CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I get to the office, slightly tired having been up all night. I left Patrick on the couch, finally sleeping like a baby and snoring like a man. My two goals for the morning are simple: avoid Mason and see Rachel.
I’m in dire need of Rachel’s advice. I get to her office and see that she’s clearly in need of mine.
“You’re here,” she says. “Finally. Close the door.”
I close the door, take a seat, and bite into my Boston cream donut. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She’s packing things into a cardboard box under her desk.
“I’m leaving,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m resigning,” she says.
“Now? Why? What happened?”
“This place is like the Titanic,” she says. “Berlin is a lifeboat. You’d better get on it or be prepared to sink or swim.”
“Is this about Matthews?”
She hesitates for a moment. “No,” she finally says. “But Kevin is supportive.”
My stomach turns with anger and nausea. “Of course he is, he just got fired. Misery loves company.”
She gives me a combative look, which I return in kind.
“What is up with you two?” I ask.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with him,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time. This place is turning into hell and it’s only getting worse.”
I stare at the view behind her. From where I’m sitting, the view from the 43rd floor is heavenly.
“Mason brought some more people over. There’s a whole new management team,” she says.
Her computer buzzes with the sound of incoming email. My phone does the same. We both read the message.
“Looks like you’re going to meet them soon enough,” she says. “Brace yourself.”
The email is an invitation—mandatory—to meet in the conference room in 20 minutes to meet the new management team.
“Good luck with that,” she says.
“You’re not even going to the meeting?”
“I’ve already met them,” she says.
I take a deep breath.
“I’ll be fine,” she says confidently.
“I know you will, but this seems so impulsive.”
I take a deep breath. I have too much on my own plate to worry about what’s on hers, especially since she’s already set on doing this. After 20 years of friendship, I know it’s pointless to try to talk her down.
“You know that leaves me here by myself, right?”
She gives me a serious look. “Take the lifeboat,” she says.
“What about Patrick?” I ask.
Suddenly there’s warmth and concern in her eyes. “How did it go?”
I’m silent for a moment as my concern for her is replaced by fear of a broken heart.
“Aww,” she says. She slams something from her desk into her box. “Fuck it,” she says. “We can job hunt together. Or you guys can rack up lots of air miles. You can make this work either way,” she says.
“Too bad he doesn’t have that same confidence,” I say.
I get a message from Patrick, who must be psychic and know we’re talking about him. My face sours.
“What?” Rachel asks.
“It says ‘let’s talk,’” I say.
“Is that a bad let’s talk? It might not be.”
Now I’m the psychic. A feeling of dread washes over me and I find myself slumping in the chair. I stare at my half-eaten donut for a moment.
“Don’t be like that,” she says. “The fat lady hasn’t sung yet.”
“He’s really messed up about this,” I say. “I woke up this morning to him pacing, and we were up for hours talking about it.”
“Aww,” she says again. She looks at me with concern in her eyes. There’s something conciliatory about the look as if she’s gazed into a crystal ball and already knows to start soothing my broken heart.
“He told me about another time he had a long distance thing, with an ex of his upstate. The guy cheated on him.”
“Yeah but you’re not the cheating type,” she says, “he’s gotta know that.”
“That’s what I told him. He says he trusts me but doesn’t trust life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That’s exactly what I said. He just got quiet after that.”
“Well send him a message back,” she says. “Now.”
“What should I say?”
“Tell him what’s in your heart,” she says. “Don’t think, just write.”
I start writing him a response but stop. “Ok, this is too long,” I say. Besides being an epic length poem, it’s also nothing I haven’t already said.
“So what,” she says, “send it anyway. If nothing else he’ll have it and it’ll be on the record.”
“You’re right,” I say, though I shorten the message to a simple “OK” and add every heart-related emoji I can find.
I take a deep breath and am quiet for a moment. “It’s really not fair,” I say. “He won’t let me not take the job because of him and he doesn’t want to be together if I take it. It makes absolutely no sense.”
“Sounds like a fool in love to me,” she says.
I shake my head. “That makes two of us.”
“Look,” she says, “the truth is that you can’t control him or what he does in the end. If he wants to break up either way, you may just have to accept that. Don’t turn down this job just yet,” she says. “Better to be getting over it in a new place in Berlin than to be moping about it here.”
Her honesty sometimes cuts to the bone.
“I’m working on your package,” she says.
I instinctively grab at my crotch. “Huh?”
“Not that package, you idiot, your relocation package. It’s nice. Moving costs are covered, rent for six months, almost double salary, transition assistance, insurance, retirement, the whole shebang. You need to sign it before I officially quit,” she says. “If you do end up with a broken heart, you can recover in comfort. And Kevin and I can come and visit.”
“Ugh, does Matthews really have to be a part of the package. He’s got a big fucking mouth, you know.”
She smiles. “Yeah,” she says, “but it’s talented in other ways.”
“Gross.” I leave her fantasizing and make my way to the meet and greet.
Everyone in the room is on edge. I think we’ve all been traumatized at this point and everyone prepares for the worst. The room is full of sullen faces and personal belongings—purses, briefcases, and anything else you’d want to grab in a pinch were you fired on the spot.
There are bagels and a fruit spread on a table next to the main conference table, along with coffee. No one dares touch it.
We all get antsy and start looking at our watches. We have five minutes before the meeting starts, enough time for me to worry about what’s to come and about Patrick. I check my phone. He hasn’t responded to my explosion of rainbow hearts, which I now second-guess sending.
Mason walks in leading his new team of managerial minions. They lock the door to the room behind them. Everyone at the table looks around at the sound of the lock.
I wait for Mason to open with his usual “no time for bullshit” line, but he changes the script.
“This is a time of change,” he begins.
Someone comes to the door, a woman from another department maybe. She has her purse and a portfolio in hand and struggles with the door. Mason looks at her and starts silently clapping. Her face turns as the meaning sinks in and she walks away.
“This is a time of change and new beginnings,” he starts again. “We are a company of the future,” he says. “Early is on time, on time is late.”
He goes on about the needs of the company changing and about the importance of strategic leadership.
“This is a global economy and we have to compete as such,” he says. “We are falling behind. YOU, are falling behind,” he corrects. “Most of you are too regional. Locals with your heads up your asses, sniffing shit and cheeseburgers.”
He paces as he talks and walks over the table with the bagels. We’re all nervous and wait for the explosion. The bagel tray goes flying across the room. A glob of cream cheese is stuck on the wall.
“I don’t want to see another fucking bagel unless you’ve already sold ten times as many to China.”
We’re all petrified, but the new management team thinks this is funny, each of them wearing a smile.
“These are your new leaders. I’ve personally selected them for the breadth of experience they bring. This is Preston,” he says, introducing the first member of the team. What his first name is we don’t know, but what we do know is that he is in charge of the Asian markets. “He has the expertise none of you could muster if you had a thousand chopsticks. He’s your lead for all things in the Asia Pacific market.”
He introduces the other members of the team, covering the Latin America region and North African and Middle Eastern markets. Mason himself is to lead the North American market, which leaves only Europe. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to introduce me as the lead but he doesn’t.
Someone else comes to the locked door. No one dares looks.
“Door,” Mason says, to me specifically.
I get up to unlock it but am stopped in my tracks. My heart sinks.
“Now,” Mason says.
I open the door and am forced to face my past.
It’s my Weismann, my ex.