Page 117 of That Fake Feeling
Shehas to know it was me.Andthe only reason she’d say nothing is if she really never wants to hear from me again.
Ipush my chair back from the desk and put my feet up on it.There’sno point in pretendingI’mactually reading this proposal to develop some of our spelling toys inGerman.
Iroll my phone over and over in my hand.IfRosehasn’t said anything by now, she’s not going to say anything at all.Maybeit looked likeI’mtrying to buy her back and that’s just made her even more pissed off with me.
Fuck.I’vebeen such an ass.
Islam my feet onto the floor and pace over to the window.Itlooks out overMadisonSquarePark, where we saw the wedding party gathering for their photos on our way back fromLongIsland.
Forthe last few days, the park has been home to a display of sculptures.Well,Iknow now that they’re sculptures.Butonly after going down to look at them.Fromhere, and from almost every angle, each of them looks like a bunch of random shapes on wires.Butwhen you slowly walk around them, you eventually hit the exact spot where all the pieces line up to form the thing they’re supposed to be.
Oneof them creates a giant skull, one is a spaceship, another is a fairy tale castle.Myfavorite is the dog jumping to catch a ball.
Onestep out of alignment and they go back to being a jumble of stuff again.
Iguess everything depends on your perspective.
There’sa double knock on the door behind me, andSandywalks in carrying a plate.
“Noticedyou skipped lunch, soIthought you might want a snack.Ibaked some cinnamon raisin bread with the grandkids the other day.I’vetoasted some for you.”
Evenmy knotted stomach can’t ignore the mouthwatering aroma. “That’sthe best thing that’s happened to me for a couple of weeks.Thanks.”
Sheputs it on my desk. “AndIspread peanut butter on it for you.”Sheshakes her head as she walks toward the door. “Becauseyou’re the only person in the world strange enough to think cinnamon and peanut butter go together.”
Theback of my neck prickles as my heart rate picks up and my chest expands to make room for the extra pounding.
Ispin around to faceSandy.
“No,I’mnot.”Imarch over to her, grab her face, and slap a kiss on her forehead. “No,I’mfucking not.”
“Er, okay, sorry.Ijust, er…”
“Ifucking love you,Sandy.”
Igrab her toast, full of all of its cinnamony and peanut buttery goodness, take a giant bite, and squeeze past her to the door.
“Ihave to go now.ButwhenIget back, you’re getting a massive fucking raise.”
AsIjog along the hallway to the elevators,IcallWalker. “Hey.Areyou inNewYork?”
“Yeah,I’mjust helpingEmilyto—”
“Meetme atMax’soffice in fifteen.”
Ishove the rest of the most delicious toastI’veever tasted into my mouth asIjump into the elevator.
* * *
“Hey,Elliot.”
Myyounger brother is perched onMax’sassistant’s desk.
Hejumps off it like a kid caught doing something naughty by a teacher asImarch by.
“Hi,Iwas just helpingCharlottewith something.I’vewritten some new code for her planner system and—”
“Great.”Ipull openMax’sdoor.Mypulse hasn’t slowed one bit sinceIran out of my office, jumped in a cab, and got here. “Comewith me.”
