Lost on the Way

by Isabel Jolie

  She can’t see me, but I still nod, hands balled into fists, as I continue to suck air in through my nostrils and exhale with determination.

  “Why don’t you come home and visit? I could use your help preparing for Mom and Dad’s anniversary. I have this dream of finishing a video montage, and you are way better at that than I am. And Natalie misses her Aunt Mags. She wants to bake a cake with you.”

  I look up to the ceiling, swiping the soft skin above my cheekbones, swallow, breathe, and say, “I’ll look into flights. It would be good to see you guys.”

  Chapter 23

  Jason

  I need to complete the statistical analysis for a project, grade a stack of projects, and draft an article. The only problem is that I keep staring at my laptop. This is such bullshit.

  Maggie isn’t responding to my texts. I pushed it too far with her. Had no business blurring our friendship lines. She’s better off without me. I know that. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t absolutely suck.

  There’s a tap and the door to my office, which had been set ajar, swings wide. Sam enters. “Hey, man!”

  He’s all bright and cheerful, the way I guess someone who played around with some code and ended up with a billion dollars in his bank account would be. He plops down into one of the ancient wooden chairs across from my desk.

  “I thought we were meeting at six-thirty? At the restaurant.” Yes, I could have fucked up, but I don’t think so. I spoke to Janet a few hours ago.

  “Yep, that was the plan. But I wanted to get out of my office. Figured I’d come down and see if I could convince you to swing by Ten Twenty for a drink before dinner.”

  I haven’t finished a damn thing today. I’ve started on a few things. Can’t focus. I want to curl up in a fetal position. I’m checking the time, thinking about all the shit I still have to do, when he continues in his chipper-ass voice. “If you need to stay here and finish grading papers, that’s fine. I have my laptop with me. I can work right from here, and we can head over to Pisticci’s whenever you’re ready.”

  A bar might work.

  “Someone’s been messing with your nameplate, man.”

  What the fuck is he talking about?

  He flips my desk nameplate around. Someone has penciled in the indented letters, coloring in the white areas. Whatever. “Probably a student. Probably did it while I was sitting right here talking to them, and I didn’t even realize it.” Fuck. I know why he’s up here earlier than planned. “If you’re here to find out if I’ve gotten the results back, I haven’t. I promise I’ll tell you when I do. Should be any day.”

  “Hey, man, I know you’ll tell me. You seemed a little down, so I thought my smiling face might cheer you up.”

  What I’d really like to do is smack his face. Somehow, smacking the smiling pretty boy would make me feel better. But that feeling is wrong. Sam’s like family, and I should be grateful someone out there cares. “You don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing you can do, anyway, so don’t expend the energy.” Really. I’m in a no-win situation here.

  “Are you out of your goddamn mind? That makes no sense.”

  I stare at the books stacked along my wall. One day, I’ll get a bookcase. Maybe. Piling everything up on the floor works too. Sam’s here because he’s worried about the results I don’t have yet, but if he keeps pushing, we’ll end up talking about Maggie. Cancer’s a better conversation topic, and everyone knows that topic sucks.

  “Enough about me.” I tap my desk with my knuckle as this suffocating sensation overwhelms me, the pain in my chest so intense I don’t see a way out. It’s as if I’m snorkeling, peering up at the light above, but someone’s holding on to my fins, preventing me from reaching the air above. Sam sits forward, poised to ask questions.

  “Really. Enough. Can we not talk about me tonight? Please?”

  “You got it, man.” There’s a pause, and I stare at my computer screen. Then my to-do list scribbled on my notebook.

  “Did you know one of your students is an intern of mine?”

  I didn’t know that, no. I don’t actually know what my students do outside of class. Why would I?

  “Olivia Grayson. Do you know her?”

  The name does ring a bell. She comes to my office hours each week. She’s pretty much completely clueless. I’ll be shocked if she gets better than a C in my class. Fuck. Sam would not ask me to help her with her grade, would he? Why would he give a shit what grades his intern makes?

  “Yeah, I know her.”

