I nod, unsure of what to say at the mention of his name. Taking a deep breath in, I ask. “Is he… well?”
Andrea’s mouth forms a straight line, while her eyebrows draw up at the bridge of her nose. She sets her spoon gently in the bowl, gazing into the empty dish, as if it holds answers. “He’d be a lot better if you gave him a chance to explain himself.”Her words are spoken so softly, they weren’t meant to cut but to ignite curiosity.
I run the tip of my thumbnail over my lip, as I think. Focusing on the numbing feeling the perpetual movement caused. “I’ll sleep on it.”
When climbing into my bed, my phone accidentally tumbles to the floor. My hand reaches down to the floor, feeling for my phone, instead finding something unusual. My stomach flips. It’s the earbud… with its purple teasing star. I thought it was gone. Left in the abandoned warehouse where I dropped it. Placing the white tech into its charging port on the nightstand, my thoughts drift to the songs I’ve heard with this. The man clad in black. My friendly stalker. I wasn’t even sure how to approach a conversation with Dax, let alone be in the same room as him. Where do I start?
“I told you I only wanted the truth” or “did you ever plan on telling me that my uncle was your fucking father?!” Both seem a little rocky as a starting point. Andrea already gave me an idea of when I could see him again. The Murrays, now including Dax, seeing how Eamon and Mairead are his half siblings, commonly grab a meal together, once a week. She says I should come to their next one. It just so happens; there’s one on the same day as my interview. I told her that I’d try my best to swing by afterwards.
The idea of seeing him is already overwhelming. Perhaps, having extra buffers in the room was wise, especially with how things were left. Two days till the interview and the hours seem to drag on and on. Aside from the essential grocery trip, I stay home. I am just not ready to bump into anyone, unexpectedly.
Mairead comes over again. Both her and Andrea help me decide on the outfit for my big day. It is kind of nice. We make a night of it, ordering lukewarm takeout and trying on outfits, nobody in their right mind would leave their home wearing.When I say, Andrea was mortified in a pink boa and heels… I mean, she gave us the impression that she may burst into flames if we didn’t insist, she change.
Mairead’s infectious giggle didn’t remedy the vulnerable moment. I doubt Andrea will ever try pastels again. The selected outfit for the interview is a long sleeve, cream colored top, and a pair of dress slacks. Toward the end of the night, Mairead surprises me by producing the bedazzled, Dolphin Jacket, she bought off the mannequin at the Craft Bazaar. She insists I show them what I’m capable of. The outfit comes together perfectly.
Glimpses of what Andrea likes about the sometimes-unhinged redhead, shows through today. Although, I’m pretty dead set on never participating in another escape room with her, even if the opportunity presents itself.
Twenty minutes ahead of my scheduled interview, I find myself on the curb with a hand on my forehead, attempting to see the top of the enormous office building. Like a child’s first time going to school, I feel swallowed by the sheer size of the place and its ability to make me feel insignificant.
With traffic, it is a solid thirty-minute drive to the sustainable starter company in Chestnut Hill. I’d either need to buy a car or take the train, nearly doubling my commute time. Arming my lungs, I let out a smooth calming breath.One foot in front of the other, I tell myself. Hiking the strap of my bag higher up onto my shoulder, I enter the building armed with my portfolio from college, various notebooks full of custom designs, and a pathetic excuse for a resume.
Without my permission, my hand reaches up to my right ear, as it has so many times before. Whenever I find myself anxious or mildly lonely in a crowded room… the knowledge that I held a tether to someone who had my back, injected me with confidence. The thing is, I wasn’t wearing it. My fingers skate across the hearing aid in its place, gracing me with the sense I lost long ago. It’s twisted, really… how I can’t hear while he can’t speak.
Technology makes everything so seamless these days. Despite endless connectivity, people are more disconnected than ever. Armed with nothing more than outdated papers and the reminder that I can only thrive by throwing caution to the wind, I straighten my shoulders and press the button in the elevator.
No more than twenty minutes later, I’m back in front of the shining building that beckons me, just as a sea of commuters’ part around my inconvenient position on the sidewalk. I gaze down at the parting gift from the lady with the jet-black hair in the plum blazer. A minimalistic business card reading only her name,Margaret Steely.
