“You judge yourself by her,” he states, his jaw setting hard. “Don’t argue. It’s true. You know it’s true, and to your detriment.”
The problem with people who know you well is they know you well. So, yes, he’s correct. I judge myself by her, but that’s my problem, not Jess’s. Jess doesn’t do that to me. I do that to myself. I am responsible for my own actions and reactions. I learned that in psychology class and in the books I obsessively read that semester.
That doesn’t mean I put all I’ve read to good use, as right now I can’t seem to deny or escape a defensive reply to Jack’s analyzing me. “I wasn’t aware you were now holding therapy sessions. Perhaps you need to stay away from floor two and the self-help books.”
“Perhaps you need to visit floor two and the self-help books,” he counters. “What did she do to upset you?”
“I don’t know why you think I’m upset,” I argue, setting my fork down quite precisely.
He eyes the plate and then me. “Oh, I don’t know. The way you set your fork down with forced control. Or maybe because you inhaled that cake like you’re a garbage disposal.”
I quirk my lips to the side and think about what he said. Am I upset? No. Upset isn’t the word I’d use. More like uncomfortable. Jess made me uncomfortable, and she did so with a hard shove out of my comfort zone. See, I was born in July, and that makes me a Cancer, the crab, and true to what the books will tell you, I like to live in a safe, comfy shell of my own making, and no one else’s.
Jack folds his arms in front of him as if to say, “I’m not going anywhere until you spill the beans,” and while I fight the confession, it wins the battle. “She’s writing an article about dating sites. She wants me and her to basically register and document our experiences.”
His eyes go wide and his jaw sets tight. “Is she using your name?”
“I didn’t say I’d do it at all.”
“Is she using your name?”
“I haven’t even agreed to help her.”
“Of course you’re helping her. That’s what you do when Jess wants something. Are you allowing her to use your name in the article?”
I could argue that he’s wrong, that I don’t always do as Jess wishes, but that feels like a bit of a moot point since he’ll never believe me. Instead I say, “I’d never allow her to use my name.”
“Is she compensating you?”
“If I do this,” I state, “she’d pay me in love and friendship just like you would if I were doing you a favor.”
He scowls his disapproval. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something for my gain,” he says. “I’m insulted that you think I would. And in case you’ve had a memory lapse, you had a hellish run last time we tried a dating site. Remember?”
All too well, I think, but I don’t have the chance to assure him. The bell up front rings, an indicator Sally, our desk clerk, is calling for help. “I’ll be back,” Jack says. “Call Kara. Do not join the dating site.” He gets up and leaves the room.
I don’t tell him that Jess already joined for me. What’s the point? Contrary to what he will believe, I am not Jess’s puppet. I’m not going to put myself through dating-site hell again. As if on cue, my phone buzzes with an unfamiliar notification. I open my drawer and dig for my purse to find the dating app alerting me with three notices. Notices, I remind myself, not messages.
I tell myself to place the phone back in my purse and walk away from the dating app. Instead I click on the icon. I have one new notification and four new messages.
Chapter Five
Reality is created by the mind. We can change our reality by changing our mind . . .
—Plato
“Mia.”
At the sound of my boss’s voice, I drop my phone in my purse, shut the drawer, and twist my chair around to face her. “Oh,” I say, taking in her pale skin, made paler by her dark hair, which is rather droopy around her face today. Considering she’s usually as primped as Jess, I’m concerned. Even her light-blue jacket appears disheveled, not quite sitting on her petite body properly, a shoulder off-center or something. “You don’t look so good.” I stand up and turn my chair for her. “Sit down. Please.”
She walks toward me but settles into my visitors’ chair. “I’m fine here.” She motions to my chair. “It’s yours.”
I hesitate but ease back into my seat and study her. Kara is forty-five and what I’d call a polished woman who comes together in an attractive way, but her singular features say she should not. Her nose is a bit plump. Her jaw is anything but sharp. I don’t remember ever noticing her eye color. And yet she dresses stylishly, the rock on her hand compliments of her engineer husband, accessorizing with just about anything, and she claims every room she enters, despite a quiet disposition. She has what Jess has, in that her confidence clings to her presence even when she’s as puny as she is today.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She draws in a breath and pants it back out. “I don’t know. I have a horrible pain in my side, and my heart is racing, which is probably from the discomfort. It started last night. I’m seeing the doctor in an hour.”
“I’m so sorry you had to come and find me,” I say. “I was about to come to you.”
She waves off my concern. “You weren’t tardy at all. I just need to give you some duties before I end up crashing and burning. I have that presentation with management tomorrow about the income projections for the auditorium. Can you please get them ready for me? I’ll need it to look good, in full presentation format, but you worked with me on last quarter’s update.”
I blink at her. Wait, what? She wants me to put together the presentation that she will give and to which she will be judged? My rejection of this idea moves through me in what becomes a full-body experience. My muscles are tense. My throat is raw. My heart is racing.
“Go to my office if you need to in order to detach yourself from the activity on this floor,” she adds. “I really need you on this.”
Trapped like a rat chased by a cat that just plain outmaneuvered me, I swallow hard, quite clear on the fact that I cannot let her down. This is the woman who pulled me from my corner library, where the pay was low and, if I was honest with myself, which I wasn’t until she showed up in my life, I was going nowhere. She saw me, just like “my two Js,” and the compliment that was will forever stay with me. Kara delivered unto me floor three and with it a sense of joy and purpose.
“I’ll handle it,” I promise her. “You just go get well.”
She is holding on to the arms of the chair. “Let’s hope I do.” She pushes to her feet and sways.
I’m already standing, catching her by her arm. “Do you have a ride to the doctor?”
“My husband’s picking me up in a few minutes.”
“Let me walk you back to your office.”
“I’m fine now,” she says, patting my hand. “It was just a little head rush. I know this project intimidates you, but you’ll do fine. This is good for you. You tie your own hands with self-created insecurity.”
With that, she walks out of the room, and I swear she’s a little steadier than moments before.
Chapter Six
Kara’s perfume, something sweet and oddly minty, still lingers in the air when my cellphone rings. I snag it from the deep, dark depths of the hell that is my messy purse, only to discover my mother’s number on caller ID. I decline the call. It’s not that I refuse to talk to her, or that I don’t get along with my mother. It’s simply that our conversations are always, for lack of a better word, challenging, and not well managed under deadline. Maybe if I went down to the self-help section on floor two, I’d find out I have pent-up anger issues toward her over her leaving me in that store years ago. I think I’ll stick to my favorite romance novels for now.
I’m standing, gathering my things to find a quiet place to work, when Jack reenters the office. “Kara hunted you down,” he observes, perching on the edge of his desk, arms crossed in front of his chest. “That’s unusual. What was that all about?”
“Well, obviously, she doesn’t feel well.”