When the Stars Align

by Isabel Jolie

  Margaret nods. She’s been silent up until now. “Now, tell me everything, going back to the first time he acted inappropriately.”

  I close my eyes. This is what I hadn’t wanted to get into. “It’s really just little stuff. Nothing big or worth reporting to HR. He asked me out, and I always said no. He’d touch me, but not in such a way I was scared, just annoyed. He just doesn’t seem to respect personal space.”

  Margaret nods repeatedly, scribbling away in her notebook. Her bright blue eyes pierce me. “I need you to tell me everything. You need to be aware I have already met with your friend Jackson, and I’ve also met with Nick. I have Nick’s full version of events. I need to have everything from your perspective.”

  Shit. He told her. He used that one drunken night to make it look like I wanted him. Like I asked for him. My chin trembles and heat radiates from my cheeks. “I never wanted anyone at work to know about this, but I guess...” Great. I have to tell her. I feel like I’m telling my mom about the night I lost control and did bad things.

  Margaret sets her pen down on the notebook and waits.

  “A long time ago, like over eight or nine months ago, maybe longer, I went to one of Nick’s apartment parties. I don’t...” I pause, twisting my hands in my lap. “I came from the office and hadn’t eaten. I drank. A lot. Blacked out. Woke up in Nick’s bed.” I’m not Catholic, but this is how I suspect a confessional feels. “I don’t remember it at all, but I slept with Nick.”

  She does not look surprised. In her kind voice, she asks, “What happened in the morning?”

  “I left without waking him.”

  She scribbles in her notebook then asks, “How did you feel?”

  I stare at the wall as I try to remember. Remember details I tried to forget. “I felt horrible. Extremely hungover. I don’t think I’ve been that hungover ever in my life.” I pause and gaze out my office window. “And that’s saying a lot. I was so sick.”

  Her lips turn up in a semblance of a smile while she writes. “How many drinks do you remember having that night?”

  My gaze returns to Margaret. I’ve thought a lot about the party, trying to piece together how it went so wrong. “I only remember my second beer. He had a keg, and I was on my second beer in a red Solo cup.” Almost speaking to myself, I tell her, “It’s a bit of a mystery. You would think I’d remember taking shots or something.” Frustration and annoyance with myself mingle when I ponder my stupidity around colleagues. I made it through college without doing something so foolish. Then when I do screw up, I risk my career. “I must have switched to liquor.”

  “Did the two of you talk about it afterward?”

  I swallow. “Yeah. He came up to me at work. Told me he’d enjoyed, well, he’d had fun the night before. I told him it couldn’t happen again. It was after that things started getting more, I don’t know...I avoided him. He didn’t seem to want to accept I wasn’t interested in him. Delilah has witnessed some things. She did encourage me to go to HR a few times.”

  Margaret tilts her head, questioning. “Why didn’t you?”

  I sigh. Tears well up once again. I stare out the window in a vain attempt to not cry. “It didn’t feel like it was that bad. I felt like I had it under control. And I don’t want to have this on my record. For people to think of me as the woman who filed sexual harassment.”

  No matter what people want to think, it’s naive to believe a sexual harassment case doesn’t put a blemish on a person. It’s not that companies wouldn’t hire someone with that shadow. But any hiring manager in her right mind, when comparing similarly qualified candidates, is going to go with the one without any legal risk. The candidate who plays well in the sandbox. And in an incestuous industry like advertising...well, rumors fly.

  Margaret’s face contorts in a way I suspect means she disagrees with me. Maybe everyone disagrees with me. But I have good reasons. Who would have ever thought he’d go psycho? A jerk? Yes, he was a jerk. But not a rapist.

  I mutter defensively, “I really did have it under control. Until today. I don’t know why Jackson was here.” Damn him for being right. I didn’t have it under control. Not today. Not really. I’d been fucking helpless. The tears I tried to hold back stream down my cheeks unchecked once again.

  Margaret spreads her hands out over her notes. “Well, it sounds like you are lucky he was here.”

