Page 24 of Soft Rebound (Mad City Moments #2)

Liz

I n the first week since I last saw Joe, I receive three job offers.

Two are with small companies and are entry-level positions that would pay far less than what I am used to.

The third is from Qpik and the salary is quite generous, but it’s not for the job I applied for—that one went to someone else.

They apparently liked me well enough during the interview that they are offering me a temporary position as a substitute for one of their accountants, who’s pregnant and has to go on bed rest for a few months before she delivers.

I would fill in for about six months, until she’s ready to come back.

They say there might be an option to turn the job into a permanent position as they have some retirements coming up, but it’s not a guarantee.

For the time being, it would be maternity-leave coverage.

I know I should probably accept one of the other two jobs, or else keep interviewing and hold out for something down the road that would pay what I expect.

But I want to work at Qpik. It’s a large company, much bigger than what I’m used to, and I will likely learn a lot.

Even six months with them will boost my resumé.

But I also want to be close to Roxie. I want to be able to grab coffee or lunch during the day.

And despite it being a horrible idea, I want to be close to Joe.

It actually scares me when I realize just how much of the job’s appeal hinges on his working there, too.

Then I get angry with myself because it is such a Liz thing to do—tether myself to a man whom I barely know just because he likes me a little.

I remember myself at age twenty, when I transferred from community college to St. Cloud State to finish my four-year degree, that first class in a large lecture hall with a steep auditorium filled with wooden seats that snap back loudly when you get up.

People sitting in groups, joking, likely knowing each other for years already, and me new to the campus, not knowing anyone.

I remember Jake asking if the seat next to me was taken, paying a lot of attention to me.

He was so handsome and confident, and I felt so flattered.

I remember him taking me to that party, the alcohol in Solo cups and the smell of weed that I couldn’t launder from my shirt for weeks.

I remember Jake leaning against the door frame and kissing me, his lips soft and tasting very strongly of alcohol, and how at that moment I felt like I was someone who was cool enough to belong in college, at a frat-house party with a handsome, confident guy.

Those early days of falling for him should make me miss him. But I still don’t. I mostly feel embarrassed at the memory.

I remember small things designed to keep me unsteady, like his not wanting to hold my hand when I asked, or discussing other girls with his friends when I was around.

When I brought up my discomfort, he would say I was being too sensitive.

At some point I stopped allowing myself to even entertain the idea that he would cheat on me—but now I can, and very likely he did—because he’d told me I imagined things so many times, I no longer believed my own gut.

This humiliating trip down the memory lane is almost enough to make me drop the Qpik job because here I am, making a choice for a guy again, and this time he hasn’t even asked me to.

Perhaps I should check myself into a monastery, so I’d never be this stupid again.

But I have enough presence of mind to remember that Qpik would be a larger and better-known company than I’d ever worked for, the money would be excellent, and even if it never turned into anything permanent, it would still mean much more on my resumé than my old company in St. Cloud.

Qpik’s offer is the only one I’m excited about.

I want to take it. So I do.

When I tell Roxie, she’s ecstatic. She immediately starts planning which days we can hang out at lunch, and all the people she will introduce me to. I gently remind her not to matchmake for me at work. She huffs, but only a little.

I wonder if I should tell Joe. I figure I could wait until I start. But maybe it would be a good thing to contact him before I accidentally run into him.

More than a tiny part of me rejoices that I have a good reason to text him.

Another part of me scolds me for disrupting his life after I sent him packing.

Liz: Hey there

Just touching base, making sure you’re okay

Also letting you know that I got a job at Qpik

Will be starting on Monday

Just so there are no surprises at the cafeteria or whatever

I really hope you’re doing okay

He doesn’t even read my text all day. He does in the evening and he responds.

Joe: Hey

I’m good, thanks for asking

I hope you’re okay too

Congrats on getting a job at Qpik

It’s a great company to work for

I’m sure Roxie is very happy to have you nearby

I never eat at the cafeteria, so no worries about bumping into me there

Trey does though, so you will probably see him

Congrats again on your new job

I am sure you will kill it

Good luck!

