Page 82 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

The Only Explanation, Aside from a Lobotomy

It’s impossible to concentrate at work now that I know Adam biblically.

This weekend has upended my life, and yet, I’m still expected to return emails and follow up on ongoing projects. Monday, I catch Daniella on her way to lunch cardio and volunteer to go to Duluth more often if necessary. She doesn’t bite, instead asking whether I’ve decided to accept the new position. I respond with a noncommittal combination of a nod and head shake, until I’m saved by the arrival of the elevator that she marches into. Tuesday, I hum along to lobby music like a lovesick lunatic.

By Wednesday, I’m fantasy shopping for RVs after reading an article about the life-changing experience a cancer survivor had while traveling America. Once I find her blog post about a fecal plumbing mishap, though, I quit browsing Winnebagos and stare at my silent phone in anticipation.

“Why’s your face like that? Are you sick?” Patty asks me from her neighboring desk. I’ve spent the last three days staring down at my hidden cell phone screen, alternating between grinning at my messages and grimacing at the lack of his instantaneous response, deciding Adam must hate me because I’ve used the wrong Schitt’s Creek GIF. To her credit, my face must read a bit like food poisoning.

“It’s her boyfriend,” Josh says for me.

“No, Joshua. Her boyfriend’s…” The hard line of her lips might as well be a strip of duct tape with the word dead scrawled in Sharpie.

“No. The new one,” Josh says past me—like my desk isn’t the middle piece in our U-shaped configuration. “She’s checking her phone obsessively. She gave Kyle the last sparkling water at the team meeting. She even changed her email sign-off to ‘Cheers’ with an exclamation point. There’s only one explanation—aside from a lobotomy.”

“Oh! That’s wonderful. How long?” Patty asks Josh. I may as well not be here.

“Sometime this weekend. Definitely before the Monday stand-up meeting. But it’s been ramping up for a while.”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” I say in protest, because Adam and I never defined anything.

Patty, using gossip as an excuse for a break, pops open a bag of vending-machine mixed nuts. “Is that why you haven’t decided about the job? You’re worried how it would affect your new relationship?”

“What? That’s not—” Poorly timed, my phone buzzes violently.

Patty beams. “Oh, it’s him!”

Josh flashes a self-satisfied smirk.

“It’s my mom,” I say truthfully, flashing her “Happy Thanksgiving” message out to the room.

“It’s Wednesday. Thanksgiving’s tomorrow.” Josh’s tone is soaked in suspicion, as though even calendars support his hypothesis.

I shoot her back a smiley face, and then spot a missed text from Adam.

Josh ceases typing to point at my pink-cheeked grin. “See. That’s the look.”

“I’ve earned a free cookie from Panera, Josh. That’s all.”

Josh grimaces. “Whenever you get excited about your Panera rewards, I feel so sad for you.”

Patty tsks. “Let her have her cookie, Joshua.”

3:47 PM

Adam:

Where are you right now?

3:52 PM

Alison:

Work.

3:54 PM

Adam:

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