  “I really thought I had it under control.” I need to defend myself, so I ramble on. “At first, I thought he was just being his normal pushy self. Then, before I knew it, he had me trapped.” That helpless sensation. I never want to experience it again. “I threatened to scream, and he told me to scream, that everyone would take his side.” And hadn’t that been the root of my fear from the beginning of this mess? That I’d be made out to be the bad person? They’d believe him over me? I rub my hand over my face and smear the tears. More to myself than to Margaret, I say, “If Jackson hadn’t come in right then, would I have screamed?”

  The question hits me like a wrecking ball. Would I have screamed? Or would I have been so scared of losing my job, of others not believing me, I would have let him rape me? Or would he have covered my mouth and taken the choice away? My body shivers as the questions boomerang through my head.

  “Listen, we won’t ever know what might have happened. But if you had come to HR earlier, then what happened in your office probably would never have happened. If someone is out of line, I’m here to help you.”

  “I know. I do know that. I just didn’t feel it necessary, and I felt...” I pause, searching for the right words.

  Margaret surveys me. “You felt responsible for what was happening because of what happened at his apartment?”

  I sniffle. “Yes.” My voice quivers, and yet more tears fall.

  “Anna, look at me.” She squeezes my arm. “You did nothing wrong. Having a history with you does not give him the right to force himself on you. He had no right to treat you in any way other than in a professional manner. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to talk to Delilah tomorrow.”

  She sounds like she’s asking a question, so I offer an answer, although it’s difficult to imagine I have a say. “Yeah, that’s fine.” I pause. Hold my breath. Then ask, “Am I in trouble?” My boyfriend attacked an executive, and that executive has a different version of events than I do. This is the big stain on my career I didn’t want, in an agency where I love working.

  “No, you are not in trouble. But I was going to ask you if you might want to take some time off. A day or two? When these things happen, it can be emotional. I’d like to encourage you to at least take the rest of this week off.”

  Given I can’t seem to stop crying, I can’t argue against taking time off.

  She wraps her arms around me in a gentle, warm hug. Tears unleash. Again. Exactly why I usually refuse hugs when emotional.

  She uses her thumb to wipe tears away then passes me the box of tissue.

  “Thank you, Margaret.”

  With a sad smile, she offers, “You can call me Maggie.”

  Chapter 34

  Anna

  Margaret leads me down the hall to reception. Jackson sits in a chair, head resting in his hands, elbows on his knees. When he hears us, he lifts his head.

  “Hey, what are you still doing here?” I had no idea he’d been waiting this whole time.

  “Waiting for you. I have a car service sitting outside waiting to take us home.” Of course, he does. The gesture strikes me as thoughtful and sweet. My emotions swirl. I do love him. But I’ve got to talk to him. Going caveman in my business and with my career is not okay.

  Margaret says goodnight and heads back into the agency. He wraps his strong arms around me as we wait for the elevator.

  Neither of us speaks as we get into the back of a black sedan. The city streets pass by, and I gaze out the window, watching the myriad of pedestrians rushing along the sidewalks. Did they have a good day at work? Are they rushing home to a loved one?

  Ja
ckson’s deep, calm voice breaks into the random thoughts swirling around. “John had security escort Nick out. He had a box of personal belongings. I overheard John mention he hoped Nick would take them up on their offer for therapy. It sounds like they are offering to get him help in the form of therapy. Can you believe that?”

  I close my eyes. A sense of relief percolates. It’s over. I may never have to see Nick again. I rest my head against Jackson’s chest and cuddle into his side. “Do you think that means they believe me?”

  “I threatened legal action. I’m the last person they would share information with. But I suspect you aren’t the first employee who has had issues with Nick.”

  “Really?” I vaguely recall Delilah mentioning someone in accounting, but had she gone to HR? I don’t think so. Could it have been someone else?

  Jackson kisses my forehead. “I expect they are going to handle the situation correctly. If they don’t, I’ll handle it.” His tone smacks of authority and determination.

