Or from grabbing her bag and stalking over to the cab that has been waiting at the curb for her.
She gets in and leaves, leaving me totally and utterly alone.
But that’s what I craved, wasn’t it? The stillness. The silence. The peace of it. The strength of it. Whatever I wanted and whatever it is, I’ve got it now.
18
DARBY
You know how they say everything works out for a reason? I’m not sure I believe that, but Leon firing me forced me to apply for other jobs, which is how I ended up working as a receptionist at this huge law firm, and gosh, I think I’ve discovered my true calling in life. I think I want to go back to school and become a lawyer. I’ve been here a month, and the passion of everyone here is so apparent. Granted, this firm isn’t like many others, I imagine. Here, people care about what they do. They care about their clients. Everyone is also super kind and nice to me, which makes a huge difference. I really, really love this job, even if it is just working the front desk and being rather harried doing it because the firm is super busy.
Right now, I happen to be multitasking like a total badass. I’m working the copier, making copies of something that is as long as the freaking dictionary, I have the work phone balanced on my shoulder, talking to a woman who needs to reschedule with her lawyer, who happens to be solidly booked up for the next week, and I’m also working magic on the schedule, making room for her because it’s an emergency. On top of all that, I’m also ordering coffee online because yes, some places let you do that.
“Sure, Rachel, I understand. I’ve got you in for tomorrow at ten. If you could come ten minutes early to go over some paperwork that I’ll have ready for you, that would be great. Thanks. And no problem. Bye now.”
I hang up and send an email to John Krohner, Rachel’s lawyer, letting him know about his change in scheduling and asking for the paperwork that I know she’ll need to go over with him so that he can hopefully wrap up with her ten to fifteen minutes early and it won’t throw his day off too badly.
I finish the coffee order, grab the pages off the copier, and start in on the morning’s mail. It’s never quiet or boring around here. Maybe that’s why I like this job so much. It literally works me off my feet, so I don’t have time to think about anything else.
Although, as I work the letter opener into the first envelope, I can’t pretend that I don’t still see the black look in Leon’s eyes right before I left his house that day, a little over a month ago. That black, sad hole that would have sucked me right in. There was no way I could have convinced him that being with him wouldn’t be me taking care of him. He has his pride, and he wouldn’t have listened to me. I badly wanted to tell him that I didn’t need a prince charming and that he wasn’t a villain either. I just wanted him. My bosshole and not-so-real husband. My Irish husband, who never wants to see Ireland again and who needs to be a bosshole because that’s how he survives, though most of the time, he’s just a boss. And a good one at that.
As much as I want to pretend that my heart doesn’t hurt like a fiery pit of Satan’s fury, I can’t.
I told Leon that he needed therapy.
God, I probably need therapy too.
I read a lot of smutty books, and in them, they’re always talking about meeting that one person and being wrecked. And there are lots of extra smutty scenes with naughty things like spanking, panties being stuffed in the mouth, and coming really, really hard before life gets messy. Both in and out of the bedroom. But then, in the end, they always have their happily ever after. I never got where those characters were coming from when they said that word. Ruined. Wrecked. I guess I do now.
No matter how much I cared about Leon, it wasn’t that it wasn’t enough. You can’t make someone want something they don’t want, and you can’t make them believe in their goodness just because you believe in it.
Okay, so maybe I don’t need therapy after all. I have things pretty much worked out in my head.
Also? Things worked out for me. I just hope he’s okay. I hope that a lot, with every fiber of my being. There is still this huge part of me that wants him to show up at my condo one day and ask me for that grilled cheese I promised.
Maybe the whole you get what you manifest thing is true because at the exact moment that I wonder if Leon ever went for those tests, my phone rings. Yes, I still have the same phone. It was annoying at first when my ex-colleagues used to text me work things because I used my private phone for work stuff, but I guess everyone eventually got the memo that I didn’t work there anymore.
Here, I’m allowed to have my personal phone on the desk as long as I don’t abuse that privilege, though I would never do that. I haven’t taken a personal call or gotten caught scrolling or texting the whole time I’ve been here because I don’t have time to do those things. I actually don’t even know why I bother keeping my phone out.
It’s not like I thought Leon would ever call.
The sudden buzzing startles me since it hardly ever goes off during work hours. Anyone calling me would wait until after. I set the letter opener aside and turn the screen over right as the call goes to voicemail. The missed call message pops up on the screen. The number looks familiar, and I shuffle my chair over. Sitting in front of my monitor, I punch it in.
“Shit!” I cover my mouth right away, relieved that there is no one in the lobby at the moment. All the morning clients are already in their meetings, which is a lucky thing for me because blurting out low-level cuss words doesn’t look professional.
I duck down and hit my voicemail, calling in to listen to the message.
“Hi there, this is Leanne from the clinic. We have your test results in, so please give us a call at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”
The message is short and informal, and it doesn’t leave much information. I know that’s strategic because they value the privacy of their clients. After I think that, I wonder why she left the message for Leon on my voicemail. Yes, it was me who called the clinic first, so they might have gotten things confused, but okay. Well, it’s done.
It’s done, and now I know Leon went for those tests.
Fuck, he went for those tests.
While my heart swells with pride and my chest feels eight times bigger than it should be, the worry slips in right after. If Leon went for the tests and it’s bad news, he’s going to be alone when the clinic dials the right number and calls him. My god, I do not want him to have to be alone, especially if it’s bad news.
I immediately try to call his number, but it goes to voicemail. The deep burr of his voice shoots through me, warming me, but I’m so flustered, and I don’t know what to say, so I hang up without leaving a message.