The Girl He Used to Know

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “Don’t expect me tonight. Things are not going well and there’s no way I can break away to meet you for dinner. I’m sorry.”

  “But then how will you eat?” It kills me that Annika’s focus is on whether or not I’ll be able to feed myself.

  “I don’t know. Brad usually has dinner brought in, but he decided not to order anything because he didn’t want us to be distracted by the food. The way things are going I can tell you right now that none of us will be leaving until we have no choice because we have to head for the airport. I’ll eat something there.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Annika says.

  “It’s okay.” Really, dinner is the last of my worries at this point. Brad has hinted repeatedly that my contributions and performance in New York will be directly tied to the likelihood of me being named director of the division, which is only one step below his position. There are three of us gunning for the job, and Brad has been wielding his decision-making power like the most giant of tyrants. Lots of musing out loud about our strengths and weaknesses, but with a hint of uncertainty sprinkled in to keep us guessing. I hate pandering to him, but I want this job and he knows it. Brad might be more surprised if he knew what I really wanted, which is his job. This department would flourish under the leadership of someone who cared more about making smart decisions for the company than making sure everyone knew how much power he had.

  Brad’s extra cranked up tonight because while we’re in New York, he’ll be attending meetings with his boss and he’s panicking. He’ll have to navigate those on his own, and I’m sure he’s worried about being able to think on his feet without the rest of us there to feed him the information.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I tell Annika after glancing at my watch. I’ve been gone for five minutes and if I’m the last one back in my seat, I’d better have a good reason why, and talking to my girlfriend on the phone will not be an acceptable option. “I’ll call you from the airport.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Somehow, I get lucky, because when I return to the conference room, everyone is in their seats, but Brad is nowhere to be found. Brian, who is also up for the promotion, leans over and whispers, “Heard he’s on the phone with his wife. Kid’s got pinkeye or something.”

  Brad comes back into the room five minutes later, red-faced and a little flustered. We’re really cutting it close with this presentation, and the result is starting to show on his face. Over the next hour, we provide enough viable options and solid research for Brad to cobble together a halfway-decent pitch. We lean back in our chairs. Push our legal pads toward the center of the table.

  We’re all a little punch-drunk and exhausted from the late nights and seven-day work weeks, and when I catch of glimpse of Annika outside the conference room’s glass walls, I do a double take to make sure I’m not hallucinating. She’s smiling and holding a take-out bag from Dominick’s. She spots me and waves enthusiastically. I wave back, but before I can excuse myself and intercept her out in the hall, she pushes open the door. Every man at that table turns to look at her, and boy is she a sight for sore eyes with her big smile and her swinging ponytail as she bounces into the room. I have no idea how she managed to get past the security guard and into the building, and I don’t care. The almost childlike glee on her face is the only thing that’s put a smile on mine all day.

  Wives and girlfriends have occasionally swung by the office to say hello, to deliver an item forgotten at home, or show off a new baby. But rarely has one ever walked right into a conference room during a meeting. They would know it was something that simply isn’t done. But not my Annika. And there’s something about the fact that she doesn’t that makes me admire her even more. Because really, when did we start taking things so seriously? It’s not like it’s ten in the morning. It’s six o’clock at night and we’ve been working for ten hours straight. Longer than that, actually, because every single person in this room probably started working before they left their homes this morning. Can we not drop the façade for a moment and admit that we’re human? That not everything we do has to be done to show how hard we’re working?

  A few starving members of the team have resorted to raiding the vending machines, and the conference room table is littered with empty Coke cans and candy wrappers, but whatever’s in the bag Annika’s holding smells incredible. I know these people well and have worked with several of them for years. Their amused expressions are also kind, because they know what I went through with Liz, and also because how can anyone not see how sweet—if ill-timed—Annika’s gesture is?

  Well, for starters, Brad can’t.

  “Hi,” he says, and the tone of his voice sets me on edge immediately. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Monica, is it?”

  He gives her one of those fake and condescending smiles, and it’s at that moment that my blood begins to heat up. Annika smiles back at him, although her smile is sincere. “Annika. No ‘M.’ Everyone thinks it’s Monica, but it’s not.”

  “Okay. Well, Annika, we’re in the middle of a meeting here.”

  “I can tell,” she says. “But I’m sure Jonathan is hungry since there’s no food, so I brought him some dinner.”

  “Let’s take a break, guys,” Brad says. The team pushes back their chairs, stretches. Most of them start to leave, but the nosier ones hang around. Annika walks over to me and sets the bag down on the table. “It’s ham and cheese.”

  I push my chair back and stand so I can kiss her on the cheek. Before I can grab her hand and coax her gently out of the room, Brad comes over and stands next to us.

  Annika is wearing a dress and while the neckline isn’t low, there’s a gap in the front because it’s a little loose on her. If she moves at all, the material moves with her and I catch a glimpse of her bra and the tops of her breasts. Brad’s height makes it possible for him to look straight down into the gap, and he’s taking full advantage of it, as if Annika’s interruption somehow gives him the right—as if it would give anyone the right—to do that. I want to smack the entitled look off his face.

