“I can do that. I’ll be like Nancy Drew or the Scooby gang.” She perks up and walks out.
I shoot a message to Brittany asking if she wants to come over with the bottle of Jack. Like lightning, she responds.
Brittany:I don’t have the old faithful, but what about Jameson?
Me:Irish women with Irish whiskey, what can go wrong?
You know damn well what could go wrong. Drunk texting and hangover the next day.I’ll be fine, brushing off the possible consequences. Brittany will know when to cut me off. I still need to get through my week.
Silence. That’s all I’m given. Last week, over whiskey, I burst into tears from the stress and the fact that Alexander hasn’t spoken to me. I’m surprised that we made it through mid-April and I’m still on Sheldon’s good side, as long as Carla stays away. There is some cause for celebration.
I spent the rest of last week combing through every report and call record of the past few months. I spoke with Jeremiah for community updates. Aggie’s still looking into the decreasing numbers. Sammie’s still burning the midnight oil. I find myself bringing Seamus to the office when I work longer hours. I thought about a caffeine IV drip. Sleep fails me most nights.
On the plus side, I’ve gotten to know my tails and their names. I’ve seen Sparky a couple times and he always gives me a gentle nod. I met Coda; he’s got a New York accent and looks like he belongs in the mafia more than a motorcycle crew. I caught him one day listening to some instrumental music. He tried to tell me he couldn’t talk to me because of Jackson, but I ignored him and carried on conversations about music. For a few minutes, we spoke about composers and music. It was nice to have a decent conversation. Finally, there’s the former soldier, Darius Richard, or D.R. I joked that I’m going to call him Doc, which did not go over well. Jackson was never among them. Why would he be? Silence and coldness, that’s all I get.
My therapist has been encouraging me to move on from Jackson. Maybe for a brief moment, I allowed myself to open up to the possibility of a new relationship and found myself trampling over my own wants to fulfill his. My therapist told me to stop hiding from who I want to be. She asked me who I want to be. I want to be myself.
So here we are, Wednesday, which means a day full of meetings. I have an hour beforehand and typically, I slack off and walk around. Today, though, I think I’ve found something from Sam’s research. My phone rings, and I pick it up without looking.
“This is Tessa,” I chirp while I gather files I need for my meetings.
“I need to see you.” After two weeks of radio silence, that’s his choice of words.Don’t give in, Tessa. Be the person you want to be.Wild, untamable, resilient, humble, a fighter.
“Make an appointment,” I retaliate.
“I’ll just do a walk-in. I’m ten minutes out.” He’s persistent.
“Sorry, I don’t do walk-ins, especially from ghosts. Make an appointment with Reva.” I hang up before he has a chance to respond. Of course, he doesn’t take that lightly. He calls two more times and two more times, I ignore him.
Knowing my meetings are starting soon, a second cup of coffee sounds like heaven. My phone rings; Reva’s calling.
“Yes, Revs, I know I have my first meeting in like 20 minutes.”
“Yeah yeah, you’re getting your coffee. Mr. Jones called at the reception desk asking for a walk in. I think he’s a donor.”
I brush it off. “Fine. Hopefully it’s a big check. Just put him in my office.” I click off. I know we have a Mr. Michael Jones who’s a donor, but I haven’t heard from him in a while. I make it back upstairs and Reva rushes to meet me.
“So… my mistake.” the nervousness in her voice.
“Oh, it wasn’t for me?” I sip my coffee.
“No, it’s for you, but.. he won’t leave.” I brush past her and behold, the dead has risen.
“Reva, call Ghostbusters back, they forgot one.”
Jackson, or Mr. Jones, sits at my conference table. His hair is pulled back into a bun, the edges shaved clean. Sharp suit and tie, dark navy blue to compliment his skin tone and eyes.
“Thanks Reva, I’ll handle this.”
“You want me to backhand him?” she whispers.
“No. I’ll call if I need back up.” I close the door and look back at him, giving him a scowl.
“You have some nerve, Jackson, showing up unannounced!” I walk around to my desk. “And why do you look like you’re about to attend a board meeting? Last time I checked, bikers don’t need a suit,” I say, checking my email, pretending to do work, not giving him the attention he’s craving.
“When I said I needed to see you, it wasnota request.” He eases back into his chair, hands folded on his lap. I glance around my computer, noticing the tattoos peeking under his jacket, across the nape of his neck. My mind jumps from wondering if the placement hurt to why there and why those designs.Don’t pay him any attention. He wants a chase? I’ll give him a chase.
“Oh hell no. You don’t get to command anything. I gave you a chance, and you went silent on me, perhaps moved on. So, thank you, but your services are not needed nor wanted.” I turn back to my computer.