Speaking of Jude, he’s been relentlessly emailing, IM’ing, and videoconferencing me, under the guise of us discussing the new admin. Today we’re on a videoconference call, just the two of us, going over the plans for my visit to the London office. We’ve just gone through my entire itinerary, from the time I land until the new girl’s final training day, when I say breezily, “And then that’s it. I’m outta here.”
He closes the notebook on the table in front of him and leans back, putting his hands behind his head. “You know, this would all be so much easier if you would just take the admin position here.”
“Sorry, I’m already busy.”
“Indeed. Your minions in Chicago need you.”
I’ve almost forgotten I haven’t told him I’m quitting. And I’m actually kind of shocked that the news hasn’t gotten to him yet. Lightly, in order not to disturb the sleeping butterflies in my belly, I joke, “You weren’t kidding when you said you guys over there have no idea what’s going on in the rest of the company.”
“What? What’d I miss?”
“That’s going to be my last day,” I state. “For good. I’m not coming back to Chicago.”
He processes the news for a few seconds, then ventures, “Not going back… at all?” He sits up straighter and folds his hands on the table in front of him. “Where are you going? What about Sandberg?”
I laugh at his concern for the cat, of all things. “Sandberg will be there with me. I plan to take a year or so off, travel around the U.K. Do some research for a non-fiction book I’d like to write.”
He stares at the screen. Finally, he grins and says, “Cor blimey... For a second there, you had me going! I totally believed you!”
“I’m serious!”
“Don’t make me call Gary in there to bubble you up.”
Thanks to my studies, I now know this means “rat me out” and not “wash me,” as I had previously believed.
I stand and gather all my papers in a pile, clutching them against my chest. “I’m not kidding. In less than a week, I’m leaving Chicago. Probably forever. And London’s the first stop on my tour.”
He eventually believes me, after he drags a few more details out of me, such as how I’m going to support myself (my inheritance, as uncomfortable as that makes me) and, more importantly, how I’m going to watch my Cubs games this summer (thank God for the Internet).
When he asks what made me decide to do it, I answer truthfully, “I’m sick of wasting my life. I don’t have anything or anyone tying me to this job or this town anymore. It’s time to move on.”
He seems speechless, so I laugh and say, “I’m really excited.”
Distractedly, with his eyes on his hands, he says, “Yes. Right. Well. That’s quite excellent for you. I suppose you’re very busy there, with all your preparations.”
The group who has the room reserved after me arrives noisily. “Anyway, that’s our cue. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if you think of anything else I need to know before I leave here Tuesday.”
He waves limply, then I hit the button to disconnect the call.
Leslie, one of the participants for the next meeting, says, “Ooh… a little high-tech reunion there?” To the rest of the group, she jokes, “We should check the TV screen for kiss-prints... or worse.”
A few of them smile faintly, but for the most part her comment falls flat.
“Grow up, Leslie,” I say wearily.
“And turn into a dried-up prune like you? No, thanks.” She chomps her gum obnoxiously.
The rest of the people in the room go back to their own conversations, so as I edge past her, I lean in and say just loudly enough for her to hear, “You know better than that.” When she wrinkles her nose and gives me a questioning glare, I tell her, “I know what you did, okay? So you can end your pathetic little fantasy of having slept with Jude.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I level the most sarcastically pitying look at her and shake my head slightly. “Oh, Leslie. So sad.” With that, I condescendingly pat her arm and walk out.
31
At the end of my last session with Dr. Marsh, he claps his hands together. “So… this is it, huh?”
“This is it!” I agree, shrugging my shoulders up near my ears and standing.
“When does your plane leave?”
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I have to be at O’Hare at 5:45.”
“Are you going to sleep tonight?”
“Probably not,” I admit with a grin.
He smiles, then says quietly, “Well. You seem like you’re prepared for what you need to do.”
“I am,” I reply confidently. “Very. And, like I said, I know it may not turn out the way I’ve dreamed it will. But no matter what happens, it’ll be forward progress.”
He nods.
“And I’ll have all of Europe to explore and get lost in if I have any sorrows to drown. At least I won’t be confined to my bed. And I won’t have to deal with any nosy co-workers gawking at me.”
He stands and holds out his hand for me to shake. “Good attitude.”
I shuffle my feet a little and almost chicken out, but then I just do it. Stepping forward, I put my arms around him. He readily returns the hug, to my surprise. Just as quickly, I step back.
“Thanks for helping me be a little more normal. Don’t read anything into this—psychologically, I mean—but you’re the closest thing to a Dad that I’ve had, and it’s been important