  “Jonathan, I’d like to see you in my office,” Brad says. He’s doing his best “you’re about to get in trouble” routine, like he’s the principal and I’ve been caught skipping class.

  I lead Annika to my office.

  “I got you in trouble, didn’t I? I just wanted to do something nice.”

  “Annika, it’s okay. Really. It was a sweet thing that you did, and I’m going to eat the hell out of that sandwich.”

  Probably not in front of Brad, but still.

  “Are you mad? I can’t tell if you’re mad.” She sounds so worried.

  I reach for her hands and squeeze them. “I’m not mad.” And I’m not, at least not at her. Mostly I’m mad at myself for being willing to walk on the eggshells Brad has thrown down and worrying more about my professional life than the things that really matter.

  “Wait here.” She sits down in my chair and looks at me so fearfully that I tell her everything’s fine and I’ll be back in a minute.

  I enter Brad’s office. He’s sitting at his desk looking down at some papers he’s shuffling. I stand there like a naughty child waiting for him to acknowledge me. “Why don’t you close the door,” he says without looking up.

  Jesus. He’s going full-on manipulative asshole.

  When he finally looks up, he leans back in his chair and twirls a pen idly. “I’m just wondering if your … What is that woman to you?”

  “My girlfriend,” I say, because I can’t deny any longer that it’s what I want her to be. I say it slowly and pointedly, the way you would if someone is dense and you want to make sure they understand. Two can play at this game, Brad. I see by his expression that he doesn’t care for my tone.

  “I’m just wondering if your girlfriend will be making a habit of dropping in on you while you’re at work.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t say for sure that she’ll never try to bring me dinner again.”

  “I’m not
mad about the interruption. We’ve all been working long hours, and I like to think of us as a family. But there’s a certain kind of image we need to uphold at this firm. Someone who’s in a director position like you might be will be attending a lot of social events, often accompanied by their significant other.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask even though I know what he’s getting at. Is it even okay for him to say that? I’m pretty sure HR would be interested in this conversation. Wouldn’t they?

  “I’m just saying there are certain behaviors we need to adhere to in a business setting.”

  I let out a short laugh, although I doubt Brad finds this situation funny. “Yeah, well, you might want to rethink looking down her dress because it’s certainly not appropriate behavior for any setting.”

  Brad doesn’t know what to say. I’m well within my rights to call him out on this, and he knows it. But as my boss, to concede to me in any way would diminish some of his power, and he can’t have that.

  “I wasn’t looking down her dress, Jon.”

  “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  I almost want to laugh again, because now I’m just poking the bear, and we’re both aware of it. The thing is, Brad knows I’m the best person for the job. And putting someone like me under him will allow his own workload to decrease, although I can only imagine the amount of work he’ll pile on me. He’ll make me miserable while I wait to find out if I got the job, but I’m almost certain he’ll choose me in the end. He’ll let me stew about it, and he’ll definitely make me wait until we get back from New York before he makes the announcement, because that will be my punishment for this altercation. Brad swivels around in his chair so that his back is to me, busying himself with a stack of files on his credenza. I take that as my cue to go.

  When I return to my office, Annika isn’t there.

  37

  Jonathan

  CHICAGO

  SEPTEMBER 10, 2001

  Brad finally dismissed everyone ten minutes ago. It’s almost seven, and I’m cutting it close, because I should be on my way to the airport for my 8:52 flight to New York, but instead I’m in a cab racing toward Annika’s apartment.

  She buzzes me in and when she opens the door, eyes shiny with tears that look like they’re about to spill over, fresh anger toward Brad wells up inside me for what this has done to her.

  “Why did you leave?” I shout.

  She flinches, because yelling is not something I usually do, especially not at her.

  “You said you weren’t mad, but you are!”

  “I can deal with Brad, but I’m upset because you left. Do you know how that makes me feel?” She doesn’t answer me, because of course she doesn’t know how I feel, and she won’t unless I tell her. “It makes me feel like you think I’m not worth fighting for. You can tell me a hundred different ways that I matter to you. But I need you to show me. I need to know you’re willing to face whatever shit comes our way. You can’t run, you can’t bury your head in the sand every time something happens that overwhelms you. You don’t get to go to sleep and hope it’s all been taken care of when you wake up. We didn’t have to rekindle this relationship, but I wanted to because I happen to think you’re worth fighting for and I love you just the way you are.”

  “You love me?” she says, as if she can’t believe it.

  “I never really stopped loving you. Sometimes I don’t know why, but I do. You’re going to have to accept that I’m a grown man and can handle whatever you throw at me. You need things from me, and I get that. But so do I. I need you to show me that you’re not going to crumble every time you’re faced with a little adversity. I need you to show me that we’re in this together.”

  She looks me straight in the eye and says, “I love you too, Jonathan. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t run and hide when things get bad.”

