I didn’t even bother with a heads-up phone call, choosing to go with the pop-in instead. Mark was turned away from the door, reviewing something on his computer, and I spared a moment to take stock: no sudden squeamishness, no shortness of breath, no cringes or qualms—I was good. This was it. I raised my hand to knock and relaxed.
“Hey, Mark. You busy?”
He swiveled in his seat and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk between us. “I didn’t expect to hear from you till tomorrow.” His eyes shifted sideways behind his glasses, and before I could answer, he asked, “Or are you here checking in on a customer return?”
I smiled, stepping farther into his office. “You were right the first time—I’m here about the job.” Big deep breath. “If it’s still available, I want it.”
This earned me a wide grin. “Awesome. I’ll call Human Resources and get things going. Does David know yet?” Mark looked vaguely guilty about stealing me away.
“He’s my next stop.” And I wasn’t particularly enthused. If an e-mail wasn’t considered a shabby way to end a relationship, it would be my communique of choice.
“Good luck.” His smile was commiserating, mine was resigned. “Let me know if you run into any problems.”
“Got it.” One down, one to go.
I really had to work for that second one. Trying to sever ties with my boss was like trying to cancel a magazine subscription, but in person. He managed to glamorize my job so significantly that I began, for a fleeting moment, to have doubts. He inundated me with the pros while my brain buzzed with the cons. He offered incentives, alternatives, even a new computer, a regular Wile E. Coyote, grasping at thin air. Because in my head I’d already gone.
Finally it was done. We agreed on two weeks to wrap things up, and I slipped out of his office, planning to while away the day in transition tasks. But first I needed to call Gabe. There’d been a lone message from him amid the slew of work-related calls I’d ignored yesterday. He wasn’t in his cubicle, so I went back to mine and texted him instead.
NJames: You called?
I’d tackled my e-mail—a whopping sixty-three new messages—by the time I got a response.
GVogler: yesterday
Evidently he was a little peeved. I tried again.
NJames: Are we still on for tonight?
GVogler: far as I know. i’m picking Beck up on campus
NJames: What time?
GVogler: around 8
NJames: I have the passes from Sean, so meet you there at 8:30?
GVogler: that works—so is yesterday a ‘lost wednesday’?
NJames: Ask me tonight.
With any luck Beck could de-grump him before I had to deal with him. And if I was lucky, I could get to her first. Gabe might be my best friend, but I was balking at discussing yesterday’s “queen toppling” with him. I dialed Beck’s number, and she answered on the first ring, her greeting a sort of muffled hiss.
“Shhhh! What’s up?”
My eyes narrowed in confusion. Was she shushing me?
“You go first,” I insisted.
“I’m in class, scrunched down in my seat, hoping no one notices me—cell phones are taboo in here, but you’re bound to be plenty more interesting than Differential Equations.”
“Gee thanks,” I muttered, remembering D.E. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Gabe says he’s picking you up on campus around eight. Can you meet me at sevenish to chat?”
“Without Gabe, you mean? Sure. He’s picking me up under the bridge on Dean Keeton. Why don’t I meet you there, and we can swing up to the Law Library, and then you can drop me back under the bridge?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Then she just faded away.
“Drive,” Beck demanded, slamming the car door at seven on the dot. I turned to look at her as a Capital Metro bus roared past on my side, swooping to the curb in front of me to pick up and drop off.
Her smile was mischievous. “Sorry. Just wanted to see how that felt.”
I pulled into traffic and then glanced back at her. Her hair was wound into two messy magenta coils on top of her head, a modern take on Princess Leia’s cinnamon buns.
“So ... is Gabe proving nerdy enough for you?”
“More than,” she confirmed with a nod and a playful smile. “And while I’m excited to see him tonight, I’ve gotta admit, I’m just as anxious for the chance—
“You were in class,” I reminded her as I slid into a parking spot on the street, somewhat in the vicinity of the Law Library.
“You know we’re gonna have to whisper in there,” she said. “And knowing them, they probably frown on squealing. Wanna go somewhere else?”
“We could. Or we could chat here, wait for campus police to show up before we put money in the meter.”
“Perfect.” She rooted around in her backpack. “I was going to try to smuggle them in but now I don’t have to.” She pulled out two giant chocolate chip cookies in paper sleeves and handed me mine. I could totally get used to these girl talks.
“Perfect,” I agreed, wishing I had a Coke.
“So? Yesterday? Did you go with either of my suggestions?”
“No. But you get points for effort and consistency.” I sank my teeth into the soft cookie and chewed appreciatively.
“Girl, I will take your cookie hostage,” Beck warned.
“Okay, okay.” I held my cookie out of Beck’s reach and commenced with the telling.
It was a shame we didn’t bother with the Law Library. The two of us getting kicked out would probably be the most excitement they’d seen in ... possibly ever. Beck was loud and effusive and agog. I managed to finish off my cookie while she worked through her first wave of reaction.
“So ‘The Plan’ has been vanquished, and you’re hitching your wagon to a rock star?” She licked a smear of chocolate off her thumb, her eyes smiling.
I laughed. “Only you would phrase it that way.”
“And you’re not even hyperventilating! Impressive, Ms. James! How do you account for this wild change? Could it be magic?” She leaned in to position her imaginary microphone for my response. Even in the dark, our conversation lit only by a streetlight two car lengths away, I could see the twinkle in her eye.
“It could be,” I finally admitted with a smile.
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” she said, crumpling the cookie bag.
“Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.” We grinned at each other until I looked away to glance at the time. Five minutes to eight. “Yikes! We’re cutting it close. Ever the eager beaver—at least as far as women go—Gabe’s probably already waiting.”
“Just drop me a block away—I’ll hoof it.”
I stuck with this plan and sailed past Gabe’s Honda, letting Beck out on the next corner.
