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“I’m here telling you that I’m taking charge. That I’m doing as you asked. I’m also asking for your forgiveness for not doing anything sooner. I don’t want to make any excuses, but I fucked up and thought that everything would go away on it’s own. I’m not used to giving a fuck about someone else, but I want to. I want to think about you and give that fuck. I want to be with you and I want to put in the work.”
I hold my place against the wall. I keep my expression neutral as I assess him. He’s confident and not wavering in his attitude. We’re both silent before he stands, sticks his hands inside his pockets and looks from his feet to me.
“I’ll just go. I’m sorry that this shit is interfering with your work. I like you, I really like you. But I don’t want to fuck up what you have going for you. I want to be a part of your life, but I also want to prove to you that I’m worth the risk.”
“Worth the risk?” I ask.
“I’m sorry that your family and friends are reading this shit.”
“I want to be with you, Gunnar, I do. But I need this stuff to go away,” I defend my stance.
“I understand,” he says. “I want you to choose me. There were paps out tonight, I’m not sure what will be in the news tomorrow, but the conversation with Melinda happened on the street. Whatever the reports say tomorrow morning, I’m not with her, I’m with you, whether you have me or not. You got me. Not her, regardless of whatever headlines are spun tomorrow.”
“I have you?” I ask.
“You’ve got me.”
The door clicks behind him and I’m left wondering what next will come. Will I have the strength to deal with it?
REYNOLDS STEPS OUT
That was the headline for the local celebrity stories when I open up the web browser in the morning.
There are associating images with the headline showing Gunnar with Melinda a step ahead of him smiling, but the look on Gunnar’s face reflects nothing endearing towards her. Based on his parting words last night, I know what was transpiring in these photos, and it was likely either before or after the conversation where Melinda spewed her truths dressed as excuses to Gunnar.
Caption under the photo states; “Gunnar Reynolds recently reported of dating local Marketing Consultant for a privately owned business in Mission Valley, Sawyer Rotham, currently stepping out of relationship with Hornets Media staff publicist, Melinda Pittman.” I shake my head and click out of the browser as I tidy up my desk when my desk line rings.
I answer it and a pause before someone speaks announcing they’re from the local newspaper, before they even finish their introduction, I hang up the receiver. That happens a few more times, before I leave my cubicle and wander around the office. I catch small conversations here and there and stumble upon random laughter throughout the building. I walk into the staff lounge full of co-workers from all different parts of the agency, the room goes silent, and eyes try to look everywhere but to me. I halt my steps as I walk into the room, and my confidence wavers as I continue past tables of my peers, watching me out of the corner of their eyes, while they shovel food into their mouths with their heads down, blatantly ignoring me, but also alert to my movements.
Without a word or a glance at anyone else, I do what I needed to do and retreat from the staff lounge and return to my cubicle to eat my lunch alone. Since starting this job, I haven’t had a chance to make any friends. Sure, I would make small talk here and there, but I haven’t been able to get the real feel of friendship with anyone that I talked to. The rest of my day continues with the silent treatment from the office. The hushed tones, the covert looks, and the avoidance were uncomfortable, and I couldn’t wait to get home. My cell phone vibrated throughout the day from my purse, but I avoided the device as if it was contaminated.
It wasn’t until I was wearing my flannel sweat pants, and an oversized t-shirt that I glanced at my phone. There were voicemails and texts from my mother, Kim and lastly Gunnar. Gunnar was pleading with me to not pay attention to the news, and for me to call him. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, and yet the knocking on my front door is telling me that I’m not going to get what I want.
I can ignore the loud knocking, but then my curiosity over who it is will gnaw at me. I slowly stand and tiptoe over to the door. The knocking gets louder the closer I get. Part of me is hoping that it’s Gunnar, and the other part of me just hopes it’s someone at the wrong door.
“I know you’re in there! I can hear the pounding of your heart!” Kim yells from the other side of the door.
I smile and shake my head as I reach for the doorknob.
“It’s about time. Why haven’t you called or even texted me back?” she asks her hands on her hips with an exasperated look on her face that is more humor than annoyance.
“I have this thing, it’s called a job. They pay you to be there and do things.”
“Sounds like you’re a hooker,” she says pushing past me and helping herself to my kitchen.
“You would know.” I roll my eyes and close the door, trailing after her in the wake of her flowery perfume.
“So, what’s this? What’s happening here?” she asks waving her phone in my direction.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say perching myself up on the counter.
“It’s Taco Tuesday, and you look frumpy and pathetic.”
“Wow. Harsh words. Where’s the love? And the tacos?”
“Ask Fergie Ferg.” She shrugs.
“You’re on a whole different level, you know that right?”