Regardless of any compulsory compliments, this interview was a fruitless attempt. It was quite clear from the beginning, that my lack of experience wasn't what they were looking for. After plastering on my service smile and retrieving the“better luck next time” token, I leave. Might as well throw all my stuff in this trash can.
No… NO. We aren’t using the monster voice anymore, Cindel. Positive thinking. I take a deep breath in. The polar air makes my nose instantly start running. Right now, I just want togo home and lick my wounds. Be that as it may, I told Andrea I would meet everyone for lunch, after the interview. She made me ‘promise’ this morning. “No matter how things go… You’re coming,” she demanded.
As usual, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Arranging for another car to pick me up, I head across town, to the address Andrea gave me this morning. It was a new place, best known for their Baja-inspired small plates and fruity cocktails, according to reviews. The silver lining to this bleak outing was, I may beat everyone there, allowing me time to drown my sorrows in a lavender-colored guava drink. It better come with a paper umbrella, like the menu indicated online. No one is ever glum with a miniature parasol! Now I just have to figure out how to circumvent any questions about the worthless interview.
Well just my luck… traffic is terrible. I arrived no earlier than the set time and the restaurant appears incredibly busy. Groups of people wait to be seated, while the hostess seems to disappear for long stints, causing the line to snake out the door. I take it upon myself to take a look around, just in case anyone else arrived before me. Every table I passed is occupied beneath an endless strand of zigzagging lights. Wooden shelves adorn a massive brick wall, holding no less than fifty miniature cacti. All the while, vibrant murals pull your focus in every which direction. It was a visually pleasing orgy of color and light. On top of it, the food smelled incredible! My mouth salivates as I make my way through the establishment, feeling better with each new discovery. Why have I never checked this place out before?
On my second loop around laughing patrons and plated tacos, I am ready to give up on the search when I notice a pink neon sign that read:The Patron Room.Maybe they rented a space in the back, since we were a larger party? I slide the massive wooden door along the metal track, revealing a roomwith an oval table, covered in every possible small plate you could order off the menu. The feast had velvet, fuchsia chairs surrounding the perimeter, but not a single person within the room. Enticing smells invite me inside the secluded space.
All at once, the door slides shut with a thud and I spin around to find, I’m no longer alone.
Dax stands before me, in a form fitting, button-down shirt and perfectly tailored slacks. His finger hooks a matching dark jacket, slung just over his shoulder and my breath catches. Damn it all to hell, if he doesn’t look more god than man in that form fitted attire. Silent as always, he approaches, stopping beside me to pull out a chair.
“Where is everyone?” I inquire, ignoring the offered seat. I sidestep him, setting my heavy bag into another vacant seat, and refuse to sit.
As if it’s all a game, he rounds the table, pulling out the seat directly in front of me and lowers himself into it. He fills the pinkish furniture, leaning forward onto his elbows, while bringing his hands together to create points among his fingertips, then simply shrugs. The miniscule smirk in the corner of his mouth and slightly raised eyebrow, however, tells me this was always the plan and I fell for it. That conniving… I know exactly who will be taking out the apartment’s trash for the next six months. He gestures for me to sit.
“You know… I just don’t think I can do this. Great catching up.” I spin on my heel, ready to flee the room, but he’s out of his seat and before me, in an instant.
“Cindel,” a graveled voice whispers. My heart stops. “Please.” The words are soft and deep; however they sound as if laced with pain.
“Can you speak?”
He rubs at his throat and nods. His intense gaze shifts toward the floor. I clench my teeth.
“Please…” I beg, with what little air I can muster. “Tell me that you haven’t been able to talk this entire time…” Despite his towering presence, I steel my spine. Arms locking over my chest, I back just far enough away...
He reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out his phone, and opens a prewritten message. Eyes meeting mine, he presses play. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’ve spent so long pretending I’m someone I’m not, I lost sight of myself. It’s not an excuse, I know that… but I’m trying to right the wrongs. Repair what's been broken. Even if it takes the rest of my life. I’m sorry.” I can feel myself unraveling as his automated words continue. “I’ve sought help. To speak again. Some days hurt more than others, but I’m able to vocalize a few words a day. The specialist believes I’ll get better with time, although never quite the same as before.”
It’s hard to believe anything he says! Whether it's from his text to speech app or from his mouth. This is beyond mending, no matter the apology.
