Page 89 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘Hardly.’ I turn my head to see him watching me but then it’s as if he knows watching me will have the words drying up, so after a flash of an encouraging grin he goes back to leaning his head back against the bed. ‘I guess I wanted to be though?’ I say as he closes his eyes. I turn back to face the window in case he opens them again. ‘I couldn’t have gotten a better interning role on a better magazine because what I’ve always also really loved is interior design. It was a dream come true when I got the position. My family and my best friend, Sarah, were so excited for me. Sarah especially because as a newly qualified paediatrics nurse it meant we’d both achieved what we’d set out to. We were both going to be living and working only hours from where we’d grown up but light years away in terms of career opportunities.’ I stop, realising I can no longer recall that feeling of heady zestfulness when you succeed in getting the job you set out to get. What came after has eaten away at that innocence. That naivety.

‘You know when you’re starting out and it feels impossible to work too hard? To burn out. Get it wrong? Except at the same time, it’s really daunting?’ I murmur. ‘The staff are so good at what they do. Better than you. You forget they’ve been doing it longer. You’re so focused on your shot – you think it boils down to one opportunity – one shot to shine. And the environment fosters competition, right? You think it’s healthy competition – when you stop to think about it, which you don’t. It’s a large arena. In a bustling city. It’s this pulsing, frantic, fun, thrilling feeling of being alive. It’s where you’re meant to be. Living your best life.

At first you don’t notice you’re hobbled by a fear of failing. So afraid because you’re so grateful. So grateful to be running around after your boss doing all the grunt level dross that has absolutely nothing to do with anything except making yourself indispensable so that when you’ve paid your dues … when that sliver of a bone is thrown your way, you’re primed to take it.’

‘And did you take it?’ George asks.

I press my hand harder against the glass. ‘No plan is ever really linear, is it?’ I state, my voice reflective before turning tight. ‘I had to be told it was my shot. My last shot. Imagine my surprise to learn I’d already had several handed to me and been oblivious to them. Before having that spelled out, I wouldn’t have thought I’d missed an opportunity in my life. But then by that time, I was so different. Tired. A ghost in my own life and a disaster waiting to happen.

‘I was like that because—’ I swallow so that the words will come out. ‘Well, because, before all of that … on one of those days where I was doing all the things at work I thought mattered – that showed added value, I phoned Sarah for one of her pep-talks on standing up in a meeting and pushing my ideas forward. I’m not sure when I’d let the confidence slip exactly but I remember going in every morning full of ideas. Determined to pitch them, yet somehow never following through. Allowing instead the potential to be shot down in flames and how that would feel, to grow inside of me.

‘When Sarah didn’t answer I didn’t think anything of it other than I really needed the pep-talk and when I didn’t get it, I didn’t stand up and push my idea forward. After the meeting I worked harder to make up for that fact. Stayed later to make up for it. It was my pattern. It was only on my way home that I checked my phone and saw all the missed messages. Sarah’s mom had been trying to contact me over and over because?—’

Can I say it?

I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I open them the view out the window is replaced by my own reflection and a superimposed image of Sarah standing behind me, smiling encouragingly. I know the image isn’t real. But it makes me think of the white feather that spilled out of my bag while George was talking earlier and then George asking me if I Sixth Sense See Dead People and how Sarah would have found that hilarious and as I blink and refocus so that I’m back to staring out of the window again I find it easier to say, ‘While I was running around work picking up dry-cleaning and getting lunch for people and finding out where to get a million gallons of paint from so that I could ombre a wall for someone else’s idea for a photoshoot, my beautiful best friend was in the hospital. At work but not at work. She was in the ICU. She’d been in an accident – some scaffolding on her walk to work hadn’t been properly secured… She died before she should have. Before I was ready. Although, I guess, how could you be ready, right?’

In the silence I realise I’ve said all the words.

Aloud.

Not to Zach but to George.

I’m super-grateful for his silence. For how much easier it makes it for me to tell him. But I can’t turn and face him. If I see the empathy, I’ll get lost in it.

‘Afterwards … for weeks,’ I tell him, ‘I floated through life. I turned up every day for work but it meant nothing other than I had bills to pay. My boss was the only person I told. She kindly expected less of me and I consistently delivered that for her. And then one day, without warning, she told me about last chances and so I started trying to deliver more. Maybe her words had been designed to shake me out of my grief. They worked because the more I worked, the greater my sense of peace. Nothing made sense without Sarah but I couldn’t lose my job. Without it, I’d have to go home again. And I couldn’t do that. Not without Sarah.

