night before and got no response. It was a major sign something was wrong.
Worse yet, I was starting to feel pretty clearly like I’d made the wrong choice even telling him I might not be there. All day I’d felt the ticking of the clock pushing against my ribs, drilling into my mind that I was one second, then one minute, then one hour closer to when I should be leaving to go meet Luke.
I’d been glad-handing Campo execs and team leaders all morning and making contacts with the vendors Janie had set up, when I just couldn’t take my own spiraling thoughts anymore. I needed a voice of reason.
I needed Ellie.
“Ok, I know I’m calling you during your office hours, but you know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t—”
“What’s going on? Dimmi!” Her voice was urgent.
I told her about the dinner for Luke. I told her about the event that day. I told her I’d said I couldn’t go, and then that I’d try to make it but wasn’t sure, and that I was feeling horribly guilty about it.
“You know why you’re feeling guilty? This is easy. You love Luke. You want to be there for him. You don’t feel good about not being there for him. Done.” She was in professor mode, and there was no stopping her.
“Ok, obviously, yes. But I can’t just neglect my job.” I felt angry. Angry with Luke. Angry with Ellie. Angry with myself. Angry that some idiot had put a bunch of fake indoor potted plants around the podium at the front of the ballroom.
“Nonsense. You’re not neglecting your job if you choose to go to his dinner.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. That’s saying ‘ok, I have this commitment I made long before Luke asked me to this thing, whatever it is, but since I’m in love with him, I’ll just toss the baby out with the bathwater and do whatever he asks me.’”
“Mmmkay, first, I don’t think you’re using that saying appropriately. Second, that’s just crazy talk. It’s ok to make changes in your life and accommodate someone else’s plans into your own. That’s a thing people do when they love someone.” Her voice was a little exasperated with me, but she was being patient. I could tell she was working on staying calm in the face of what she thought was my irrationality.
“I know that. Don’t think I don’t—I do know that. But this feels like one of those small examples of what it would be like if we were… you know, married, or whatever. Like, if I start ditching my own career now, what hope do I have of ever maintaining my own identity? How do I move forward feeling good about the fact that I’ve crapped on every goal I’ve ever had because Luke Waterford decided to hold my hand?” I was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk outside the convention center, gesticulating wildly, my adrenaline racing through me so hard I shook. I absolutely looked like a crazy person.
“Ok. Ok… I have to just—ok. I’m going to say something to you, and I need you to really listen to me. Can you do that?” Uh oh. I knew this voice. This was hammer-dropping, take no prisoners Dr. Kent. This was truth time.
I swallowed hard.
“Yes. I can.”
“I’m calling bullshit on all of this black and white… bullshit, ok? None of this is easy or clear, but there are no black and white, fully right or fully wrong versions of this story. You choosing to show up for Luke is not you ditching your career. I don’t know if you choosing to marry Luke, should the occasion arise, would mean that you were sacrificing your career, but you know what? No one’s life goes exactly how they planned when they were eighteen years old.”
“I know that—”
“I’m not done. You keep talking about being with Luke like it means not having a career. I’m guessing that if you were to marry him, it would be a very different thing. I don’t know—I hadn’t thought about the ramifications of what military moves might mean for you in the long term in regard to this one part of your life. But I do know that man is someone you love and have always loved. And if he is as special as you say he is, then you need to get your head out of your sweet Italian ass and talk to him about it. You need to figure out what life might look like, and then start making decisions. Don’t decide that your relationship is doomed just because you have this idea of what your life might look like, especially when I suspect it won’t be as awful as you think it might be.”
I could feel her let out a deep breath, and then she started again. “And just one more thing, and then I’m done. You have to stop talking about your job like it’s who you are. I definitely understand the very real tendency to equate what we do with who we are. I do it too. You’ve watched me do it, especially the last year or so. But you are much more than your job as an event manager. Your value extends beyond the bids you win and the events you produce. I think if you let yourself off the hook on that one, it might help you feel more free to make changes in that area.”
The little timer on my iPhone call timer ticked away. I couldn’t respond, my emotions paralyzing my vocal chords. More than anything, she’d made me feel hopeful.
“Alex?”
“I’m here, I just… you’re right. You are. It’s not black and white, and I’m getting way too far ahead of myself. I feel horrible for not going, and I feel like… like I’ve messed up everything, and ugh, Janie is going to be so pissed, but I feel like I need to be there for him.”
“That’s not a surprise to me. Last weekend you told me you thought you’d give up just about anything to be with Luke. I don’t know what happened between then and now, but I think in both cases, you have… you know, just maybe…”
“I know, I know—”
“You might have jumped the gun.”
“I know! Ok? I need to talk to him. He doesn’t know how I feel, and now that I do, I’m getting too in my head about it. I’m overanalyzing and getting freaky, and I know it. Thank you for talking sense into me,” I said.
