Page 11 of Exit Lane
Teddy
I try to be subtle as I crane my neck up at the imposing Union Square office building, but I let myself linger long enough to be anything but. Maybe taking stock right now will help settle me. It’s my first day at FourVC, a company my dad keeps referring to as ThreeVC. The whole thing happened fast. They needed in-house counsel. A recruiter reached out, and soon I had an offer. Cue me on the phone with Carter: “I never thought I’d make even half of this salary at any point in my life, Cart.”
“I love this news.” There’s a long pause, long enough to make me question if our connection dropped. “Not to make it weird, but isn’t that where Marin works?” His relationship with Sloane had transitioned from epistolary into a full-fledged long-distance romance. Which means he knows the contours of Marin’s life—and probably more—though we avoid acknowledging that most of the time.
“It’s a big company. And I’m sure she’ll be too busy yelling at an intern from her corner office to even notice.” I try to play it like I haven’t done thorough LinkedIn stalking, hadn’t thought about reaching out to her when I got the job. But given how many years we’ve technically known eachother—five—and how many interactions we’ve technically had—two—I decided to respect that she doesn’t want to hear from me. She’s made it abundantly clear. I’ll be the droning lawyer reminding her annually about statutory best practices via company-wide emails she probably won’t even open.
Sitting in the impeccably sterile lobby, I bury my Marin nerves under my new-job nerves until a friendly receptionist guides me to my desk. The views from the window I face are impressive, but not enough to stop me from scanning the office for her. I hope my curiosity reads as if I’m actively taking in my new surroundings, and I hope the disappointment I feel at her apparent absence doesn’t show. People start clearing out around six, and I finally work up the nerve to ask about her.Just to know, I tell myself as I approach the receptionist typing away at his desktop. It’s strange—creepy, even—not to say hi.
“Hey, Jesse, right? So I wonder if, um... Marin Voss works here, right?”
Jesse smiles, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.
“She relocated to Copenhagen last year to be closer to a couple of her portfolio companies. Was it last year? Had to have been. But she’s back in the office all the time. Want me to see if I can put a virtual coffee on her calendar?”
“No, no, but thanks, Jesse.” Defeated, and maybe a little relieved, I pack my bag and mentally catalog my to-dos for the evening. Call back my dad’s doctor, the one he saw when he dealt with a bout of skin cancer a few years ago, and get a referral. Respond to a text from Caroline, my girlfriend of eight months, to confirm plans for tomorrow. MostSaturdays, I drop her off at the train before she teaches a half day of hot yoga, I go for a run and get in some work, and we reconvene over wings under a big-screen TV. Caroline and I met at Josie’s on a Saturday afternoon when I pretended to care about Georgia football to get her to talk to me. It worked. And since then, we barely miss a game. Even though I still only know the names of half of the players.
At twenty-seven, most of my friends in Iowa have purchased homes with multiple garages for their multiple offspring, but in New York, with a place of my own and a medium-term girlfriend, I feel right on track.
The sex is hot. Caroline’s friends are cool. Everything’s going to plan at my big lawyer job with my big lawyer salary. When I accepted the new role, I told myself that after a few years, I’ll probably be able to swing something remote—make my Iowa homecoming happen, but with a New York paycheck. It should feel more satisfying than it does. I add a new item to my mental checklist: Get comfortable with the reality that running into Marin won’t, in fact, be a perk of this job.
Marin
I don’t think I’ve ever blushed before on a video call, but I do when the firm’s managing partner introduces us. So does Teddy. “Marin, he went to Iowa, too. Small world. I’ll connect you two over email.” My breath is stuck somewhere inmy throat, and I forget to unmute before I respond. “Sounds great. Hi, Teddy.” Just as the next new hire is announced, my computer pings with a message. “Maybe it would have been smarter to bet on us never becoming colleagues?” It’s like my body is back at Envy’s Pub and his hand is tugging at my shirt, cementing a wager that felt more like a dare. Before I can reply, he writes again. “Take it easy on me. It’s clear everyone here is as scared of you as I am.” Then another message. “In a good way. Should I stop? I’m stopping.”
