“There’s not much to know anymore,” I say dismissively.
Her smile falters. “That’s too bad. It seemed like she was good for you.”
My only reply is a nod. Discussing our love lives, past or present, is not on the table for Rachel and me, but I appreciate her concern.
“Well, give it some time. Maybe it will all work out eventually.”
Not likely, I think.
“Ready to go?” I ask instead.
Rachel smiles, a flicker of something in her eyes. “Actually, it’s just you and Sophia today. I’m just dropping her off, then I’m meeting someone else for lunch.”
I can tell be her tone that it’s someone she’s seeing, but I don’t ask any questions. Honestly, I’m just glad that Rachel has gotten her life back together.
Now, if only I could do the same.
***
The only upside to losing Margot as my assistant is that I’m so swamped with work that I can hardly find the time to focus on losing Margot as my girlfriend.
It’s a silver lining, albeit a whisper thin one.
Most weeks, I clock eighty hours or more at the office, trying to accomplish all the work that Margot and I used to do as a team. I always fall short. Everything is piling up with no end insight. Professionally, I feel Margot’s absence in every unfinished report and unanswered email.
Personally, I feel her absence every time something funny or ridiculous happens. I can hear her laugh. Imagine the way she’d roll her eyes, or the sarcastic comment she would make. She’s only a few floors away, but the distance feels insurmountable.
We rarely see each other around the office. I have a feeling that’s by design—hers, not mine.
Every day that I don’t see her feels worse than the last. Sometimes it feels like the slim possibility of bumping into her is the only reason to get up in the morning and drive to the office. Then, when I arrive, I wallow in the work that used to bring me joy. There was a time when I thought I really loved my job, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it was Margot that I loved all along.
Without her, it all feels dreary, dull, and meaningless. Who cares about purchase orders or budget meetings or this year’s holiday catalog? The only reason I bother with any of it is because it’s a distraction.
At some point, my brother takes note of this and starts inviting me over for dinner. I give him noncommittal answers until he finallytellsme I’m coming over for dinner one Saturday night. If I don’t show up, he threatens to come drag me out of the office himself.
Reluctantly, I show up on my own accord.
By 8:45, there’s still no sign of Emma. Dinner has been downgraded from a home-cooked meal to carry-out pizza, which Garrett just called to order. I offer to leave, since I never really wanted to come over in the first place, but my brother tells me to stay. It’s not a request.
Half an hour later, Emma bursts through the front door, carrying two pizzas and spouting apologies. Garrett stands up, taking the pizzas from her.
“Is she okay?” I hear him ask under his breath.
Emma answers with a discreet nod.
I’m on my feet immediately, interest piqued. “Is who okay?” I ask. They exchange a look. “Margot? Did something happen?”
We’re all frozen there, the weight of their silence bearing down on the room. Eventually, Emma sighs and answers, “Yes, Margot, but she’s fine now. Nothing to worry about.”
“What happened?” I demand.
“Her ex showed up at her apartment. She doesn’t know how he got her new address. It freaked her out.” Emma’s tone is clipped, making it clear that the conversation is over.
I disagree.
“Jeremy showed up at her apartment? What did he want? Is she okay?”
Emma shoots me an exasperated look, repeating her words in a firmer voice, “She’s fine.”