Page 100 of Guy's Girl
“Say yes.” Lawrence thumbs the edge of his laptop screen. “It’s obvious to everyone on the team how passionate you are about your job. I want to foster that passion. I want you to have a long, fruitful career at Disney.” He smiles. “We’re lucky to have you.”
“I’m—” Adrian shakes his head. “Thank you, sir.”
“Good man.” Lawrence reopens his laptop. “Now get out—I have a Serbian streaming crisis to manage.”
Adrian grins. “Yes, sir.” He stands and walks out of the conference room.
On the way back to his desk, several of his colleagues stop to congratulate him, slapping him on the shoulder and saying it’s well deserved. Apparently, everyone knew he was getting promoted except Adrian.
He reaches his desk and sits, stretching his legs out until they almost pop out the other side. He opens his laptop. The welcome screen glows warm and bright.
This is it. This is what he waited for, why he worked his ass off for a year straight.Lead dissemination strategy.He would have a real say in what content was brought to countries like Hungary. What kids like himself would watch from the floor of their grandparents’ living rooms.
He should be thrilled. He should be high on his own success.
He isn’t.
He’s plagued by that same feeling that has haunted him since the moment he returned from Budapest—the sensation that he is missing something he cannot put his finger on. A part of him wonders if this is a common feeling. If inexplicable emptiness is just a side effect of being alive.
Another part of him wonders if it has to do with Ginny.
That would be the logical explanation, right? Girl disappears, hole opens in chest. But Adrian has never been like that. He made sure long ago that his own happiness would never rely upon the absence or presence of another human being. He is independent, a fully self-sustaining ecosystem.
And, besides—he knows he made the right decision by breaking things off with Ginny before they ever really got off the ground. She deserves someone who is fully committed to the idea of a relationship. Someone who is unafraid.
By now, Adrian has sat before his laptop for so long that the screen went dark. He shakes the mouse. He enters his password, six letters long, and the welcome screen disappears, revealing a desktop cluttered with work programs: Excel, Outlook, Word, Microsoft Teams. He ignores all these windows, instead opening a browser and, with a quick glance over his shoulder, typingwww.instagram.com.
When the home page loads, the first thing he sees are all the circles at the top of the screen. Each one is attached to a specific user. Beneath the very first circle is the username@ginmurph. Adrian moves the mouse to hover over the circle. After a few seconds, he clicks it.
A photograph pops up on screen. A screenshot, actually. An airplane ticket with service from JFK to Detroit International Airport. Atop the ticket, Ginny has written with white text:See ya later NYC.
Adrian stares at the screenshot for a long time. He holds down with his mouse on the picture to keep it from disappearing. His eyes linger over the time and date: 9 p.m., Friday.
Tonight.
His breathing becomes shallow. The screen blurs slightly before him. He knew this was coming. He didn’t knowwhen, butstill. The idea of Ginny leaving New York should not send him into a panic.
But it does.
Somewhat erratically, Adrian closes the browser and clicks into Excel. He scrolls through the data he’s already begun to compile about Disney+ usage in Romania. His eyes skim over the percentages. When he reaches the bottom, his mouse drifts down to hover over the icon for Microsoft Word.
He thinks about Ginny, unemployed and in recovery. He wonders if she’s still writing. He wonders if she’ll copy any of it over to her computer. If she’ll send it out for others to see.
He hopes she will.
Tonight, Ginny flies home. To her Michigan home, anyway.
Her day is busy. There are bags to pack, therapy sessions to attend, Heather and Tristan to keep from tearing each other’s heads off. Her day is so busy, in fact, that it isn’t until 4 p.m. that she’s finally able to open her notebook and complete the writing prompt assigned by her therapist.
Today’s prompt: write down a few things you love about your life. The purpose of this one is obvious, she thinks as she clicks open her pen—to remind herself of the happiness that exists outside her eating disorder.
She begins to write.
I love my family. I love my friends. I love this little home, where I live with my friends. I love my little room, big enough only for a bed and a desk and a tiny window. I love our little kitchen and the boxes of cereal pushed up against the wall, and the bathroom whose fan is too loud, and the couch that takes up the entire living room. I am sad. I am always sad. But, sometimes, it’s possible to be sad and still be glad you’re alive.
An hour later, Ginny walks out of the bathroom holding her toothbrush and a plastic baggie. She starts to call out to Heather. “What time did you say we need to catch the ca—” she starts, but cuts off when she sees her sister standing over her desk, holding her notebook.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She walks over and tries to snatch thenotebook out of her sister’s hands. “Keep your nose out of my stuff.”