  We sit staring at each other. There’s no fucking way I’m changing her grades for him.

  “What’s she like?” He has this boyish grin on his face like we’re sitting here gossiping or some nonsense.

  Wait a minute. “Is that why you’re asking me about her? I thought you might be preparing to ask me to do something nefarious.”

  Sam laughs out loud, and the sound echoes against the empty walls of my office. “Nefarious? What the…? What do you mean by that?”

  “She’s having trouble with accounting.” Holy shit. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sam in action. “You planning to hit on your intern?”

  “That sounds bad, doesn’t it?” He’s got this cat-ate-the-canary grin. “She’s not actually my intern. We hired her, but she quit. Turns out she took a job working for one of the law firms I work with. Small fucking world, huh?”

  “Yeah. But you have connections with half the law firms in Manhattan. I guess odds were she’d end up working with one that’s associated with you in some capacity.”

  He points at me as if I’ve said something inaccurate. I haven’t. I don’t play with numbers. “That is a huge exaggeration.”

  “I doubt it. Anyway, you asked about her. She’s smart. Good student. Doesn’t have an accounting background. I haven’t paid much attention to her, but now that I know she’s your love interest, I will.”

  “Well, I’ve only asked her out on a date. And when I did, she told me she was busy. All fucking weekend. I asked her out on a Monday.”

  Look at that. I’m not the only one whose love life sucks these days. “You losing your charm?”

  “Nah. I’ve still got game. And you know me. I love a challenge. I’ll float some date ideas by you over dinner. I’ll get her to give me a chance. Eventually. I’m not one to give up.”

  I stare at the crap I have to do on my to-do list. Half-cocked draft articles, mid-development projects, and shit I need to grade. But I’m not in the right frame of mind. I pack up for the day so Sam and I can get out of my depressing-as-fuck office. Still no text from Maggie. I’ll give her some space and reach out tomorrow. And in the meantime, I’ll let Sam entertain me with his plans for his intern. Anything to get my mind off my life.

  Chapter 24

  Maggie

  Jason: Mexican or Indian tonight?

  The text comes through on my computer screen as I’m preparing to walk out the door. Jane left for Chicago this morning and won’t be back in the office until Monday. She travels to Chicago about every other week to meet with Senator McLoughlin or someone on his team. I like my boss, but it’s glorious when she’s out of the office.

  It’s not like we all slack off or don’t work, but there’s a lightness in the air. A willingness to get together with colleagues for lunch or spend a little extra time chatting in each other’s offices.

  Today, I kept my door mostly closed to maximize productivity. I’m now fully caught up on everything on my to-do list. At this moment, I’m so caught up my inbox is at zero, my desktop clear, and every electronic document is filed away neatly into folders. I normally obtain this level of absolute organization only during the holidays, when everything in the office crawls to a halt.

  I pull my phone off the charger and read the text again. Zoe’s and Yara’s voices merge in my head. He’s never gonna want more than friendship. You’re never going to meet someone else if you’re always with him.

  The trouble with having good friends who know
you well is that they tell you what you need to hear, even if you don’t want to hear it.

  Here’s the thing, though. I haven’t told them everything. Yara knows some of it, but she doesn’t know how intense the attraction is. I’d convinced myself it was one-sided, but haven’t the last couple of weeks shown he’s feeling it too?

  In my heart of hearts, I don’t believe he really cared for the woman at the bar. I’ve thought about her, and about what he must have been attracted to. She had blonde hair with dark roots. She was eating at the bar by herself. It made me guess maybe she’s a business traveler, staying in a nearby hotel. I created an entire backstory for her and decided she must be from Florida, possibly Miami.

  If I’m correct, and she’s simply in and out of town, and he’s drawn to that, then what does that say? Maybe he’s finding women he can’t possibly build a relationship with in order to block our relationship from going to the next level? But if so, why? He’s never been one to date anyone seriously. Even Natalie, a girl I liked who he dated a bit back when I was dating Dan, never reached girlfriend status. Does he just have a thing against serious relationships?

