Page 122 of Fun Together
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who said I was a dolphin.”
We’re quiet again and I hear the distant rumbling of thunder, a summer storm getting ready to blow through. I keep waiting for him to tell me what he’s thinking. I keep waiting to have the courage to tell him anything myself. But I know I won’t.
This drive has felt like a slow, silent goodbye.
Eli pulls in front of my apartment building. He doesn’t move to open his door and instead turns toward me. “Okay if I just drop you off?”
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
I get out and we don’t say goodbye to each other. He stays parked on the street until he sees me make it to my door.
40
Faye
I getthe email at eight o’clock on Monday morning.
We appreciate your interest . . . Have decided to go in another direction . . . Wish you luck . . .
I didn’t get the job.
I sit with this news for a second, and honestly, after how that interview went, despite Eli’s certainty that I would get it, I’m not surprised. It doesn’t make the disappointment any easier, though. I wonder if this was the news Eli was hesitant to tell me. That would make sense. That would also make things much easier—if me not getting the job was our biggest hurdle to overcome.
I’m half tempted to conjure up a fake sickness just to avoid the weekly Monday morning meeting. It wouldn’t even really be that fake, that’s how terrible I feel. I didn’t sleep at all last night, tossing and turning, wondering if Eli was okay. We haven’t talked or texted since Saturday night.
He’s become the bright spot I looked forward to on my Monday mornings, and I dread going into this meeting with the weight of the weekend on my shoulders.
I’m tempted to head for the elevator and go straight home to bed, but I find my feet following the familiar geometric-patterned carpet into the large conference room. For the first time in five years, I’m one of the last people to arrive. I take a seat in the back corner.
My eyes are immediately drawn to Eli, the back of his head visible over the others. He’s sitting toward the front, and I watch him quietly say something to the person sitting next to him, giving me a view of the side of his face. He’s smiling and looking like his usual carefree self. Is this just a façade he’s wearing today? Is he hurting as much as I’m hurting? A sick part of me hopes so, because when I look at him, all I feel is hunger—deep, like I haven’t eaten all day and my stomach is eating itself.
The meeting starts with its usual mundanity, updates from sales, updates from product, but I don’t even listen. All I can do is watch Eli, searching for any signs that he’s not okay. I analyze every minuscule movement he makes. He scratches his chin. He sits up in his seat. He laughs at a dumb joke the CFO makes because he can’t stand for anyone to feel uncomfortable. I think what I’m actually doing is collecting these images so I can file them away as something I can pull out on a rainy day, like an old photo album.
Don’t forget him. Don’t forget how great he is.
As soon as the meeting ends, I head straight for the exit, needing to be alone. I get back to the illusion of privacy within my cubicle and my phone lights up with a text.
Eli: Can we talk?
The duck pond is eerilyquiet today.
The sun’s tucked itself in behind the clouds, casting the whole scene in a gray haze. I’m standing just behind a clump of tall grass that grows along the water’s edge. It’s itchy against my ankles and feet, but I don’t move.
I hear Eli coming down the path, grass whispering against his legs. His footsteps stop just before reaching me.
I turn around. “Hi.”
He puts his hands in his pockets. “Hi.”
As he continues walking toward me, I feel an ache start to bloom in my chest. The conversation we’re about to have is not going to be fun at all.
“I got an email about the job this morning.”
His eyes go wide before he looks down at his feet, shaking his head. “Shit, I asked them to let me tell you. Every time I tried to bring it up, I just—I’m so sorry.”
I turn back to look out over the water. “Was it because I didn’t send them a thank you email?” I joke, and it’s hollow.
