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“Ooh, are we going to dinner? Are you surprising me for our anniversary?” she squealed with delight.
“We don’t have an anniversary. Keep your voice down,” I said.
“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me that you remember our anniversary!” She trilled, every inch the offended girlfriend. I wanted to shake her, scream at her, and let security drag her away.
I couldn’t do any of those things because I didn’t want the spectacle or the scene it would cause. Not when I was trying to prove myself an asset to the firm and make partners. I didn’t need the drama, the gossip, the appearance of an out-of-control personal life. So, I gritted my teeth.
“You’re leaving. Now. I don’t want to call security. Let’s keep this quiet. You know we’re not together. We haven’t been since last December. You’ve got to let this go and move on. Please,” I said, taking her elbow and steering her to the elevator.
As soon as the doors slid shut, I turned on her. “Olivia, you can’t come to my office. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. All you’re doing is embarrassing yourself. Stop contacting me. Stop coming here. You are not my girlfriend. You will never be my girlfriend, and once you leave this building, I hope you have a great life far away from me. Because if you don’t stay away, I’m going to—” I stopped.
She was crying. Her manicured hands fell to her sides, and she slumped against the elevator wall, tears streaming down her face. I used to kiss her, used to comfort her when she was upset. But she had been so chaotic, jealous, always picking a fight. It wasn’t worth the effort. A year later, she dogged my footsteps and popped up, pretending we were lovers. It was a horror show at this point, and now that I had been direct and mean, she was crying, looking helpless. Her long coat fell open, revealing thigh-high stockings, a garter belt, and a bra. She had come into the building where I work dressed in nothing but lingerie and a coat. Aghast, I yanked her coat around her.
“What is wrong with you? Walking around in public like that?” I demanded, tying the belt firmly.
“I wanted you to want me again, Noah,” she bleated. I shook my head.
“I won’t,” I told her. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Go home and get some sleep. Start fresh tomorrow and forget about me, okay? Please.”
I walked her out the front doors and felt the tension leave my body as she walked away. She was gone. Thank goodness. I was exhausted by it, by the fear she’d show up, what she’d do or say that could potentially derail my career. I didn’t understand when we were together how unhinged or unwell she was. I’d tried to get her help a few months ago. I’d called a social worker and had a wellness check done, asked if they could get her some resources, therapy, a doctor. Nothing came of it. She’d convinced them she was perfectly rational, just sad that I had broken her heart. I wasn’t concerned about what they thought of me. I didn’t mind if she needed me to be the villain. I wanted her to get help and to get away from me. Her intrusive visits to my work, the building where I lived, the gym I went to or the coffee shop I frequented had led me to change my routines. I made a point of varying where I fueled my car and where I had my hair cut and when. I had accepted so many changes and inconveniences in my daily life to try to ward off her harassment.
I was tired and anxious that it would affect my eligibility for a promotion. I made my way wearily back to my office and struggled to focus on the project at hand. It wasn’t even eleven in the morning, and I wanted to go home and go to sleep, the exhaustion of this ordeal weighing on me. When Ethan messaged me, I called him.
“She was here again.”
“Olivia? Call the cops, Noah. It’s past time to let them handle this. It’s time to file for a restraining order.”
“I don’t want to involve the police. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to relive all this in great detail, go over every single day of the relationship, every incident where she’s shown up someplace I happened to be. It’s humiliating, Ethan.”
“It’s time. That way she can’t come near you without paying a fine or spending time in jail. Maybe the fear of punishment can get through to her.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m going to focus on becoming a partner. Once I’ve accomplished that, I can consider what is best to do about this situation. If Olivia is even still messing with me at that point.”
“She’s not going away. You’ve tried waiting it out, and you’ve tried kindness. You’ve told her to stop, and you even tried to get her help. The next obvious step is to involve the authorities, no matter how much you want to avoid it," Ethan said.
I heaved a sigh and told him I’d speak to him later. I attended the weekly progress meeting and gave an update on the projections for my proposed initiative and sleepwalked through the small talk with my bosses. Back in my office I wrapped up details on the explanatory document on the quarterly returns for my newest managed fund. I proofread it and shared it with the partners and the president of the board of directors.
When my phone rang, I was going to let it go to voicemail until I saw it was Madison. I answered, and she said, “Hey, are you busy for lunch? I thought I could make you something if you have time to run by my apartment. You’re not working through lunch again, are you?”
“No, not today,” I said, knowing I needed to get out of the office for a while. I didn’t have anything on my schedule until two. I had plenty of time for a long lunch. “Want me to bring anything?”
“I’d say wine, but I’m pretty sure you have to go back to work. We don’t want a tipsy financial manager pushing the buttons,” she giggled.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I said. “Thanks.”
I set the out-of-office message on my email and phone and took off. I felt free as I drove to her building and climbed the stairs. When she opened the door to her small apartment and let me in, I almost sagged with relief. I sank into a chair and listened to her talk excitedly about the zucchini bread recipe she thought she’d perfected last night. I ate the hearty soup she had made and a cheddar and chive scone as well.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said.
“I had a rough morning. This lunch with you was exactly what I needed. It was a rescue,” I told her.
“Yeah, beef and barley save the day,” she quipped.
“It saved me. I mean it.”
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” she offered as she cleared the dishes away. “You can try my zucchini masterpiece too.”
“I have to sing for my supper then?”
