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I know I should be listening carefully, analyzing each figure, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sarah’s words, to the baby, to Andrew.
“...and with these adjustments, we’re seeing a solid quarter,” Matthew finishes, his gaze expectant as he waits for my response.
I blink, scrambling to pull myself back into the moment. “Right. That’s good. Thank you, Matthew,” I say, forcing a smile.
He hesitates, as if he senses something is off, but he nods and gathers his things, leaving me alone in the office.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Relief floods over me as soon as he’s gone. I’m barely managing to keep it together, and the meetings, decisions, and updates is only making it harder.
Everything feels heavy—like I’m moving through quicksand.
I glance at the clock, grateful that the day is finally inching toward its end. The idea of escaping into the noisy din of a bar with Lisa feels like the best relief I’ll get right now.
***
The evening feels empty as I step into my apartment, a pristine, renovated space that’s beautifully put together but lacks any warmth.
It’s like a model unit in some upscale brochure, with perfect finishes and coordinated decor, yet it doesn’t feel like mine. The walls are silent, cold.
There’s no sound of paws skittering across the floor, no Bear and Bruno greeting me at the door, tails wagging. And, of course, no Andrew. No warm embrace, no familiar scent, no one to make me feel like I belong here.
It’s thick, almost oppressive, as I move through the place. I shed my work clothes and step into the shower, hoping the water will wash away some of the weariness that clings to me.
When I’m done, I slip into something comfortable but presentable, glancing at myself in the mirror and barely recognizing the woman staring back. I brush a comb through my hair, barely paying attention.
With a deep breath, I head out, hoping the night with Lisa might provide some kind of escape.
In the Uber, my phone rings, and I glance at the screen, surprised to see Daniel’s name flash up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Emily,” he says, his voice unusually serious. “Can we meet? Just briefly.”
I hesitate. “I’m actually on my way to meet Lisa for drinks.”
There’s a pause, then he says, “If you don’t mind, I’ll join you guys?”
I’m curious over why he wants us to meet. “Fine.”
I reach the bar first, settling into a booth and ordering a cocktail to take the edge off. A minute later, Lisa arrives, giving me one of her all-seeing looks.
“You look like shit,” she says bluntly, sliding into the seat across from me.
I raise an eyebrow, more amused than offended. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“I mean it,” she continues, waving a hand toward my hair and lackluster appearance. “What happened to a bit of makeup and a salon visit? It wouldn’t hurt, you know.”
I shrug. “I’m just tired, Lisa.”
“You have to take care of yourself, Em,” she says, her tone softening. “You can’t let yourself go.”
How do I even begin to explain to my best friend that I’ve lost interest in everything? That my entire life feels as though it’s unraveled in a way I can’t seem to stitch back together?
The server arrives with Lisa’s cocktail drink. “I know grief is tough,” Lisa says, taking a sip. “But you have to try.”
I shake my head. “It’s not grief, Lisa. I mean, not really.” I look down at my glass, swirling the liquid inside. “I think I grieved for my father a long time ago. When he went into a coma, a part of me just knew he wasn’t coming back.”
Lisa watches me, her face soft with understanding, but then she gives me a probing look. “So, if it’s not grief, then it’s Andrew.”