“That’s why I’m here. But hey, crap, I gotta go—student’s coming in to talk about why his paper is alarmingly similar to his friend’s paper who is in another section of my class.” I could hear the edge of irritation in her voice.
“Ugh, cheaters. Good luck, my friend.”
I hung up and took a big breath. I knew what I had to do.
Chapter Nineteen
“Will you think I’m crazy if I ask you if I can still come tonight?” I was pacing the sidewalk outside the convention center, still amped up on adrenaline in the wake of my call to Ellie and my subsequent realization I needed to show up for Luke.
“Uh, no. But I thought you had Janie’s event?”
“I did. I do, really. But I feel terrible, and I—”
“Don’t worry about it, Alex.”
His voice was friendly enough, casual even, but it stopped me in my tracks.
You know how people rarely say each othe
r’s names? Like, they just don’t. We just talk to each other, and when I’m directing my voice at a person, they know I’m talking to them. When I talk on the phone, I rarely say the person’s name. And it seems like the more affectionate or close you are with a person, the less you say their name?
Luke’s saying Alex to me felt like a punch to the gut. A straight up upper cut just below my rib cage.
“Really? I feel terrible for getting my schedule messed up…” I trailed off.
“Really. Please don’t worry about it. Just take care of your event, and I’ll talk to you later this weekend, ok?”
“Luke, I want to be there for you. I can make it there, no problem.”
He was quiet on the other end, and I registered the fact that I had not anticipated his hesitation. I’d expected him to be overjoyed at my sudden availability.
Arrogant, much?
“If you can be here, then I want you here.” His voice was low and somehow resigned, but I felt it pour over me like simple syrup.
“Ok. Good. I want to be there. I’ll see you this afternoon at your place around five.”
After I hung up with Luke, it was time to deal with Janie, who I knew was going to be frustrated, but I’d made my choice. I stalked back into the convention center, a woman on a mission, and tracked her down.
“I’m going to have to head out before things get going tonight.” I watched Janie typing away frantically at her phone, but when she heard me, her head jerked up. Her black, curly hair was in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, but little curls escaped in all directions giving her a harried halo effect.
“Hilarious,” she said in a dead-pan voice and then dove back into typing like her life depended on it.
“I’m going to have to leave by three. I’m so sorry, but I got my schedule mixed up, and I have to be at an event about an hour away this evening.” I smoothed down my black dress and met her eyes again.
“For B&W?”
“No, something personal.” I clasped my hands in front of me to steady them. I didn’t want her to see that I was upset or frazzled.
She stood there for a beat, no expression on her face. “Well, ok then. I guess you’ll leave when you need to.” Then she turned back to her phone again, and I practically ran to the other side of the ballroom to start knocking out my to do list before I had to leave. I could make it work—I could do it all—but it’d be close.
I was driving home. It was 4:30 when I left the convention center. Janie was actually a little more pissed than I’d expected based on her subtle shaking head as I told her goodbye and her refusal to respond in any way but that, and while that made my gut roil in discomfort and frustration, I knew leaving was the right choice, even if it was late in the game. I sprinted out the door. I was going to be late, but I would make it.
Once I was home, I messaged Luke.
Me: Running late but I will be there. ETA 6ish. Still meet you at your place?
Luke: Meet me at Gate 3 at Fort Campbell where I signed you in for the tournament. I’ll have to sign you in. Dinner is on post and I’ll need to be there at 5:30.
Me: Will text you from the gate.
Had there not been traffic, I would have arrived at 6:15. I’d made it home by five, changed into heels, refreshed my deodorant and makeup, checked that my hair was still in a smooth ponytail, and jumped back in the car. I’d decided I didn’t have time to fool with changing clothes, so I stayed in my fitted black work dress—it was nothing special, but it looked professional and paired with flats wasn’t a bad option for walking miles around a convention center. With heels, it looked a little nicer, if still more on the business end. But I was coming from work, after all, and since I had no idea what I should be wearing anyway, I went with it. It cut out the time I would have spent deciding and changing, and I needed every minute I could get.
The problem was, there was traffic. There was an accident at an exit ramp on I-24 north that stopped traffic completely for a full twenty-five minutes. Literally, it stopped. People got out of their cars, popped sodas, sat on their hoods or dangled feet from their truck beds. Then, when things got moving again, it took another ten minutes to get up to freeway speed.
I messaged Luke from the visitor’s center outside of Gate 3 at 7:02. I was so late. I was embarrassed and nervous and so frustrated I couldn’t even think straight. Ten minutes later, he walked through the door looking hassled and serious and effortlessly appealing in dark gray chinos and a white button-up shirt.