  “You,” I say. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to run. I need him near me, and I don’t want to create distance between us. Not tonight. But we have to talk this out. “You can’t do that.”

  He shifts so he can see me better. Cautious.

  I soften my tone but remain serious. “I make my career decisions. You do not.”

  He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. Closes his eyes. When he opens them, sincerity and love pour out. “I don’t want to force decisions on you. Christ, Anna. Can you understand at all what it did to me to walk into your office and see him holding you against the wall? I stood there, shocked, trying to comprehend what I was walking in on. I heard him threaten you. Tell you no one would believe your side. The anger. Anna, seeing someone hurt you. I could have killed him. Thank god John broke us up. I...I’ve never done that, Anna.” His shoulders slump as he stares out the car window. “Attacked someone.”

  I lift his hands and examine his knuckles and place soft kisses along the broken skin. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  He lifts my chin. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I lean my head back against the car seat. I could have handled things differently. Maybe.

  I open my eyes. A question has lingered in my mind. “What were you doing at my office?”

  A sheepish expression I’ve never seen before flits across his face. “I wanted to surprise you for dinner. I thought you might have heard Eleanor ask me to dinner. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. “I trust you. I did hear her but didn’t worry. I trust you.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you have your own little issue going on in the office?”

  He exhales a half laugh. “Not a Nick situation. Our office orders dinner in all the time when working late on a case. Eleanor and I are finishing up a contract. When I couldn’t do lunch, she asked about dinner. I told her no for tonight. Told her I had plans with my girlfriend.”

  A weight hangs over me. I gently hold on to Nick’s hand, aware of the broken skin, but needing to touch him as I unload. “Jackson, what happened with Nick? It might...some of it might have been my fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nick and I. Almost a year ago, we hooked up at an office party at his condo. I was really drunk. I don’t remember it.” Tears cascade down my face, and I prepare for Jackson to pull away, but he doesn’t. I stare down at the gray carpet on the floorboard, shame and humiliation ripping through me.

  Jackson holds me tighter and comforts me. “Shhh. That doesn’t make this your fault. One drunken hook-up does not give him any rights to you. Anna, believe me. You did not deserve this.” He places a soft kiss on my forehead. “Anna, I love you so much.”

  “Still?”

  He takes my chin and turns my head up to him, so he can look into my eyes. “Yes, still. For always. A drunken mistake doesn't change who you are. I love you. And I will stand by you. Always.”

  The car pulls up to our apartment building on 82nd Street. The streetlights cast a warm glow on the winter night. Bundled up for the cold, we hustle to get into the warm lobby. Scant stars shine through to city streets, yet even without seeing the distant suns, I know. Somewhere high above us, our stars are now aligned. The glass doors slide open as we approach, and we enter, hand in hand.

  Epilogue

  10 Months Later

  Anna

  “The last box! We. Are. Done!” Jackson shouts.

  With a dramatic salute, Chase raises an arm sky-high, and the two men high-five over a stack of boxes.

  Yes, we could have afforded movers, but given all we’re moving is boxes, we opted for the friends and U-Haul route. No furniture, only boxes. One U-Haul rental, one afternoon with friends, plus the promise of beer and pizza, and our whole life moved from the Upper East Side to the Lower West Side.

  Jackson and I have officially been living together for the last six months. He kept pointing out it’s ridiculous to pay two New York rents. His apartment felt larger and was a true two-bedroom, but it came furnished. It couldn’t hold my furniture, so he moved into my apartment.

  Then our relationship faced its biggest trial to date. Not living together. House hunting together.

  Jackson insisted on buying an apartment. He sold his place in Atlanta, so he needed to buy something to avoid capital gains tax penalties. Our house hunting disagreements did lead me to question if we were meant to be. He loved the new modern glass building by the river, the XI. The new construction building boasted huge windows with amazing views, an indoor pool, and a full gym. I had to admit, the building was a dream, but all the white marble felt cold to me. Not to mention it’s crazy expensive.