His texts take the wind out of my sails. He is perfectly polite as he basically tells me he doesn’t want to see me again.

I suppose I deserve it.

Although I can’t help but text back.

Liz: I am really sorry

About before

Mercifully, he responds right away.

Joe: It’s okay

No need to apologize

We need different things at the moment

You were clear from the start, I just didn’t want to hear it

It would’ve been nice if I’d met you at another time

But perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, who knows

Take care, Liz nee Melanie

Good luck at your new job, I mean it

It feels so final, my heart squeezes.

I mean, what did I expect? It is unfair to yank his chain. I know what he wants and that’s not what I can give, not right now anyway. I can’t expect him to wait.

Only, if I’m being completely honest, waiting is exactly what I want him to do.

****

I start on the following Monday, and I’m immediately swamped.

New employee orientation, tasks left unfinished by my predecessor that have urgent upcoming deadlines—it all comes crashing down on me at once.

I like my coworkers and my boss, but I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.

There is much more work than what I’m used to, so I don’t make it to lunch or coffee with Roxie even once during that first week.

I wonder if I made a mistake by taking this job.

By the time Friday ends, I am positive this has been the most exhausting work week of my life.

Roxie invites me to go out with her, maybe to Happy Hour again, but all I want to do is go home and sleep.

Bobby is back. Apparently, his past weekend with Trey was a smashing success, so he’s here for a repeat.

When I ask how he’s justifying being out of town another weekend, he says Dad agreed Bobby could collect all the financials for the week and bring them over for me to work on over the weekend.

Only this time, it’s all the receipts from almost three months that I’ve been away, and when I see the box Bobby brought with him, I burst into tears.

I don’t want to work all weekend on Dad’s stuff. I want to sleep and cook and maybe go out with Roxie. I don’t want to do more accounting.

Bobby shrugs and says I should do what I can, no rush. He says he’ll be back next week with more.

I feel like I’m doing books for the mob. I don’t want to do it anymore, but I don’t have the option to stop.

Bobby says that I have to tell them so, and endure whatever comes my way.

I don’t think I have it in me, not yet. Maybe not ever. The thought fills me with despair.

I sleep till noon on Saturday, then do laundry and go grocery shopping, and make dinner for myself and Bobby. He texts he’ll be with Trey all weekend.

I’m a little peeved, but I understand. I guess I’ll have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. For a brief moment, I think how it would be nice to have Joe over, complain about the week and watch him eat with abandon.

I spend most of Sunday sorting over the receipts from Dad’s shop. I seethe the whole time.

When Bobby finally stops by before he leaves for St. Cloud, I tear into him.

“If you’re going to use me as your beard, you should have the courtesy of spending some time with me. Otherwise, you should stay with Trey.”

“We’re not there yet,” he says.

“I love you, Bobby, but you’re being a dick. Dumping receipts on me on Friday, going with your boyfriend all weekend. You could’ve had one fucking meal with me over the whole fucking weekend.”

He looks at me. “You are right. I am sorry.”

“I’m not Mom. You don’t get to come and go as you please without any regard for me.”

“I know. I know you’re not Mom. I said I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.”

He sits down next to me. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not. I am exhausted. And now I didn’t even have my weekend to relax.”

“Can I do something to help?”

“There’s nothing to do now. You’re on your way back.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“How is Joe doing?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since your last visit.”

“Do you miss him?”

I nod.

“Does he know you miss him?”

I shake my head.

“Well, it’s his loss,” Bobby says.

I don’t know about that. It definitely feels like it’s my loss.

****

A fter another two weeks , I am beginning to get on top of my workload.

Maybe I’ve just gotten used to the pace.

Whatever it is, I no longer wake up every morning dreading the workday ahead.

I’ve been able to streamline some of my own process and it helps that the boss seems to like and trust me, so I’ve been given a little more free rein and don’t have to check every single thing with her anymore.

I’ve also mostly caught up with the work I have to do for Dad’s shop, so when Bobby comes for the fourth weekend in a row, third since I’d last seen Joe, I don’t actually weep when I see his haul.

“You need to be the one to tell Dad you don’t want to do it,” Bobby says.