“I’m so sorry. The traffic was crazy, and I—”
“It’s fine. Let’s get you signed in.” He ushered me to the window after a thin man behind the Plexiglas waved us forward. Luke signed me in, led me to his truck, and opened the door for me. I climbed in and exhaled slowly, focusing my mind on calming down and not freaking out.
I knew it was totally reasonable for him to be frustrated. I was frustrated too. I completely understood. But that didn’t stop the disappointment from flooding in. He hadn’t kissed me on the cheek or even smiled when he saw me. He hadn’t said but one thing directly to me, and now we were going to go socialize with his coworkers and act like we were hunky dory. Perfect.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I hate that I hit traffic, and I feel like I messed everything up.” I glanced at him to check his face and was relieved to see it, at least, wasn’t angry.
“I know you couldn’t control traffic. It happens.” He stretched his neck to one side and adjusted his hands on the steering wheel.
I ignored the flare of alarm that shot up in my mind. He was saying the right things, and I think he wanted to believe them. But I wasn’t convinced. I didn’t want to pick a fight about that, so I kept talking to cover my wariness.
“So, did I miss everything?”
“They’ve done most of the formal portion, yeah.” He was still speaking to the road in front of him, not to me.
“I’m sorry.”
“They’ve already served dinner, but I saved your plate. We’ll hang out for another half hour and then we can leave.” He pulled onto a street lined with cars, and I didn’t say anything again. He parked and hopped out of the truck and walked around to my door. I unbuckled and when he opened my door I turned to face him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward me so he was standing right next to the seat. I put my hands on his cheeks and one of his eyebrows popped up in question.
“I’m sorry I was late. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by being late.” My eyes shifted back and forth between his, and in them I could see a flash of something—confusion? Frustration?—before the look cleared and he gave me a nod. I kissed him lightly on the lips, still holding his smooth cheeks, and then pulled back. He took my hand and led me inside.
“Good to see you made it!” I heard a familiar voice say. I turned to see Megan smiling at me and felt a wave of relief I actually knew someone else there besides Luke.
“Barely, but yes.” I smiled back at her as she approached me with her arms open for a hug. She leaned in and squeezed me, her floral perfume light and pleasing.
“I thought your man might discombobulate just sitting there. I think he checked his watch every three minutes,” she said with a hand to the side of her mouth like it was a secret. I felt a pang of guilt for making him anxious, especially so anxious someone noticed.
“I feel like such a jerk.”
“Honey, don’t feel like a jerk because of traffic. Nonsense. Get over it. Move on. Be here now.” She waved her hand in my face and then all around, typically matter-of-fact.
“Ok. Yes, ma’am,” I said and mustered a smile. She winked at me and gestured to a round table with six chairs. There was a lone plate wrapped in tinfoil at one seat—likely my dinner. Luke found me before I had a chance to wander awkwardly and sit down without him.
“Waterford, this your date?” a gruff voice behind me barked.
“Yes, sir. This is Alex Moore,” Luke responded, pivoting me to the right where the infamous Major Flint stood. I extended my
hand to him.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said and watched as his face responded with a blank, bored stare.
Ok, then.
We stood there a moment longer, Luke’s energy near me clearly on edge, his fingers pressed against my shoulder blade, his face once again serious. Flint just stood there, eyes flitting back and forth between us with alarming apathy.
“Yep,” Flint said and then turned on his heel and walked in the other direction.
Luke and I stood there a moment, and I found I had absolutely no idea what just happened.
“Is he always like that?” I asked.
“Part awkward, part rude? Yeah, pretty much. Unless he’s just being a dick, but that only happens if you’re a soldier,” he said, his voice quiet but clearly annoyed.
I heard a muffled laugh and looked up to see Captain Rae Jackson watching us. She smiled at Luke and raised her eyebrows.
“What?” he asked her as he shuttled me closer to Rae.
“Nothing. Just a little ballsy to be handing out accolades so openly,” she said and nodded toward the living room where Colonel and Mrs. Wilson were now standing with Flint.
“I’m sure his ego will survive, should he hear me,” Luke grumbled.
“Good to see you again, Rae,” I said, smiling back at her. I tried not to let myself feel the raging, choking jealousy I felt smoking in my gut when I looked at her in her black pants and button-up white top. She was nice and she was pretty and she was clearly friendly with Luke. She wasn’t wearing provocative clothing or flirting or anything, but it was hard to imagine how Luke could work with her and not think of her as something else. How any of them could. For that matter, maybe they had dated, and I had no idea.
“Likewise. Luke said you were helping out a colleague tonight. I’m so glad you could make it after all. Lieutenant Colonel Wilson said some nice things about him that I’m sure Luke won’t share with you.” Her voice was kind, and she was smiling at me, but I felt her words settle in my belly like gravel. I’d missed his boss talking about him?
