Page 50 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

“Well,” I muttered. “Here we go again.”

I remembered how I’d only brought a few things to Seattle and bought many new things. The paintings hanging in my apartment – a vase, candles, books.

At first, I felt a pang, realizing I would leave it all behind. I'd been trying to build a life here, and now I abandoned that life. Then I realized it almost felt easier; I wasn't attached to the things in my apartment yet. I didn't have boxes of my belongings to pack up. I'd just take everything I'd brought with me in the first place, and all of it could fit inside my suitcase.

I spent the next few hours packing my suitcase. I felt beyond tired as if I’d reached a trance state where it didn’t matter what my body felt anymore. I felt numb, but the numbness was like an intoxication, stifling my feelings. I wasn’t ready to feel my feelings right now.

At two in the morning, I sat down to write my resignation letter. It was short, vague, and completely lacking an actual explanation. I knew I shouldn’t do it: it was a terrible career move. But I would instead work in a McDonalds for the next five years than step foot in that office again.

My office. I’d forgotten it. In my mentally-blurry state, I quickly ran through everything there. My sticky notes, tea bags, and knick-knacks are on my desk. My pens. Nothing I really needed. I scheduled my resignation email to send the following day at eight a.m.; then, I typed out an email to my landlord.

I wouldn’t have to sublet my apartment. I had enough saved to keep paying rent and live somewhere else as long as I got another job within a month. That would be a terrible waste of money, though. For a moment, the stupidity of what I was doing washed over me. I held still and then shook my head.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m losing a lot more than money right now.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

When I was ready to go, I just left. It was four-thirty in the morning. I’d drunk two cups of coffee and was wired on adrenaline; it was like I was wide awake. So, I added another stupid decision to my list and just left in the middle of the night without having eaten enough or gotten any sleep.

I put Potato in her carrier and loaded all her belongings and mine into my car. Then, with her carrier in the front seat next to me, I started to drive. Me, my cat, and my baby.

I went south. I didn’t even have a destination in mind. I just drove. I wanted to move along the coast as much as possible, keeping me to the west. The sun came up as I was driving along the shoreline. Pink and gold hues painted the horizon in a swath of glory. I glanced at it as often as possible while keeping a responsible eye on the road. The sight of it split me in two with a painful and exquisite ache. How could the world still be so beautiful when I would never see Ian again?

I drove for six hours. My adrenaline was like a drug, altering the way my body should have naturally responded. I felt as if coasting along on a plateau of mental haze – running as fast as I could from the thought of what I was leaving behind.

Finally, I became sleepy. I still didn't feel hungry but worn, like unravelling at the edges. I stopped at a gas station and bought a sandwich and a smoothie that tasted like there was no real fruit in it. I sat in the car and ate with my left hand, stroking Potato’s head with my right.

“You ready to sleep, bud?” I asked.

Potato looked at me with wide eyes. She was not happy about the car ride. But as I stroked her, she began to purr.

“We’re going to be okay,” I said. “We’ll start over somewhere else. Somewhere nice like California?”

I leaned my back against the seat and considered it. Why not? I was heading in that direction anyway.

“Get out of the rain and go to the sun,” I mumbled.

I got a room at a motel a few miles down the road. I didn’t even ask if cats were allowed; I just smuggled Potato inside my room after checking in. I fed her and set up her litter box. She kept meowing, as if protesting that we were in a place that smelled a little fun instead of back in her room at home.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said.

I was too tired to take a shower. I pulled down the blinds, closed the curtains, undressed, and crawled under the covers. I didn't even remember laying my head down on the pillow. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes. It felt like I had blinked - like I had only closed my eyes for a second – but then I reached for my phone and saw it was five pm.

“Wow,” I murmured, my throat froggy. I scrolled through my phone. No response from my landlord. No reaction from Huntington Skies.

“Do people think I’m joking?” I grumbled. “Look at me, you guys! I’m in Oregon!”

I had an impulse to check Ian’s Instagram. It was that same self-destructive itch I’d felt before, like picking at a scab.

“No,” I whispered and deleted the app from my phone. I could add it back when I had something good to post about.

I felt the mattress next to me shift. I whirled, startled; my imagination flashed images of rats or serial killers hiding under the bed. I saw Potato’s little round face blinking at me.

“Hey,” I whispered, not daring to move if she ran away. "I'm glad you're here."

She continued to stare at me, blinking every few seconds. I blinked back.

“You thought I was dead, didn’t you?” I asked her.

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