  I don’t know. It’s becoming highly annoying that I obsess over things like this. Our friendship used to be my foundation, my rock that kept me centered no matter what was going on in my life. And now I don’t know what to think. About any of it.

  Maybe his preference is blonde. Maybe she’s into kink. Maybe I’m too vanilla, too plain. Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell me all the stuff he’s into. Maybe that’s why he was so enthralled when I was reading Fifty Shades of Grey. He wanted to know how I was reacting to that world, and if it intrigued me. And there I was, blushing and telling him to go away so I could read my book. And then he met the blonde, and she’s into what he’s into.

  I need to forget about the blonde. I need to stop thinking about this. I need to focus on our friendship and finding someone else to help me not think about Jason. But I’m curious. I just need to know about the blonde.

  Maggie: How did things go with the woman from the bar?

  I press send, and a cold foreboding shoots through me. Shit! That’s out of the blue. What the hell was I thinking? I should have responded about dinner, then segue. He’ll read this as anger. Why is there no option to delete a text? Surely, they have the technology.

  Three dots float, and I wait. Jason doesn’t examine things the way I do. It’s possible he won’t think twice about it.

  Jason: Good. She went to Columbia. Friends in common.

  I chew the corner of my thumbnail. Maybe he wasn’t really hitting on her? Maybe she’s just a friend. But no, that doesn’t make sense. Not the way Sam acted that night. And Jason didn’t introduce me to her. It’s still possible she’s a business traveler.

  Maggie: Nice. You going to see her again?

  There. I rest my phone on my desk. Good response. It’s casual. It’s what a friend would ask a friend. I hold my breath, transfixed by the three dots.

  Jason: Yes. Definitely.

  Salty tears sting my eyes, and I throw my phone into my pocketbook. I’m all caught up, so I have zero work to bring home. I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment, or worse, to an apartment filled with the giggles and flirty glances of new budding love. I am happy for Yara, but I’m not in the state of mind to participate in her happiness.

  So, I head to Bellevue. It’s not my evening to volunteer, but there will probably be something I can do. Even if it’s simply to play a game of RubiCube or spades or Mancala. In the evening hours, there’s always someone who doesn’t have a visitor and needs something other than the mind-numbing blue tube.

  My ring tone sounds as I’m entering the hospital’s sliding glass doors. The bright modern interior with graphic city illustrations on the back wall convey a joy I don’t feel. My ringtone is loud. I have to answer.

  “So, you never answered me. What kind of food do you want me to order?”

  I chew on the corner of my lip, annoyed he called. My lack of response should have counted as a response. He can be infuriatingly dense and slow to pick up on the nuances of communication. “I’m sorry. I forgot to respond. I’m volunteering tonight.”

  “Tonight’s not your night.”

  “I got called in. About to get on an elevator. Talk to you tomorrow?” Then I hang up. I never do that. But there’s a first for everything.

  Chapter 25

  Jason

  Thick wall-to-wall carpet lines the hall. A slim plate hangs beside each of the four doors down the corridor, identifying the business name and the unit number. There’s a dingy smell, the kind of odor that permeates basements in older homes.

  Shannon, my therapist, rents this space. It’s a creative way to run her own business. Her office is tiny. The bathroom down the hall is shared by all the occupants renting on this floor. It’s on Park Avenue, so it has a quality address, but there’s nothing particularly upscale about this floor.

  The asphyxiating sensation hits full force, to the point I angle my head upward as if I’m literally underwater. I consider twisting the knob on the door. Chest pain radiates. Pressure on my lungs intensifies as if someone is attempting to compress them.

  I can’t do it. Not today. I called for the appointment. An emergency after-hours therapist appointment. I’ll pay the cancellation fee, but I’m not going in.

  Within seconds, the smell of car exhaust greets me as I return to the street. A large city bus rolls along with the telltale black smoke from the back of the vehicle coating the street in grime. Somehow, I prefer the polluted air out here to the stifling intensity of the bottom floor of those offices.

