Page 3 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
Chapter 2
It’s a relief to get back to my normal routine. It’s not like I love my job, but I appreciate the structure of having a nine-to-five that allows for me to work from the comfort of my home and with minimum human interaction. Also, I just appreciate that Ihavea job. Something I’ll never take for granted again.
Monday morning, my alarm goes off at seven fifteen. I change into some leggings and a cropped tank, unroll my yoga mat in the middle of my living room, and flow through my virtual yoga class. I’ve been doing the same class for two years now. They play pop music and I get to work up a little sweat first thing in the morning.
After a quick shower, I scrunch mousse into my hair and put on enough makeup to make me look presentable on Zoom. I make a peach spinach smoothie in the Vitamix blender I got for an insane deal at Goodwill, and an oat milk latte with the Nespresso machine Maeve got me last Hanukkah. The day passes in a comfortingly familiar blur. Emails, Slack messages, and a couple of meetings—making it two too many meetings, in my opinion. I only hit a snag near the end of the workday, during my one-on-one with my manager, Kat.
Kat’s face dominates my screen, her expertly highlighted hair flipped over one shoulder, delicate lines etched around her eyes and between her brows. She fiddles with her clear-framed blue light glasses as I fill her in on my trip.
“I’m so sorry, again,” she says while staring into the screen.
My mind spins, hopelessly trying to think of a work topic to change the subject to. But Kat beats me there, allowing me to escape from the awkwardness.
“So, listen, Mallory. Something came up earlier in my meeting with Dominic. He pointed out that your last status report was formatted incorrectly. Not a big deal, but you know we have a goal this year to provide consistent status reports across the org.”
My heart skips unpleasantly.Really, Dominic? Throwing me under the bus to our manager?But, God, he was probably right. I always mess up something or other. One week I forget to communicate a deadline to an engineering manager, the next week I mess up on status reports. No wonder I haven’t been promoted yet.
Kat has already moved on to another topic, and I feign listening as I pull up the status report in question and compare it to Dominic’s. He’s right, they’re not the same format. But I do these every week—I must have had a brain fart, I guess.
“Is there anything else you wanted to chat about today?” Kat glances down at her phone.
“No.” I’m still flustered. “I think that’s it. Sorry about the goof, by the way. Won’t happen again.”
“No worries. Talk to you later, Mallory.” She leaves the meeting, and for a moment I’m just staring at my red face on the screen.
I never react well to making mistakes at work. It triggers some sort of impostor syndrome in me. I scroll through my emails from last week, and then I see it. There had been a whole email chain with some of the engineering managers about what they would prefer to see in the status reports. Another project manager on my team, Andi, had come up with the new format. I didn’t have a brain fart.
I click over to Slack and start typing a message to Kat: “Hey, soregarding the status report…” And then Kat’s status changes to a little bubble that says: “In meetings for the rest of the day.”
I delete my message. I can tell her later. It’s fine.
By five thirty, I’m so ready for my walk. In true millennial fashion, I’ve dubbed it my Mental Health Walk, and it has lived up to its name. I started taking a daily walk when my gym closed during the pandemic. It helps me transition from work mode to relaxing mode at the end of the day.
I do my usual loop around my hilly, tree-lined neighborhood. Truth be told, this isn’t technically my neighborhood—it’s ritzy Upper Queen Anne, the quiet streets full of stately single-family homes, homes full of people who, I assume, are better at life than I am. I have to huff up a big hill to get here. I could walk around my own neighborhood, but instead of lush trees and well-tended gardens, it’s full of tourists and people camping under bus stops.
There’s a new episode of my favorite podcast,Elementary, so I listen to that as I walk. It’s hosted by two elementary school teachers—one current, one former—who chat about TV shows and dating and life. They have a core of dedicated listeners who’ve bonded in the comments, where we chat about the episodes and tangentially related topics, like which face cream to buy and the latest shows to stream. It’s like having a group of like-minded friends—something I haven’t felt in a long time. I know that sounds pathetic, but it’s true.
As I walk under a row of blossoming pink-and-white cherry trees, a fellow walker passes by in the opposite direction. She’s a bit older than I am, bundled up in a black down coat despite the mild evening, also listening to something on her earbuds. I give her the requisite Seattle greeting: a tight-lipped nod. I accidentally do a weird, noncommittal form of eye contact where I briefly glance at her face and let my gaze slide away just as her eyes meet mine. She surprises me by murmuring a barely audible “hello.”
We walk past each other every day.
For dinner, I heat up a frozen pizza and toss together some spring greens and vinaigrette. I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to the status report incident. It’s like a bruise that I keep poking just to see if it still hurts. I don’t know what’s worse: the idea of my manager and co-worker discussing my mistake behind my back, or the fact that I accepted the reprimand without question. Someday, perhaps, I’ll grow a backbone. But today I’ll carry on being my nonconfrontational self. I’ll message Andi tomorrow and ask her to remind the team about the new status report format. That way, Kat and Dominic will realize that I was right and I won’t have to say anything.
I take my dinner—and a generous glass of red wine—to the couch, where I spend the next two hours watchingOutlander. Is there anything in this world better than living vicariously through Claire Fraser? If I could give up twenty-first-century comforts in exchange for loving a man like Jamie, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Well… I glance around my cozy, dimly lit apartment, from the glowing Anthropologie candle burning on my coffee table to my beloved gadgets charging on the console table against the wall—my iPhone, Kindle, and MacBook. Maybe it would take me longer than a heartbeat to leave these comforts behind. But still, I get it. Jamie Fraser is the man we all deserve.
Around ten, I draw a bath, dumping in a capful of lavender-scented bubbles and a sprinkle of Epsom salts. I’m feeling pleasantly loose from the wine and can’t wait to sink into the hot water with the novel I’m reading.
Just as I’m dipping a toe into the bathwater, my phone buzzes on the counter. It’s probably Maeve sending the latest photos of baby Adam. I glance quickly at my messages, my skin pimpling in the chilly bathroom. It’s not from my sister. It’s from my ex.Crap.
I haven’t heard from him in months. I almost delete it without reading it, but curiosity gets the better of me.
I’ve been thinking of you, Mallory. If you’re comfortable, I’d love to get a cup of coffee sometime. Let me know what you think.
I stand there stark naked, re-reading the message three, four times. If I’m comfortable.If I’m comfortable.My stomach clenches. I was comfortable a minute ago. I was perfect. In my element. And now? Extremely uncomfortable. Irritating memories threaten to swoop in and ruin my relaxation time.
If I don’t think about him, the memories don’t plague me. I’ve grown to be pretty good at living in the moment, appreciating each day for what it is. I let my thumb hover over theBLOCK CONTACTbutton. But I can’t seem to block him. I just won’t respond.
My bath is shorter than usual; I can’t focus on my book. I do my skin-care routine and pull on my pajamas. As I’m closing my pajama drawer, I catch sight of my bright-purple vibrator. I’d usually be in the mood after two hours of Jamie Fraser, but I’m unsettled now, after the text message.Shake it off, Mallory.And I will; I always do. I leave Big Purple where she is, shut the drawer, and turn off the light.