  I insisted I would pay half of whatever we bought. I told him it was important to me. No way did I want to be a kept woman. I’d inherited money from my parents and could afford to invest. I had debated the wisdom of buying a place with my boyfriend. Many friends told me buying a place with a boyfriend was a bad idea. A joint mortgage would complicate a breakup.

  Somewhere during our home search is when I knew without a doubt I was in it with Jackson for the absolute long haul. Because, one, every time we visited a place I didn’t like, I stood up to him. I asked him to lower his target price so I could go in 50/50. We approached it like partners, real partners. When I had an issue, I told him. We worked through it all.

  He helped me be my best self. We worked through each disagreement. Jackson loves to cover all points of an argument, so he had no issues with rounds and rounds of discussions. I needed to prove to myself I could be with someone and be strong and maintain my identity. Possibly to Jackson’s chagrin, I have no issue at all standing up to him now.

  “Hello, peoples!” Olivia calls from the hall. She and Delilah wander in through the open door, weighed down with pizza boxes and beer.

  “Come on in. Let’s head up to the terrace,” I say, directing everyone to the stairs. Yep, our new penthouse apartment has stairs. I never thought I’d live in such an incredible space.

  Our compromise, an older doorman building on 28th Street, lies near the Hudson River. Our apartment boasts huge windows with views of the river and city. The nine-hundred-square-foot private rooftop terrace sold us both. The terrace alone is bigger than our entire apartment on 82nd Street. The moment we saw it, we knew we’d found our home.

  Of course, wallpaper hung on every single wall. I had no idea people still used wallpaper. So while we closed two weeks ago, we’re only moving in now. I insisted we remove all wallpaper and paint before moving in. While the renovation magic happened, we decked out the terrace. New outdoor furniture, heat lamps, and Jackson’s dream grill. I may have gone a little insane on plants and hanging lights.

  Everyone follows me up the iron stairs.

  “Wow!” Olivia exclaims when she steps onto the roof. This is the first time our friends are seeing our place. I knew they’d be pretty impressed.


  Olivia arrived back from Prague two days ago. She’s currently staying with Delilah but will be moving into my old apartment tomorrow. Well, our old apartment. All of her old furniture awaits her, including the lumpy, stained futon. Her MBA program at Columbia University starts next week.

  Delilah is now a fellow creative director. I celebrated her promotion more than mine, because I’d much prefer my close friend not be reporting to me.

  I never saw Nick again. It did turn out I wasn’t the only employee at Evolve he’d harassed. Margaret shared she suspected Nick had used a date rape drug on me. No evidence existed, and I chose not to pursue charges. But Evolve didn’t need any further proof to fire him for sexual harassment and inappropriate conduct since I had a witness in the office.

  At Margaret’s insistence, I did meet with a therapist for several sessions. I found the experience to be positive. Hearing a third party tell me I wasn’t in the wrong meant more to me than I would have ever imagined. Talking through my emotions helped to mitigate my pain and fear.

  Chase, Delilah, Olivia, Bobby, Jackson, and I gather around our outdoor picnic table. Back in the day when we were at Chapel Hill, we never hired movers. It was always a friends-helping-friends thing. This moment, drinking beer and eating pizza straight from the box, it’s bittersweet. This might be the last time we gather friends together to move. Next time, we’ll have real adult furniture. Like real, heavier-than-Ikea furniture that requires a moving truck and professional can-wrap-it-in-quilts movers.

  Bobby holds up a glass. “A toast! Here’s to Anna and Jackson. Here’s to you finding such an insane apartment with a kick-ass terrace.”

  Everyone clinks glasses. Chase holds his up and adds, “And just so you two are clear, we will be over here. A lot.”

  The sound of laughter rings across the terrace. Jackson wraps his arm around me and softly kisses my forehead. Chewie moves from spot to spot on the terrace, sniffing. Our furry beast may love the terrace more than any of us.