Page 52 of The Moon Also Rises
So why am I still so completely and utterly pissed off with him and with my life?
So pissed off I whisper “Fuck it” to myself and promise myself an hour’s online shopping later plus my favourite take-away for dinner tonight, because that will make me feel a lot better than a stupid spreadsheet or budget that I’ll never stick to.
Chapter Fifteen
Rami
It’s Wednesday and my first day in the office this week. The last two days I was up in Northumberland meeting most of our North of England staff and getting three of our venues ready for a food festival happening this weekend that I fortunately don’t need to be in attendance for.
Nerves simmer inside my stomach as I walk down the corridor to Jake’s office. At her desk, Sharon looks up as I approach.
“Good morning,” she says. “Good to see you, Rami.”
“And you, Sharon,” I say. Setting down the cardboard cup holder the I down the road gave me, I pull out her extra hot flat white and set it down on her desk. “Here you go.”
“Oh, I have missed you. And not just for the free coffee. I’ve missed being greeted by a human who smiles.”
“Oh dear. Has Jake had a hard few days?”
She nods. “I don’t know what exactly has got his knickers in a twist but there’s an absolute gut-tickling knot in his panties that’s been making him all sorts of grumpy the last few days.”
“Well, hopefully, the coffee will help,” I say after clearing my throat.
“He’s on his way now so let’s hope it doesn’t go cold.” Sharon winks with me conspiratorially before I open the door to the office.
Once inside, I quickly see something that makes me feel even more on edge than I was a moment ago. The table I use as a desk is full, covered with piles of various sizes consisting of papers, magazines, unopened mail and even one stack of receipts. It’s how the table looked on my first day. It’s what the table would look like if I didn’t work here. It’s how Jakewantshis office to look.
My shoulders sink as I take the scene in and then I set my laptop bag and the remaining two coffees on top of it on a chair. Despondency washes over me as I set about picking up piles of magazines – a mix of travel-zines and editions ofElle DécorandHomes & Gardens– and I combine them in a tall tower in one corner of the desk. Turning to then consider which stack of papers I could move on top of them, I am closer to the table than I realise and I end up knocking the tower of magazines over.
“Shit,” I hiss and then drop to the ground to pick them up.
While I’m doing so, I decide to organise them a bit better, so I create stacks for each kind of magazine and then set about putting them in chronological order too. It’s almost unstoppable, this urge to organise, and I spend only a passing moment considering how much more energy I have for organising someone else’s belongings than I do my own. I flinch when I think of the mountain of boxes that contain my records at home.Home.It’s not home. It’s an apartment I bought so I had somewhere to sleep in London.
One day I’ll make it home. One day I’ll organise my records properly. One day I’ll feel like I belong there. Or somewhere.
Halfway through my task I get distracted by a magazine that has a feature on Sydney, one of my favourite cities in the world. I always loved playing there and have fond memories of a New Year’s Eve I DJed before I won my first Grammy and experienced a new level of fame. I played all the songs I wanted, free from any expectations or restrictions. It feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe I’ll go back and visit one day.
I’m flicking through the magazine and reliving some good memories when Jake bursts in. At first, he doesn’t see me and he takes a few steps into the space, meaning, when he does stop and see me, I’m on my knees, my backside resting on my heels. And Jake – or specifically Jake’s crotch – is exactly at my eye level and close enough I can read the designer’s name on his belt buckle.
“Morning, Jake,” I say as I lift my eyes to look into his.
He blinks at me and I see a quick succession of expressions land on his face. First there’s surprise, secondly, an amused, curious gaze, and finally, a cooler, sharper stare. But then that gets washed away when he promptly sneezes, loudly.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asks with a sniff.
I hold up the magazine and then point at the piles. “Organising.”
“But… why?”
“I dropped them when I was trying to clear a bit of space and well, when I was picking them up I had the urge to organise. I’m a bit Type A in that respect.”
“Type A?” Jake sniffs again. I wish I had a tissue to offer him.
“I guess that’s a California-ism.” I shrug and put the magazine on the right pile. “Type A personality. I like to be organised. Among other things.”
With a quick shake of his head, Jake looks at the table. “I suppose it got a bit cluttered again.”
“Yeah. It was almost like you wanted to tell me something,” I say in a quiet voice.
