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I was an excellent writer and did well composing emails. I had a knack for establishing rapport quickly with people. And with my job, that stood out as a highly coveted skill. There was nothing I couldn't accomplish. Even as the tasks seemed to mount before me, I knocked them down one-by-one until only a few were left.
I tapped my desk rhythmically while staring at the email on the screen.
“Bart's father passed,” I whispered to my empty room. “That's such a shame. I feel for the guy.”
My boss wanted me to compose a letter of condolence. As much as I was a skilled communicator, I was finding it difficult to get my thoughts onto the screen.
I typed, “Bart, I have so much regret hearing the news. We admired your father here at the company and we found him to be a true delight whenever he attended our functions.”
I frowned at the sentence and shook my head.
That sounds too strong.
I erased the entire sentence and started again, using pieces of the previous sentence I had composed. After a few more words were typed out, I backspaced again. I was really hitting my head against the wall with this one. I had just written a letter of rejection to one account as they hadn't met our requirements. That felt like it was a breeze.
But this letter? It was far too emotional. And it was stirring up some of the storm that had formed about the wedding.
And about Clara.
This job is why we broke up in the first place, I reflected.I would leave for weeks at a time, making Clara feel lonelier by the day.
I sighed as I stared at the screen. It felt like the words I had typed were mocking me. All the apologies listed and the condolences were making it feel like I was writing a letter to Clara instead of Bart. And that just didn't sit well with me.
I closed the email screen. The desktop background appeared, a lovely scenic picture of my view from my hotel room when I stayed in London. The city was blanketed with fog and rain as it typically was whenever I visited. I noticed the veranda that overlooked the city. I sat forward to get a better look, studying some of the objects I could see in the room.
One of them was a picture of Clara.
That's right. I took this while we were still together.
A grim expression crossed my face. My eyes lingered to an untitled folder on my desktop, the one I had tried to hide away from the rest of the world—and from myself.
I clicked on it.
The folder opened up and revealed what I was hiding. I scrolled through a few pictures, smiling to myself as I studied the focal point of the camera.
It was Clara and me.
A knock came from the door.
I hid the folder and spun around in my chair, folding my hands behind my head as my sister walked in. “Hey, bro.”
“Hey, sis.”
“What are you up to this morning?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, you know—the usual.”
“Work, work, work.” She held up a pot of coffee. “I thought I could top you off.”
“I see your waitressing skills have remained useful.”
She playfully smacked my arm as she stood next to the desk and refilled my coffee mug. “Hey, one of us had to get a normal job while you were off taking over the world.”
“I didn't take over the world. I just explored it.”
“And you keep exploring it.”
I sighed. “Are you still mad about the Canada trip?”