Chapter Twenty-Two
Kelli
I hadn’t accounted for morning traffic, and by the time I finally made it to work at around 11:00am, I was about an hour late. There was a horrible tightness in my stomach as I ran through the parking lot and waited for the guard to enter the security code that would let me into the building. Strange how quickly a morning could pivot from joy to fear and frustration.
As I descended the stairs into the dank basement that smelled oddly of oysters, I braced myself for Evan’s reprimand: the last time I had been this late to work, a year or two before, there had been a long talk in his office during which he scolded me for sending personal emails during work hours and taking overly long lunch breaks—all the things that had been upsetting him but that he had been willing to overlook until now.
But when I came into the room this morning, I found Evan sitting in the corner desk under the drain pipe hunched over a sheet of paper. He was attempting to write with one of those cheap plastic pens you can buy in packs of ten at the Dollar Tree; the ink seemed to be running out, because he kept shaking it in frustration. He didn’t even seem to have noticed that I had come in.
Dennis glanced up with a shrug as I sat down. He was eating a green apple as he scrolled through the Vox main page on his laptop.
“Sad, isn’t it?” he said, motioning to Evan. “What this once noble and venerated institution has come to.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean he’s just given up caring. Unless my watch is wrong, you were supposed to have been here about an hour ago. Shelley said she was going to run out for coffee and probably won’t be back for the rest of the day. You could dress up in a gorilla costume and wander around the office scratching yourself under the arms, and I don’t think it would phase him much.”
“Is he just busy, or…?”
“No, I think he’s just lost all hope that the Bugle is ever going to be respected or bring in a sustainable income. Now he’s just sitting around waiting for everyone to quit or for someone to buy us out.”
It wasn’t a large office, and I was reasonably sure Evan could hear us, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, he rose from the desk and said, “Kelli, did you know about this? The Foundry is hosting a banquet on Saturday to honor returning SEALs. My old friend Mohammed will be there, and he’s invited me as his personal guest. He’s requested that you come and report on the event in a professional capacity.”
There was a brief silence broken only by the sound of Dennis biting into his apple. “It’s kind of him to think of me, but—”
“But what?” Evan peered hard at me from behind his glasses.
I hesitated. It wasn’t like me to turn down an assignment, and I wouldn’t have done it without good reason. “Frankly,” I explained, “I don’t know if it would be safe for me to attend. I haven’t been very popular with that particular platoon since my piece ran. I haven’t been popular with the Armed Forces, period.”
It was a sign of how distracted and careless Evan had been lately that he hadn’t considered this. “Right. Of course.” He looked disappointed. “Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll give it to Shelley when she gets back.”
I sat back down with a feeling of relief, but also a sense that I had offended Evan by rejecting our friend’s invitation. It didn’t help that Dennis grimaced and made a slashing motion across his throat.
“You know he’s about to start making staff cuts, right?” he said. “If I were you, I’d be careful.”
“Thanks for being so reassuring, Dennis,” I replied.
Dennis shrugged and returned to his apple.
Because it was Monday, I was supposed to have an opinion piece up on the website by 3:00pm. I scrolled through Vox and Salon for a few minutes looking for inspiration, but found it hard to keep focus. At one point an ad opened up—I tried to close it but it wouldn’t close—and there was an explosion of noise that made Bryan jump out of his chair in alarm. Dennis, however, was unruffled; he just shook his head as if to say, “You’d best be careful…”
I was almost relieved when my cell phone buzzed—at last, a distraction!—and doubly relieved to see that Zack was calling.
I hesitated for a brief moment before deciding Evan wouldn’t care. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked, glaring at Dennis who was making a wagging motion with his hands.
“Hey pumpkin,” said Zack. “I don’t know if you heard about this banquet on Saturday—”
“Yeah, I just got invited.”
“By who?” he balked. “Not by one of my buddies, I hope.”
“No, by your old boss. And my boss. But I turned it down. I have no desire to walk back into the lion’s den after the vicious response to my last post.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” said Zack in a disappointed tone, “because I was calling to invite you myself. We’ve been encouraged to bring a friend; some of the guys are bringing their moms, and Chuck is bringing his wife, but I figured you might like to go with me.”
It was an invitation I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Somehow, I felt the health of our relationship in the future was resting on my decision. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”
“You sure? You still sound kind of uneasy.”
“I just want you to promise me that you’ll keep anyone from trying to hurt me.”
“They won’t hurt, you, babe,” he replied, though he didn’t sound so sure himself. “We’re going over there to be honored; the other guys probably won’t even notice you. Anyway, how would you like to meet me for dinner on Wednesday? We can talk about it then?”
“I would love that.” I was almost certainly going to need a reprieve in the middle of my week.
I could sense the conversation winding to a close and Zack wanting to get off the phone. I hesitated, wanting to keep him on the phone for a few minutes longer just to hear the sound of his voice.
“Well, bye babe,” said Zack. “I’m about to head out for lunch.”
“Bye. See you in a little bit.”
I returned to my seat; I hadn’t eaten all morning, and it felt like a tent peg was driving its way into my skull. I wasn’t looking forward to having to explain to Evan that I was now going to be attending the banquet after all. And I knew Zack had been trying to make me feel better, but he wasn’t a good liar. Of course they were going to see me. Of course they were going to remember. We had spent a month living together in the jungle, and I had written an essay I would never be able to live down.
That night, I made dinner for me and Renee—cold pasta salad with cucumbers, macaroni noodles, cherry tomatoes, bell peppers, and Kalamata olives, served with a light wine. I think we were both surprised at how much she enjoyed it.
“You know, if I had known you could cook like that,” she said as she swirled her wine glass, “I’d have let you cook more often.”
“Thanks for that. I need to start practicing anyway if I’m ever going to make dinner for Zack.”
“Are you really getting serious? You’ve only been dating for, what, a day?”
“I called him my boyfriend a couple nights ago, and he didn’t raise any objections,” I said. “I think that means we’re together, although who knows? He has a new nickname every time he calls me, and it’s become sort of a game to try and guess what he’s going to call me next.”
“Sounds like you ought to just move in together,” said Renee.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” I added in a quieter voice, “He invited me to his awards banquet on Saturday.”
“He did what?!” Renee exclaimed.
I shrugged and smiled, as if it was just some casual thing; as if I hadn’t been clamoring to tell her since the moment we got off the phone. “He called it a date, so I guess it’s a date. I guess that means we’re dating now. Him and me. Together.”