  I pull her into my arms and squeeze her tight. “I have to go. I’ll be back in two days, and we can talk more then.” I have a feeling that no matter what happens on this trip, I’ll be in dire need of her affection when I return. I kiss her like I mean it and then take off down the hall.

  I luck out, because my cabdriver is insane and when I tell him he needs to get me to the airport in record time, he floors it and doesn’t let up until we’re screeching into O’Hare.

  I’ve cut it about as close as anyone can and actually still hope to get on the plane. I make it through security and reach the gate with mere seconds to spare, which is good, because if I’d missed this flight, Brad would probably fire me.

  38

  Annika

  CHICAGO

  SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

  I call in sick the next morning, which is something I almost never do, but the situation I created with Jonathan had me in such a state I couldn’t fall asleep. I’m ashamed of myself, because he’s right. I do run from things. I hide. I always have. I do believe that he loves me and doesn’t want me to change, but that didn’t stop me from lying there wide awake ruminating on what I’d done and the trouble I’d caused for him. The forecast for Chicago on this September day is sunny and mild, and my boss probably thinks I’m playing hooky to take advantage of the gorgeous weather, but that’s not it at all. I’m just so mad at myself, and I can’t let it go. Last night’s humiliating incident will play for days on an endless loop in my brain.

  I make tea and crawl back in bed with it to call Janice the way I always do when I’ve messed up. She’s making breakfast with a clinging Natalia, who she says is riding her hip like a monkey.

  “If you ask me, these businessmen take everything way too seriously,” she says after I spill the whole embarrassing story. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You did a nice thing for Jonathan. Jesus, they’re putting together deals, not curing cancer or solving world peace.”

  “Your husband works in the financial district.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m allowed to make that statement. Clay and I laugh about some of the things he hears in those conference rooms. It’s eye-rolling for sure. But they have to play the game.”

  “Then you of all people can understand why it would be so terribly confusing to me.”

  “Jonathan is treating you like an equal partner because that’s how he sees you. Not when he first met you, maybe, which he’s admitted. But now he feels differently. So start acting like his equal.”

  “Wow, tough love.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “I shouldn’t have left, but I got scared. I don’t want to mess things up for him.”

  “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

  And me, I think. Because there will always have to be someone in my life who’s tasked with taking care of me.

  But I don’t have the courage to say it out loud, not even to Janice, who would certainly understand.

  * * *

  After we hang up, I go into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. When it’s ready, I pick up the cat I recently adopted and also named Mr. Bojangles in honor of the original MBJ, who died a couple of years ago, and settle him on my lap. I click on the TV. Matt Lauer and Katie Couric are making small talk on the Today show. Feeling guilty about playing hooky, I tell myself that taking a mental health day is almost the same thing as taking a day for a sinus infection or the stomach flu, and those are two things my coworkers are always citing for their absences. Matt cuts Katie off midsentence—something is happening in lower Manhattan. I lean forward a little, watching the broadcast with curiosity and a strange sense of foreboding. The cat leaps off my lap because I’m squishing him.

  Someone has called in to the show to report a big boom near the World Trade Center, which is where Jonathan mentioned his team would be having their meetings. He has some kind of fancy phone called a BlackBerry, and I think maybe I should call him to see if he heard it. But if I interrupt another meeting, his boss will really hate me and maybe Jonathan won’t get the promotion he’s hoping for.
>
  Matt and Katie are perplexed. No one seems to know what’s going on down there, but another caller thinks a small commuter plane might have hit the building. I pick up the handset of my cordless phone and place it in my lap. So what if I call Jonathan. Janice was right. They need to stop making such a big deal out of everything.

  Then Matt and Katie cut to a picture of the World Trade Center, and there’s a hole in the building and flames are coming out of it! It scares me so badly that when I try to lift the phone to my ear, I drop it and it bounces onto the floor. Will works on Wall Street and so does Clay. Though I don’t exactly know how close that is to the World Trade Center, I’m scared for them, too.

  This is bad. I know this is bad because there’s a fire and when there’s a fire, the first thing you have to do is get out. One of the things my parents made me do when I first started living alone was come up with a plan for the order in which I’d need to do things in the event of an emergency. If there is a tornado warning, I need to go to the most interior room in my apartment, which is the bathroom. If the smoke alarm ever goes off, I need to grab any pets I might have and leave immediately. I am not supposed to stop and call the fire department or put on a bra or any of the other dumb things I’d probably think I should do. Once I’m outside, only then should I call the fire department, from a neighbor’s house.

  I scramble to pick up the handset, and I hit the preprogrammed numbers I’ve stored in my phone for Jonathan: office, home, and cell. I punch the button for his BlackBerry, but it rings and rings and finally goes to his voice mail. I hang up and try again. Matt and Katie have a woman on the line and she’s saying the aircraft was bigger than a commuter plane but that doesn’t seem possible because how would a pilot not see buildings as tall as the World Trade Center. Also, I don’t know which tower Jonathan is in. Whatever is happening seems to be happening in the North Tower.