Page 91 of The Relationship Clause

JUNIE

I don’t know what makes me think Owen might reply right away, but I wait like a dog by a door, hoping he will. My knee bounces under my desk. Seconds pass. Then minutes.

Nothing.

But it’s fine. He’s busy. I know this. I know he’s in the middle of something, and I double know he’ll get back to me when he can because we’re committed to each other.

Of course, there’s been nothing in writing or in our words that have expressly said we’re committed to each other, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Neither of us has uttered the word “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” or “exclusive” or “steady.” Do people even say things like “going steady” these days? I’m pretty sure they don’t. But even if they did, Owen and I haven’t said them to each other.

And yes, I know we probably don’t need to say those words, but after the stupid conversation with my dad, I wish we had. I could hold them up in my head like banners. No, like shields. Big, strong, heavy shields to tell the rest of my brain, “We’re safe! Stop freaking out! Dad is wrong!”

I try to distract myself from Owen’s lack of response by throwing myself into my work, but I can’t concentrate. For some reason, my brain keeps going back to that dinner I had with Kiera and Summer when Summer asked me that stupid question. “What are you afraid of?”

Her words roll around my thoughts like a rock in a dryer with nothing to cushion it, clashing and clanging around, denting everything it comes in contact with.

All this time, all my life, I’ve claimed I was happy with the way I lived and how I moved from job to job, person to person. I was doing exactly as my dad had taught me to do, protecting myself the only way I knew how. But I’m not stupid.

My own mother left. I know what kind of effect leaving can have on people. That’s why I cut myself off completely, changed jobs, moved constantly. I didn’t want to see the aftermath of my absence. I didn’t want to feel it.

But I think I know what I was really afraid of all this time.

Yes, I am worried I’m incapable of truly giving one hundred percent of myself to one person. That’s always been the thing I’ve claimed.

But maybe what I’m most scared of is jumping off that ledge, careening my whole self into a pitch-black pit toward the promise of someone waiting at the bottom, only to find out there was no one waiting for me to begin with. That I threw myself off for nothing. And that Dad was right.

He’s right. He’s right. He’s right.

No. I squeeze my eyes shut against the intrusive words.

“Everything okay?”

My eyes pop back open to find Cole from accounting staring at me like he wishes he didn’t ask me that question. I smile, wishing my face weren’t so warm.

“Yeah, I’m good. What can I do for you?”

He hands over a folder, looking more than a little relieved. “Can you make sure Owen gets this report when he gets back?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the day is pretty much a repeat of this exchange. Me getting too deep in my head only to be awkwardly pulled out of it again by this or that. Time drags with a painful slowness. Eventually, the calls from my dad stop, and my phone is devoid of all communication. I think maybe Owen will call after work, but I eat dinner and watch four episodes of Gilmore Girls without so much as a peep. I go to bed unreasonably grumpy.

The next day is a repeat of the first, only now, instead of being distracted and worried, I’m also getting angry. My temper boils beneath the surface of every interaction, a defense mechanism I haven’t used since I was a teenager. It’s better than bursting into tears though.

Again, Kiera tries to get me to open up to her, but I brush her off. Even Summer has a go at me with no success.

I’m this close to breaking down and looking up Shane’s number in the company directory, calling him, and demanding to know why his business partner has been ghosting me, but a shred of pride keeps me from pulling the trigger.

At the end of the day, as people are leaving the office and packing up, I check my phone for the millionth time. Nothing. I grab my purse a little too forcefully and knock over the little cup on my desk that holds paper clips. A hundred tiny, metal clips scatter to the floor. I glance up, hoping someone might come to my rescue and help me pick them up, but at least two-thirds of the office is already gone, including Kiera and Summer, so I drop to the floor to retrieve them by myself. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I refuse to let them.

Tonight is definitely going to be an ice cream night. A big bowl of chocolate peanut butter Tillamook. I might even go wild and dump half a bottle of chocolate sauce on top. Who’s going to stop me?

No one.

Because I have no one.

And no one—

The elevator doors ding, and a silence comes over the office. I’m behind my desk, still picking up the stupid paper clips, but I notice it immediately. Then, two sets of footsteps pierce the air, somehow familiar. One set sounds an awful lot like stiletto gunshots. The other, expensive men’s shoes.

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