Seeing his face, even thousands of miles away, recenters me. He’s charming, poised, commanding—and trying to keep from laughing at his own notes to me during a company-wide Zoom. Maybe he can be a work crush. I mull the idea. Off-limits but just as much a part of office culture as P&L statements and annual reviews. A way to bring a little excitement and levity to an unending stream of serious meetings. I’ve never known how to safely categorize him, and perhaps this is his rightful place.
We start messaging throughout the day under the guise of seeking each other out for advice. Legal issues for me, internal office politics for him. One Friday, he asks out of the blue, “What does Gabby think about Copenhagen?” I’m making myself a cup of tea and write back immediately as the kettle screeches. “There’s no Gabby. That’s part of why I took the offer. I’m in the city at least once a month, but in the meantime, there was no one worth staying for—seemed like the right time to try something new.”
“I thought New York was enough to keep you forever,” he responds. Until very recently I thought the same.
After a few weeks of back-and-forth, there’s too much to say during work hours, even if we straddle mine in Denmark and his in America. One night, after making a lengthy pros and cons list in my journal, I send an email with only a phone number in the body and the subject line “Colleagues, not friends.”
That email led to a Saturday ritual we both refuse to acknowledge as one. Sometime after he sees Caroline off to hot yoga, Teddy dials my number and posts up at a park with his cold brew. I always wait four rings before picking up.
“Mar, you’re not going to believe it.” I’m chopping peppers for a gazpacho I’m pairing with my other big plan for the night: aSex and the Cityseason six rewatch in my pajamas. I picture Teddy somewhere on the Lower East Side, his face to the sun and his arms spread against the back of a bench. But the image is hazy. I haven’t seen him below the neck since karaoke two years ago.
“Breaking news?” I ask as I open my cabinets, searching for a bowl to sweep my vegetables into. My storage space has doubled since I left New York, but most of it sits empty. Part of my relocation package from FourVC included a space of my choosing. As the youngest principal, and one of the only ones without kids and a mortgage, I was the obvious choice for a few years abroad. I surprised myself by warming to the idea almost immediately. As much as I love New York City, something about it, or who I was there, started feeling hollow to me. Things are different in Denmark. Here, in this light-wood palace with its sparseart, I realize how little time I spent at home before. That I prefer the solitude of an unfamiliar place to the loneliness of not recognizing myself in a familiar one.
“Ok, so—”
I cut him off, needling him. “Don’t you want to ask me about my day? See what I got up to last night? Aren’t you curious if I went out with anyone gorgeous?”
Teddy pauses. “Marin, I know exactly what you did last night. You logged off four hours later than you should have. You ate stovetop popcorn for dinner and took one of your ‘cigarette walks’ through the King’s Garden before it closed at ten and came home to enjoy a massive bottle of mineral water and British home tours on YouTube.”
I smile but refuse to validate this with a laugh. “Fair enough. Go on.”
“Ok, so it’s about Caroline.” My spine straightens, and I try to stay focused on the tomatoes on my cutting board. I know her basic bio, but most of the time, she’s a topic we skip over. “And I have to tell someone, and Carter is on a flight to see Sloane right now.”I’m his call after Carter.My cheeks warm.
“We said ‘I love you.’”
I set my knife down, taken aback by my own jealousy and sort of shocked by how it makes my face heat in a different way. “Of course she loves you. Didn’t you make her a key to your apartment?” I try to be flip, to convince myself that both he and I already knew this to be true.
“Can we still acknowledge that this is a big deal?”
“I just think a fabricated sports alliance is a weird footto start a relationship on, that’s all.” I peel the cucumbers, wondering why I care at all.
“Ok, OK, forget I said anything. You are quite the relationship expert.” He teases playfully, but I can’t help the residual sting.