  This whole night blows. I should be sitting in a restaurant with Maggie. Or on my sofa, curled around her. But she’s mad at me. Can’t say I blame her. I’m fucking everything up. Sending out mixed signals. I know I can’t have her. So why the fuck did I open that door? And keep opening it?

  If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to lose her.

  It’s not until I’m pushing the door to my apartment open and catch the time on my watch that it hits me. It took me over an hour to trek back to my place. I circled the hospital. More than once. Debating surprising her. Offering to play a game with her and the patient. But I figured that would violate volunteer policy. I considered dropping off a hot tea. It can be cold in the hospital, and Maggie often doesn’t dress warmly enough when she volunteers. I thought about stopping by to ask when she finishes, so I could walk her home. Or offer to buy her a glass of wine to unwind.

  My life sucks. I throw the keys down on my kitchen counter, and they clatter across the tile countertop. The sharp noise ricochets through the empty space.

  I haven’t had dinner. I should eat. But I’m not hungry. If anything, mild nausea accompanies this suffocating sensation, this tightness and pressure. I’m tired. I am tired of all of this. Feeling like this. Wanting something so badly but knowing doing so would be selfish. Falling in love with one cancer patient and letting them go is more than anyone should have to go through. I can’t let Maggie go through that twice. No way, no how.

  The apartment is cold. I reach for the neatly folded blanket Maggie set on the sofa and pull it over me. Stare at the ceiling. Avoid the stack of work I brought home. Light filters from outside, along with the low hum of city noise. The sound of an ambulance, a car alarm.

  I close my eyes. Breathe.

  I find myself in a familiar place, surrounded by snow. A man trudges by in snow boots, carrying a snowboard. Two young girls carrying skis over their shoulder head toward the lift. Sam and Ollie are off in the distance, waving to me to come on.

  My mom and dad call me over. They’re standing close to me. “Honey, you’ve been skiing with your friends all week. Are you sure we can’t convince you to spend one day with us?”

  “Leave him alone. Let them be boys. We’ll meet you at The Little Nell. Do you have a credit card?”

  Behind me, Sam and Ollie shout, “Come on, man. We’ve go
t to meet Paul.”

  I whip back around, searching for my folks. Mom. No. Please don’t. Give me a hug. At least. This time. Stay. Don’t go.

  I scan the crowd, frantic. I can’t find them. I’ve already lost them.

  Then I find them. Both have skis over their shoulders. Walking toward a different lift. They didn’t tell me where they were skiing. They always forget to tell me where they’re going.

  I push off on my right foot, to catch up with them. My foot sinks into the snow. I push down on my left, and it sinks farther down. The snow opens into a hole. The harder I push, the deeper I sink. No one notices me. No one helps. Conversations buzz around me as everyone heads to their lift.

  I need to stop them. This time. I have to stop them.

  Snow spills into the hole. All around me. I struggle. It’s a sinkhole. “Mom! Dad! I’ll go! I’ll go! I’ll go!” I scream, as loud as I can.

  Everything goes dark. The only sound is my rapid breaths. I pat my face. I’m drenched. I swallow. Fuck. I hate my life.

  Chapter 26

  Maggie

  “Good morning. Happy Friday!” I singsong to Stephanie with a joy I lack.

  This morning, I woke up expecting texts from Jason. Nothing. If I’m honest, I halfway expected him to come over last night. If things are tense with us, he usually shows up. He doesn’t like the phone if things are tense. He needs to see me.

  Last night, I worked on a puzzle with Shonia. She’s a twelve-year-old girl with a ton of spirit, admitted a week ago due to a neutropenic fever. Her mom had been there during the day, but had to head home to get her siblings squared away for the night. Most of the night, she and I talked. Jay-Z. Beyoncé. Ariana Grande. Nail designs and trends. Billie Eilish.

  She bounced around topics like a Teen Vogue magazine. Or, more accurately, a teen blogger covering all the hot topics of the hour. Without a doubt, we helped each other. She helped to take my mind off whatever the hell happened between Jason and me, and I kept her from feeling lonely and thinking too much about the unfairness of being sick in a hospital bed at her age.