Page 23 of Give My Everything
“Nah, it’s just something I…need to handle by myself. But thank you. I appreciate it.”
I take a moment to sip my beer before redirecting to Logan.
“What’s your deal, though? I thought you were going to relish life in Washington. The Seattle weather not agree with you?”
He lets out a laugh, though it isn’t really filled with any kind of humor.
“Something like that.”
There’s a long pause, and I start to wonder if I should say something in response.
“I moved because I got divorced.”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
It’s not that I want him to be going through something difficult, but divorce is something I’m familiar with since my parents went through it when I was in high school. At the very least, it’s something I’m comfortable talking about.
“That sucks, man. I’m sorry.”
Logan shakes his head. “I’m not.”
I laugh.
“Really, I’m not. It was the best decision, for both of us, but it feels like shit. It feels like a failure. Moving away felt right at the time, but now that I’m here, it feels like…” He trails off.
“Like running away,” I finish for him.
He doesn’t answer, and I know I hit the nail on the head.
“You know, there was a day not too long ago when I might have thought that was true,” I say, twisting my glass so it rotates within its own ring of condensation. “But that version of me was a lot younger and, truthfully, hadn’t experienced much of life yet.” I lift a shoulder. “Now, I’m a firm believer that you have to choose what you want and go after it, regardless of how it looks to other people.”
“Is that what you’ve done?” he asks.
I think it over, trying to figure out a way to give him an honest answer without telling him too much.
I settle on: “It’s what I’m trying to do. I know when I finally get where I want to be, when I get to that end goal I believe will make me happy, it won’t sit right with everyone. But I can’t allow my life to be dictated by what other people think.”
He bobs his head as if he understands. Part of me hopes he does understand, but another part hopes he doesn’t.
Because if he truly understood what I’m saying, I’m not so sure he’d want to accept my advice.
We shoot the shit for another hour, enjoying the sunset in the distance before Logan finally heads off back to his short-term rental unit. It’s a back house only a few blocks from me, though he declines a ride, saying the walk back will do him good.
The rest of my evening is spent plotting out the next quarter’s financials, setting up purchase orders, reviewing schedule processes, and organizing a new training to comply with upcoming changes to OSHA standards.
It’s the kind of shit I should be paying someone else to do but have hoarded all to myself, a way to pass the time as I try to get closer to the day when I can wrap all of this up and move on.
“You’re still here?”
I glance up at the doorway, my eyes bleary from staring at my computer screen for what feels like hours.
“Just finishing up,” I reply to Hamish, my floor and hiring manager.
“There’s a woman out front looking for you,” he says. “Looks familiar. Remmy?”
My brow furrows.
Why would Remmy come to visit me at work?
