I blink twice in rapid succession.Tell me a little about yourself?There is not a single human on planet Earth who knows more about me than this boy. Well, man, now. I did no part of my growing up without him standing by as a witness. Of all the ways I imagined our first conversation going, this one never made the list.
“Tell me a little bit about yourself?”I repeat back to him, voice emphasizing what I think of the question.
It’s been two seconds since the interview began and I’ve already forgotten to behave like someone trying to get hired. Perhaps unprocessed grief, over this current situation and Lottie’s, beckons me to act the way I do. Because in a swift moment of poor decision-making, fueled by the disbelief that any of this is really happening, I decide to up the ante on his weird game of pretend. I can act equally as naive and unaware if that’s how he’d like to handle this.
I compose my face into a well-poised mask. The goal is manic pixie dream girl. The execution is probably more resentfully-bitter-immaturely-obsessed.
Regardless, I start, “Well, I was born and raised in Alberta, Canada. My parents have been happily married for thirty-five years. When it was time for college, I decided traveling the world would suit me a bit better instead, and now my travels have landed me here in Seabrook.” I smile with dead eyes, displaying as many teeth as possible. At his silence I continue, “This town issucha well-kept secret, huh? Better keep it upbefore the men in suits find it. If they saw how beautiful this hidden gem of a place is, they’d be marching in with their blueprints and drills in an instant!” My voice pitches up, saccharinely sweet, eyebrows tented in faux sincerity.
Declan’s face contorts slightly, but he manages to neutralize before anyone around us is able to recognize anything other than an ordinary interview taking place. That years of unspoken tension are being dug up in code. His gaze bores into my soul. He does not move an inch. I study his expression, trying to read if he’s perturbed at all, or if he’s been so thoroughly over me that this act won’t rile up an ounce of emotion. He clears his throat again.
“What three words would your closest friends use to describe you?” He keeps his head down, never looking up from the page in front of him.
“Hmm, my closest friends?” I repeat, as if I need clarification.
He nods once, lips pressed tightly together.
“Are we talking college friends? I made some great friends in college. Or— Oh, you mean high school? Or, no, sorry, you meant middle school?” I scrunch my brows in faux confusion. Picturing Roshi and Faye bowled over in howls of laughter when I tell this story later is the only thing getting me through.
Finally, I see his face give away the slightest twitch. I’m annoying him. His mask is slipping. “Any. Any friends. It doesn’t matter.”
“Alright then. If I had to guess, they would probably call me loyal. Loyalty is huge for me. I’m sure it’s an overused declaration, but when I love someone, I truly would not letanythingstand in the way of us ever again. I would stick by them forever.” I punctuate the words and watch them land with theintended impact on his face. “Well, as long as it is up to me, of course,” I add.
Declan remains still. I chalk it up to my imagination, but I swear I see a hint of confusion flicker across his face.
After a moment he seems to remember to speak. He jolts, gesturing with his hand for me to continue. “Two more words, please.”
“Oh, right, excuse me.” I pretend to be deep in thought. Looking up toward the left. “Maybe they would also deem me straightforward and a concise communicator. If something has happened or feelings have changed, I’d rather come out and say exactly what I mean rather than… well, I don’t know. I suppose maybe some people would rather not say anything at all.”
Declan looks down at this. He knows enough about me to realize what I’ve said is completely false. I am a conflict avoider. An emotional black hole. Emotions come to me to be smothered by denial and a list of actionable solutions.
He gets up suddenly and begins gathering his things. The rustle of papers jars me. “Well, I think that will conclude our interview, Ms. Lang. I’ll be in contact soon.”
I’m left halfway standing as I stare at his retreating back. My mouth is partly open in response as I watch him bear his weight onto his right leg and walk away.
Chapter 5
Four years ago, I practically spit in Declan’s face that I didn’t need him. And now? I’m hoping he hires me at the coffee shop he manages? I mean, are you kidding? He couldn’t have written a better gotcha moment himself,” I say to Roshi’s and Faye’s bobbing heads on my phone.
“Blink,” Roshi starts. “There is absolutely zero reason to feel embarrassed. If he’s the manager then he probably could have refused giving you an interview in the first place.”
“Yeah. Or he took it just to rub it in my face,” I retort.
“Wait,” Faye chimes in. “Why is he working at a coffee shop? Wasn’t he going to be a professional football player?”
Her question makes my skin feel too tight in an instant. I try to school my face but there’s no use. My imagination has imitated memory so many times I can’t tell the difference anymore.
A moment of shock and then darkness. Waking up in a hospital room.
“He stopped playing his senior year. Couldn’t anymore. But I don’t know how he ended up back in Seabrook. I thought he’d still be in college in some random state,” I reply, voice shaky.
“Yeah, well, didn’t you just shoot yourself in the foot by lying in the interview? Don’t you actually need this job?” Roshi says.
Faye raises her eyebrows like, “Good point.”
“Guys, he’s not gonna hire me. He clearly wants nothing to do with me if that was our first conversation after all this time,” I respond.
“Yeah, that. Or he was just as shocked to see you as you were to see him?” Roshi suggests. “By that standard he could assume that you want nothing to do with him after the way you acted.”