‘The first time I pitched an idea I had an anxiety attack. I examined the anxiety from all angles and put it in its place. I hadn’t been sleeping. Was working long hours. Been through something so gut-wrenching I was forever changed by it so it made sense to cut myself some slack. I cut myself some slack the next few times as well. But soon it felt like I was existing on two different planes. The work me, focused every minute on looking like I was holding everything down. And the real me, who really wasn’t.

‘I started doing better when I redoubled my efforts at work and when I’d gone a few weeks free of anxiety attacks I pitched another idea on a Baroque decorating trend for the winter – lots of dark colours, with accent floral colours inspired by the old Dutch still life paintings. Very luxurious. Gothic undertones.

‘My boss was enthusiastic – really enthusiastic about me realising this was my last chance, anyways. She wanted me to run every facet of the photoshoot past her. Every draft of the accompanying article. I planned the photoshoot meticulously. Arranged all the materials to be at the studios we used and got in early to oversee the furniture placement. I guess here’s where I should mention I’d had this idea… Instead of taxidermy or faux-dermy, to represent some of the still life aspects, I’d thought, how great would it be to get a live animal into the picture? Lots of homeowners have pets. I imagined side-articles on matching your home décor to your fur-baby. I found the perfect animal and spent my lunch hour meeting the rabbit and the rabbit’s handler! I mean, sure, I’d expected a more averagely sized cute little bunny rabbit instead of the 5kg giant rabbit but one look at its white fur coat and I was sold. It was going to contrast perfectly with the midnight navy blue walls, the rose and teal toned Persian rug, aubergine velvet Chesterfield sofa and gold and glass coffee table.

‘I spent a great deal of time zhuzhing orchids and Spanish moss so that they tumbled perfectly out of antiqued birdcages and then arranged the palest pink peonies and paper-thin petalled dark red poppies into vases. My boss phoned to say she’d been hearing great things about what it was looking like and she’d be along to take a look as soon as she’d finished her meeting…

‘I was nervous. Stressed. Really nervous and really stressed,’ I admit to George. ‘I may have taken something to help calm me down. Probably not a good idea on top of all the caffeine to help keep me focused. Anyway. The shoot started off great. I mean I definitely asked the rabbit’s handler if Tiny – go figure – would be okay to sit on the sofa. The sofa was $5000 and I didn’t need any “accidents”.’ Who knew that would come from me? ‘Anyway, Tiny posed perfectly. I started feeling really good. At least in my head I did. In reality, I was probably shooting off orders a bit hyper before my boss arrived on set.’ I stop. Wince. Force myself to explain. ‘Make that definitely sounded hyper because the rabbit started shaking. When my boss arrived, I started shaking. That was when Tiny started hopping around. Actually, it was more one small hop for a bunny … one giant leap for a giant rabbit. The photographer thought it was hilarious and started chasing it to get more candid photos. The handler and crew started getting nervous when they couldn’t catch it. I started getting hysterical when it nearly crashed into the vase that was on loan from a really expensive furniture store. That’s also when I started feeling queasy and light-headed. And then – at least this is what people who were there say – I emitted some weird warrior-woman like cry, leapt forward and pushed my boss. I don’t remember the cry but I do remember seeing she was about to step on Tiny. She had these killer heels on and I couldn’t afford to get blood on the Persian rug – also on loan from the fancy-shmancy furniture store. My boss wobbled alarmingly before falling to the floor. I grabbed the rabbit, lifted it into the handler’s arms and then, absorbing the fact that I’d knocked my boss to the floor, apparently looked like I was going to barf all over the Persian rug. Instead, I went one better and dropped to the floor in a dead faint. I say the floor. It was actually my boss. I fainted on my boss. You probably know what sometimes happens when you faint… And … so … that’s how I came to pee on my boss!’

Cue laughter.

‘So, like I said,’ I add. ‘you’ll only feel cold all over for a few days. I’m completely fine with bunnies now.’ In the silence I force myself to turn around and see what he thinks of it all. I take in his closed eyes and the fact, that now that I’ve finished my sorry tale, I can hear him breathing steadily. Deeply. ‘Wow!’ All that and, ‘He sleeps,’ I whisper in disbelief.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

MESSAGES FROM HOME

Ashleigh

I’m sitting on my bed absorbed in finishing my collage when my phone rings. Even with the weekend stretching before me, there’s this new energy I have that’s magically turned all the hours into a pocket of time I don’t even worry about how to fill.

‘Hello?’ I answer, holding another feather to the canvas, toying with where to place it.

‘Mom’s worried you’ve manifested this so-called boyfriend, Dick, so I’ve been deployed to check for signs of delusional paranoia.’

‘Hey, Joey.’ My tone couldn’t be less impressed with my baby brother allowing himself to be used as a vessel for acquiring more information for my mother. ‘Delusional paranoia, huh?’

‘Yep. Aka, tendency to create scenarios filled with unconvincing worldbuilding.’

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