I offer him my kindest smile before spinning on my heel and leaving his plush office.
“Bye, Gemma.” I wave to the receptionist, who seems to have forgiven me from earlier. “Have a good evening.”
“You too,” she says, her normally warm smile back on her face.
I push open the heavy glass door and head into the window-lined hallway leading away from his office. When I’m at work, I tend to rush through everything. I don’t tend to be seen as someone who can’t keep up with the pace, so I move so quickly that I forget to slow down and breathe. But now that the halls are quiet and the parking lot is almost empty, I take this moment to stop and take in the view sprawling out in front of me. With everything that has happened in this last year, sometimes it’s easy for me to ignore things like this. It’s easy for me to forget that as bad as life has been, I still got my dream job. I did that. Even with the shit storm that has swirled around me.
There are things in life that we can’t control. No matter how many positive affirmations we say or books we read or podcasts we listen to. Nothing I could’ve done would’ve stopped my dad from dying. It’s a fact of life. Death comes for us all. And even though I feel like I’ve been stuck under the weight of the rubble that collapsed on me, I still managed to keep going and fought for the things I could have power over. Yeah, it hasn’t gone exactly as planned, but I’m still doing it. And I need to appreciate that.
I need to appreciate myself.
With fall settling in, the sun is starting to set a little earlier each night. The sun fades behind the mountains, and the pink and orange clouds wisp across the sky above the perfectly maintained fields. In this moment of calm, a sense of peace I haven’t felt in ages settles over me and I know that one day, I’ll be okay again.
Gentle footsteps pull my attention from the view in front of me.
“Hey,” Quinton says when I catch sight of him. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, just taking in the view.” I keep my gaze on the changing sky as the clouds dance across the horizon.
“It is pretty amazing.” He closes the distance between us and stands beside me, taking in the view with me. “We had good ones in Dallas, but the mountains take them to another level.”
“I forgot you’re from Dallas. My mom’s family lived there, I visited when I was a kid. It seemed nice from what I can remember.”
I—admittedly—don’t remember much besides missing my dad and not feeling like I fit in. I remember going for Thanksgiving break one year and just feeling lost the entire time. After my mom died, my dad had a really hard time being around her family. I still don’t know if it’s because it made him miss her more or if he felt guilty that he couldn’t protect her. But when they invited us for Thanksgiving that year, he mysteriously had to go on a work trip and sent me by myself. I hated it. None of the food I normally ate at Thanksgiving was there, they didn’t listen to any of the music I listened to, I got in trouble for using the hand towels in the bathroom. I was with family, but I felt like a stranger.
I didn’t go back and they never came to Colorado to see me.
Such is life.
“Yeah, it’s nice. I’m not sure it prepared me for these Colorado winters everyone keeps warning me about, though. Atlanta’s winters were pretty mild too.”
“Pshhh. The winters are nothing.” I wave him off. “It’s the spring that really bites you in the ass. Just when you think you escaped without a snowstorm? Bam! Blizzard. It’s super fun. And, it’s scientifically proven that they only come when I’m out of milk and bread.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his smile grow as his deep chuckle washes over me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s so soothing. He could start a Pandora station just of his laughter, and masseuses would play it while people got massages, it’s that good.
“So if I keep you stocked, we’ll be safe?”
“Yup, you can’t argue with science.” I stop and amend my statement. “Well, you shouldn’t argue with science.”
“Truth,” he says.
We continue to stare out of the window until the blue starts to deepen and the pinks fade. Which reminds me that even though I’m only thirty-one, I already hate to drive in the dark. And also, that I told Quinton not to wait up.
“Why are you here anyway?” Once I hear the words out loud, I realize how rude they sound and cringe. He’s going to think I’m incapable of being anything other than a bitch. “Nope, let me rewind. I thought you were going to head out. What made you stay?”
There. That was better . . . marginally.
“I went to talk to Jason about some extra stretches, my shoulder’s been bothering me a little.” He must see the panic that crosses my face. He might drive me nuts, but he can’t be hurt, the Mustangs need him. “I’m fine, really. I just want to get ahead of it.”
That seems like something a reasonable person who doesn’t procrastinate would do. Not that I can relate to that in any way, shape, or form. What can I say? I make plans and life laughs—or punches me—in my face. And I’ve learned the punches hurt more when you’re expecting a different outcome.
Expectations, kids. Don’t have any.
“Okay, that’s good.” I take one last look out of the window before turning and starting to walk down the long hallway. “My fantasy team would not be happy if you weren’t out there.”
“I’m on your fantasy team?” he asks, a cocky, shit-eating grin pulling across his face.
“Don’t let it go to your
