To See You Again (30 page)

She pulls her car keys from her purse and looks up
at me. "I'd be pretty pissed if you didn't."

It could be my imagination, but her lips look redder
than before, a little puffy even, from all the intense kissing. I feel a strong
impulse to put mine all over them again and kiss her until both our lips are
numb—the rest of the world be damned. It is taking all the restraint I have to
let her go.

"Count on it, then," I say, hoping the firmness in
my voice translates to sincerity.  

"I will," she whispers.

We embrace and I kiss her lightly on the cheek
before she disappears through the doorway. When I return to the kitchen Reba is
standing there.

"How much trouble am I in?" Her brow furrows.

I stroll over to the island where she stands
visibly apprehensive, and look her directly in the eyes. "None." I smile at her
stunned expression as I head up to my bedroom.

I'm putting together sales binders in my office
when I hear my phone buzz inside my desk from across the room. I glance at the
clock on my wall. It's a quarter after ten at night. Who the hell? Probably
Mindy. I line up some of the printed sheets carefully and then use the
three-hole puncher to puncture perfect circles for the binders I have strewn
across the credenza. I should really have interns doing this sort of thing, but
if you want something done right…Well, whatever.

A moment later it buzzes again, and I walk over to
the desk and roll out the metal drawer to see what's come through. It's a
two-word text from Collin. "Hey there," it says on my screen, and I nearly miss
the seat of my rolling chair as I slump backward attempting to sit down. I
stare at the conversation bubble for nearly a minute and then type back, "hey".
His return text is immediate.

Collin: Is this an ok time?

I grin as I type my reply.

Me: For what?

Collin: You'd said it was cool if I called. So….

Even via text, his trepidation is obvious, and it
provokes an impulse within me to try to tease the worry right out of him.

Me: Yeah, I did. So, why didn't you?

My smile stretches as I withhold a giggle. I can
see his perplexed expression in my mind's eye.

Collin: ???

Me: This is texting. Not the same thing, dude.

There's no reply and then, after a few moments,
full-on panic sets in. I type out at least three different messages back to him
and delete them all before sending. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!  No good comes
from caffeine after nine at night. I must remember that. Then, almost two full
minutes later, my phone begins to ring. I erupt in goose-bumps and feel a wave
of nervous energy flood my system. The phone is almost through it's third round
of the ringtone before I answer.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much," I reply, trying to play it cool. "So, this
is you calling?" I ask.

"It is," he answers, and I note the undercurrent
of nervousness in his voice that I suspected during his texts. "I wasn't sure if
this was too late in the day or if you would be busy. It's tough to know when
it's a good time."

"I'm actually still at work, but it's fine. I'm
not doing anything that requires much brain power at the moment." That is a
damn good thing because my pulse has begun to pound away so loudly, that I'm
barely able to concentrate on anything apart from Collin's voice.

"You're still at work?" I can't tell if the
disapproval I hear in his voice is real or a joke.

"Yup. I'm afraid I am. We can't all have the luxury
hours of a CEO," I tease. I line up more sheets of paper, giving my hands
something to do besides shake.

"I was just kidding," he says. I would've bet a
decent chunk of change that you were still sitting at your desk when I texted
you."

"Is that your quirky way of suggesting that I'm
both predictable and pathetic? How sweet of you."

There's a small pause before he speaks again and I
worry it's too soon for sarcasm, but Collin plunges ahead.

"Actually, I think that makes me observant and
attentive."

"Ha!" I laugh into the phone. "How do you figure?"

"Well, you're the one who told me that you put in
a million hours of work and can't delegate for shit, partially because you're
controlling and partially because you work in a sea of political land mines.
You leave a lot of the mindless tasks for the end of the day, because you know
you're tired and because you try really hard not to bring work home, even if it
means staying at the office late." He pauses. "Did I miss anything?"

I collapse backward into my chair and release a
long sigh. "I said all of that?" I ask, knowing full well that he just repeated
what I'd shared with him, practically verbatim.

"Yup."

It's my turn for a dramatic pause now and he lets
me have it. "Wow. You could've just said yes to the pathetic thing, you know? I
think that might've actually been less depressing."

He laughs. "You're not pathetic, Rachel."

"Oh yes, I am," I reply, not bothering to mask the
defeat in my voice.

 "Hey, don't start with that stuff." He lowers his
voice. "In the interest of full disclosure I am also still at work."

"Oh you are, are you?" For some reason that really
does make me feel marginally better.

"Yes, believe it or not, Rachel, I can relate to
the working hard, working late and trying to work well. I get it," he says
seriously.

"Hmm…do you always stay late, too?" I wonder about
his work. He's told me some things, but most of it has been self-deprecating
and general. I don't know a lot of specifics or much about his day to day.

"It's hard to say what my hours are. I work from
home periodically and it's not unusual for me to leave the office, have dinner
or something, and then work well into the night. I don't mind. I kind of enjoy
it, actually." He sounds like he's smiling. "I know, shocking, right? I bet right
now you're wondering where I hid the body of the real Collin. You know, the
lazy one."

"I feel confident that I could recognize an
imposter. The
real
Collin, as you call him, was never lazy. He just
pretended to be. Difficult, stubborn, indifferent, refusing to rise to his
potential—"

"OK! OK!" He interrupts. "That's enough."

I giggle. "Oh, you wanted the
other
list.
Let's see he's brilliant, funny, kind, good at everything to the point of
complete irritation."

"Irritation?" He interrupts again.

"That's the part you caught?"

"Well, that's the part that makes sense."

"You're an ass."

"Finally, something we can agree on," he says
whimsically.

I laugh and mentally note that he still can't take
a compliment.

"How was your day?" he asks, predictably shifting
the topic.

