you friend's with Jeff?" I interject.
"Oh no," she wags a finger at me, "that's not
going to work. You're not going to distract me away from telling you this."
I squirm in my seat. I'll admit morbid curiosity,
but that is what it is, morbid. It took me years to fully get over the pain of
losing Collin, and I've fought internally not to think and obsess over him,
over what could've been. I'm finally in a good place with all of that, and I
have been for a while now. I feel like an addict in recovery. How will I react to
getting a hit of Collin like this?
"Secondly," she continues her tone warning me not
to interrupt again, "his profile picture was definitely him. I mean he's older,
we all are, but it's still him." She stares at me expectantly. "Well?"
"Well, what? Can I talk now?"
Vanessa props her chin on her folded hands,
ignoring my sarcasm, and tells me to ask away.
I take a deep breath and try to reign in my
nerves. I think of Beckett, who represents everything about my life today. We've
been serious now for quite a while and friends for years. We have plans to move
in together this coming September when our respective leases run out. Beckett
is my present tense, and my future; Collin is past tense in every way possible,
including the friend part. I haven't seen or heard from him since the night we
had together ten years ago. I don't know what it is, nostalgia, curiosity,
guilt or residual emotions, but suddenly I have to know more. I look up at
Vanessa and begin firing questions.
Thirty-five minutes later I'm in the elevator
heading back up to my office trying to process what I've learned from Vanessa.
Apparently, Collin accepted her friend request rather quickly, which is
interesting in and of itself, but it also resulted in her being able to gleam a
fair amount of information. The facts? Fact one: Collin lives in Chicago. He
grew up north of Chicago in a wealthy suburb; so, this is technically his
hometown, I guess. While I knew he loved the city, he'd never expressed a desire
to return "home" at any point. Interesting . Fact two: He's in a
relationship. This one's shocking, though it shouldn't be. It's been ten years;
of course he's with someone. I'm surprised he isn't married, actually. OK,
that's a lie . I could never picture Collin married. Fact three: the alleged
girlfriend is a lot younger. No comment . Fact four: I need at least a
twenty-four hour, self-imposed ban on Facebook.
I get back to the office in time to make a quick
trip to the ladies room where I take some cleansing yoga class breaths and then
splash my face with water. I have a meeting with Tim in just a minute and I
need to be firing on all cylinders.
I stop by my office, dump off my purse and scarf, grab
my meeting stuff and waltz down the hall to Tim's office. He isn't there yet,
so I plop down in the chair across from his desk and begin fiddling with my iPad.
Almost immediately an alert pops up from my Facebook app. Facebook is already
taunting me. I stare at it and then in the hallway I hear the whirlwind that is
Tim approaching. I stick my finger on the app icon until it wiggles and then
hit delete. The iPad objects, "Are you sure?" Yes, I'm sure. I have
exceeded my limit for distractions today.
Tim starts talking to me before he's fully in the
office. He takes a seat and our weekly meeting goes as it usually does. I run
through accounts and give him updates, while he makes comments and suggestions.
I take copious notes and update my calendar as I go. Then, Tim pauses and taps
his chin with his finely manicured finger. I'm silent, letting the quiet
stretch out between us. This is unusual, and I feel unsettled, waiting for him
to speak. I glance at Tim's suit; it's dark gray with a faint pinstripe, and it
fits him perfectly. He's by far the sharpest dressed man at the office, though
nothing is all that shocking about that. Of course he's fastidious about his
looks, he's that way about everything. For as fast as he moves, there's
nothing
"Oh no," she wags a finger at me, "that's not
going to work. You're not going to distract me away from telling you this."
I squirm in my seat. I'll admit morbid curiosity,
but that is what it is, morbid. It took me years to fully get over the pain of
losing Collin, and I've fought internally not to think and obsess over him,
over what could've been. I'm finally in a good place with all of that, and I
have been for a while now. I feel like an addict in recovery. How will I react to
getting a hit of Collin like this?
"Secondly," she continues her tone warning me not
to interrupt again, "his profile picture was definitely him. I mean he's older,
we all are, but it's still him." She stares at me expectantly. "Well?"
"Well, what? Can I talk now?"
Vanessa props her chin on her folded hands,
ignoring my sarcasm, and tells me to ask away.
I take a deep breath and try to reign in my
nerves. I think of Beckett, who represents everything about my life today. We've
been serious now for quite a while and friends for years. We have plans to move
in together this coming September when our respective leases run out. Beckett
is my present tense, and my future; Collin is past tense in every way possible,
including the friend part. I haven't seen or heard from him since the night we
had together ten years ago. I don't know what it is, nostalgia, curiosity,
guilt or residual emotions, but suddenly I have to know more. I look up at
Vanessa and begin firing questions.
Thirty-five minutes later I'm in the elevator
heading back up to my office trying to process what I've learned from Vanessa.
Apparently, Collin accepted her friend request rather quickly, which is
interesting in and of itself, but it also resulted in her being able to gleam a
fair amount of information. The facts? Fact one: Collin lives in Chicago. He
grew up north of Chicago in a wealthy suburb; so, this is technically his
hometown, I guess. While I knew he loved the city, he'd never expressed a desire
to return "home" at any point. Interesting . Fact two: He's in a
relationship. This one's shocking, though it shouldn't be. It's been ten years;
of course he's with someone. I'm surprised he isn't married, actually. OK,
that's a lie . I could never picture Collin married. Fact three: the alleged
girlfriend is a lot younger. No comment . Fact four: I need at least a
twenty-four hour, self-imposed ban on Facebook.
I get back to the office in time to make a quick
trip to the ladies room where I take some cleansing yoga class breaths and then
splash my face with water. I have a meeting with Tim in just a minute and I
need to be firing on all cylinders.
I stop by my office, dump off my purse and scarf, grab
my meeting stuff and waltz down the hall to Tim's office. He isn't there yet,
so I plop down in the chair across from his desk and begin fiddling with my iPad.
Almost immediately an alert pops up from my Facebook app. Facebook is already
taunting me. I stare at it and then in the hallway I hear the whirlwind that is
Tim approaching. I stick my finger on the app icon until it wiggles and then
hit delete. The iPad objects, "Are you sure?" Yes, I'm sure. I have
exceeded my limit for distractions today.
Tim starts talking to me before he's fully in the
office. He takes a seat and our weekly meeting goes as it usually does. I run
through accounts and give him updates, while he makes comments and suggestions.
I take copious notes and update my calendar as I go. Then, Tim pauses and taps
his chin with his finely manicured finger. I'm silent, letting the quiet
stretch out between us. This is unusual, and I feel unsettled, waiting for him
to speak. I glance at Tim's suit; it's dark gray with a faint pinstripe, and it
fits him perfectly. He's by far the sharpest dressed man at the office, though
nothing is all that shocking about that. Of course he's fastidious about his
looks, he's that way about everything. For as fast as he moves, there's
nothing
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