Page 78 of Glass Half Full
“You understand why I’m so concerned, right? If you’d both come to me and told me you were dating, I would have been open to finding a solution. We’re adults and professionals, and I trust the two of you enough that I think we could have found a way to make it work, but she quit. She quit, and I need to know why. I need to know if there’s anything else I should do about it.”
Fuck.
I let out a sigh.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Dylan?” Monroe prompts. “This isn’t, um, super encouraging.”
I force myself to look up at her. “Sorry, I just...Fuck, I never wanted her to quit. This job means so much to her.”
Monroe nods. “I could tell. Now listen to me. This is not an inquisition, okay? That’s why I asked you to meet me here instead of the office. I’m not just asking you as your boss. I’m asking as someone who genuinely cares about you and wants this to turn out as best as possible for everyone involved. So, what happened between you and Renee?”
I brace myself with a sip of espresso and search for a starting point. Monroe is right; she needs to know.
“We...developed feelings for each other,” I admit. “I kept it under control for a while. I knew she was off limits. I really didn’t think it would affect things at the bar. That was naive.”
Monroe raises her shoulders an inch and tilts her head in a ‘ya think?’ gesture.
“Part of me could tell she felt something too, but I tried to ignore it. Then at the reopening...She was in a bad place. She neededsomeone, and I couldn’t not help her. I care about her so fucking much, Monroe. Even if I never got the chance to be more than a friend to her, I would have felt lucky. The things she’s gone through, the way she’s overcome them, she’s just...incredible.”
Monroe smiles, her eyes lighting with a bittersweet kind of sympathy, and rests her hand on my arm for a moment before she speaks. “So...at the reopening?”
“At the reopening, we...we ended up kissing.” It feels weird to admit it; it’s not like Monroe and I dish about dates or anything, but I know it’s important for her to be aware of what happened. “After that, we knew we couldn’t pretend there was nothing between us anymore, but we also weren’t ready to announce it to everyone, so we backed off. We cooled things down and took it slow. We met up for some coffee dates, got to know each other better, then one day...I just realized, like, how the fuck could I think I’d be good for her? Here I am, continuously screwing up the first real position of responsibility I’ve had since...since jail, and here’s this fucking miracle of a woman who has so many good things ahead of her, and I’m just destroying her chance to have them. She shouldn’t date someone with a record. She shouldn’t have to worry about that. So I ended it. I told her I couldn’t do it, that she deserved so much more, and she quit. That’s what happened between us.”
“Dylan.” Monroe reaches for my arm again. “I know you’re the poet here, but don’t you think ‘destroy’ is a pretty strong word?”
I think about it before shaking my head. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. I do know my past isn’t ever going to stop popping up in my present, and it’s not a past I want to force on anyone else.”
Monroe sighs and grabs her coffee, taking several long pulls like she’s going to need caffeine to get her through whatever she says next.
“Dylan, you can’tforcesomething on someone if they’re willing to accept it, if they’reaskingyou to give it to them.” She pauses to let that sink in. “I don’t know exactly what happened to you when you were nineteen, but I’ve never based my judgement of your character on things you did when you were barely more than a teenager—not when I hired you, not when I promoted you, not in the almost four years I’ve had you as a member of my staff. When you first told me about your record, you spoke like someone who owned his mistakes, who learned from them, who was willing to prove they didn’t define him. That, above all else, is what made me take you on at the bar, and you didn’t let me down. The only time I’ve seen you let your past affect you is since you took the manager job. You doubt yourself. You measure yourself. You think you’re not enough. Why is that?”
She asks the question in the same tone I used to give poetry prompts at my workshops: the tone that invites you to pause, to look deep, to find the answer behind the answer.
No small talk.
“I don’t want to let people down again,” I admit. “I’m fucking terrified of being a disappointment.”
“Dylan, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to forget I’m your boss for a second while you answer. Do you honestly enjoy being a manager?”
I can’t help letting out a chuckle. “You know, you’re not the first person to ask me that.”
“Maybe I should have asked you sooner,” she admits.
“Here’s the thing. I...I think part of what I’ve liked so much about Taverne Toulouse is that it feels safe. It’s a home. It’s a haven. I think pretty much everyone who walks in the door feels that way, to some extent. It’s a place you can recharge, and maybe I’m...” The thought crosses my mind for the very first time as I speak it. “Maybe I’m done recharging.”
Monroe nods like the idea is much less new to her than it is to me. I swear this woman must have lived a past life as some sort of mystical sage.
“But that’s fucking terrifying,” I explain. “I’m an ex-convict. I should feel lucky just to have a job. I should feel lucky to have this stability. I shouldn’t be ready to throw it all away. I took the manager job thinking it was the right step for me, that it was what people expected of me and that because of that, it was what I should do.”
Just like Renee going to England.
I’ve never seen that parallel in our situations before, but it hits me now. She trusted other people’s expectations and aspirations more than she trusted herself.
“So I fucked up,” I continue. “I took a job I should never have taken because I didn’t want to let people down, and then I let them down anyway. I let you down. I...I let Renee down.”
Monroe picks up her coffee and chugs the rest of it down.
