Page 25 of Square Waves (Big Fan #2)

XXIV

On the train from Dulles to my apartment, I can feel every one of my pores opening up to sweat. The humidity is somehow even more overwhelming than I remembered. The air in my place is stale and much too warm. It already feels like somewhere I used to live.

But I haven’t made any decisions yet, so I spend the weekend attempting to determine if this is somewhere I could be happy.

I light a candle. I restock the fridge with my favorite foods.

I get a bunch of flowers and put them in one of Willa’s striped cups on my nightstand.

I buy a plant that I know I’m going to end up killing; for now, its glossy green leaves make the place feel brighter. More alive.

Then, inevitably, it’s Monday. My brain goes blank.

I lean on muscle memory to put on a wrap dress, do my makeup, start my commute.

I’ve made this particular trip thousands of times: during heat waves and rainstorms, hungover and underslept.

On days when I was excited to get going and ones when I thought I would rather sink into the earth and die than check my email.

When I open my laptop, my inbox is a deluge, but there’s no time to deal with it. The first thing on my agenda this morning is a meeting with my boss, Patricia. Something about walking across the threshold jars me loose from the web of routine I’ve been caught in since I woke up.

The first time I stepped into this room was so long ago. I was a different person then.

I sit in the chair across from her and wait a moment while she finishes typing and hits send before turning to me. “Cassidy. Welcome back.”

“Thank you. And thank you again for suggesting the time off. I don’t think I realized how much I needed it until... well, until I did.”

“I’m glad to hear that you were able to rest.” She smiles, but I can tell she’s looking me over, trying to see through my facade. To suss out if the cracks she saw a month ago have mended themselves or not.

Finally, I know the answer. “I didn’t end up doing much resting,” I start.

“But I did do some thinking. And I think—I know—I’ll always be grateful to you and KIB for taking me on.

You all believed in me when no one else did.

When I’m not sure I believed in myself.” I take the deepest, longest breath.

Then I let it out. “But I think it’s time for me to move on. ”

I wait to see how the decision hits me: if I feel a flood of panic and regret.

But I just feel... light. Like I’ve finally put down a backpack I’ve been hauling around—the kind so big and awkward that it’s hard to sit or stand.

I’ll always be Cassidy Weaver: Before and After.

But being her doesn’t have to be my job anymore.

I’ve earned the right to try something else.

And finally, my desire to move forward has outstripped my fear of the unknown.

“I’m sad that you’ll be leaving us, but I also—I can’t say I’m shocked.” Patricia gives me a conspiratorial smile. “I’m excited to see what you do next. You were so impactful to the organization during your time here, Cassidy.”

Hearing that in the past tense is a relief.

From there, we move on to logistics. Instead of two weeks, I’m going to stay on for a month, to give them time to hire someone new and give me a chance to get everything sorted for whoever that is.

It turns out that, with an end date in mind, the work is much more bearable.

In late September, I do one last event, something we scheduled a year ago.

It’s a conference for DC educators. I feel the usual knot of guilt and dread gathering in my stomach as I look out over the audience.

I don’t want to be responsible for telling everyone in attendance how to stop people from being assholes.

Teachers probably know more about it than I do, anyway.

But I share my story for a public audience, one last time.

About how it felt to have the world’s eye turn toward me and tell me I was scum.

And about how it feels to keep trying to believe that that isn’t true.