"Well, on the scale of calm to homicidal, I'd say
I scored somewhere around stabby." I chuck my pen across the desk for added
emphasis, not that he can see. He full on laughs into my ear and it is the best
sound I've heard all day. I join in, helplessly.

"I sure hope scoring a ‘stabby' just means you
wanted
to stab someone, not that you actually did!" He laughs again.

"No worries. Everyone is safe. I just can't get
over the political bullshit that goes down around here. Some of the top managers,
including mine, at the very best overlook it, and more likely, flat-out
encourage it. I'm just not good at it, you know? I mean, I'm no pushover, but I
could really care less about all the stupid gossip. Except when it's about me,
I guess." I grimace.

"About you?" Collin sounds concerned. "You didn't
mention that the other night."

"Yeah, well..." I fall silent and he does too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

I sigh, shaking my head before speaking. "Not
really."

After a few minutes he says, "For the record, you
don't deserve that shit…whatever it is."

"Thanks," I say, not sure if that's true. I'm
ready to get off this topic, like now, so I say, "I'll survive. Anyway, I saw
this indie film the other day that made me think of you."

"Really? I'm intrigued," he says, and he sounds
it. "Was it about a total slacker pretending to be a CEO?" Ah, back to the
teasing.

"No."

"A poser artist?"

"No!"

"Ugh…was it about some total loser who took over
his stepdad's company?"

"Collin!" I shout, grinning ear to ear. "Stop it!"

He laughs softly. "OK, OK. What was it?"

"I forget the name, but it was on the Sundance
channel and this guy started painting after he returned from war—"

"With his non-dominant hand?" Collin interjects.

"Yes!"

"I was watching that, too!" He exclaims.

"That's really random, because I don't watch much
TV and I didn't think you did either."

"I don't." He chuckles. "So, wait a minute. That
guy reminded you of me?" He sounds mildly alarmed.

I shake my head. "No, no, no. I just thought you'd
like the movie."

"Hmmm." He hums thoughtfully. "I did."

"Yeah. Me, too."

*** *** ***

Over an hour later, I'm sitting at my desk with my
feet propped up on the completed sales binders. I gave up doing anything
productive about a half-hour ago.

"I know what you mean," I say. "It's like when
someone gives you a dirty look while your trying to read the print on their
t-shirt. If you don't want strangers looking at you, don't wear something with
a bunch of words on it. Geez…"

"True," he replies. "Although, you compulsively
read everything."

I giggle. "I do?"

He makes a tsk sound. "Really, Rachel? Don't even
act like you don't remember taking both of our lives into your hands, just so
you could read some ridiculous bumper sticker. You broke many a traffic law for
the sake of getting a glance at some hillbillies' slogan on the back of his
beater." He laughs. "I bet you still do it now." He pretends to sound annoyed,
but I can hear his smile reaching out to me through his words.

"I hate bumper stickers."

"No," he says, laughing even harder. "You freaking
love
bumper stickers."

"Love isn't the right word…I'm fascinated by them.
What I mean is, I'm fascinated by the choices people make with them. They say a
lot about a person, you know? They've decided to share something with every
single person who ever sees the back of their car. For most people, that adds
up to a lot of cars. C'mon you should be interested, too! Bumper stickers are
like little ads for your soul. A banner that says, ‘this is who I am.'" I can
hear him chuckling and a wide grin spreads across my face in response.

Then he says, "I know you'd rather set fire to
your car than have one yourself, right? That stance hasn't changed, I assume."

He's done this a lot during our conversation—offered
up little reminders about how well he knows me, while still inquiring about the
details of my life now.

"Totally. Although, I have to say, if I were
forced to put something on there it would be a positive message. It still
astounds me how many people choose something hateful, like more than half."

"Well, I guess if anyone would know…"

 "It's a sad commentary on our world," I interject,
with more melancholy than intended. I don't want him to think I place too much
importance on intolerant stickers.

"Hmmm…there's plenty of that." He sounds quiet and
contemplative and I get the sense he
isn't
mulling over bumper stickers.

"Yeah," I reply, lowering my voice to match his
suddenly quieter volume.

"Listen, it's pretty late," he murmurs.

He must want to hang up. Of course! I worry about
how long he's felt this way. Collin has never been a phone person, so I know on
some level this conversation has likely felt obligatory to him. Hell, I
practically forced him into it.

"Oh, yeah it is." I swing my feet off of the stack
atop my desk, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I should let you go. Sorry!"

"No apologies," he says quickly. "I was just
thinking. How do you usually get home, you know, when you stay this late? Does,
um, Beck come get you or do you take the El?" He's stumbling over his words,
which isn't like him. I think about correcting his notion about Beck, but it's
late and I'm not going to burden him with my drama now.

"I'm fine, actually. I had meetings in the burbs
this morning, so my car is in the parking garage here. There's security in the
building all night…so…"

"Oh, good. It's none of my business, really. Just
trying to be a friend." He says quickly.

"That's nice," I say.
"Friends."

"Yeah…" he replies almost inaudibly. "So, at the
risk of ruining, um… It feels like we really might be friends again…Are we?" The
nervousness in his voice from the start of our conversation has returned. I
can't exclude the idea that I'm responsible for all of it now.

"Yeah…Yes. Yes, I think we are," I say, after a
momentary pause.

He offers no further comment on the topic. "Our
offices are pretty close, you know," he says slowly, like he's considering
something.

What's he thinking? He better not be planning on
walking over here. I examine a stain on the sweatpants I pulled on after the
office emptied out. They're old and look ridiculous with my blouse, but they
were a satisfying alternative to not being in pantyhose for even a second
longer.

"Would you ever want to meet for lunch sometime?"