Rocked by Him (18 page)

Was it a substantial raise?
A bonus? I didn't know.

I opened the door, a widening section of light slicing across the bed. It took me a few moments of scrounging around on the floor to find my jacket tangled up with my skirt. I tried to free it for a few moments, before giving up and just delving into the pocket.

A spark of relief shot up through my chest when my fingers closed around the balled-up piece of paper. A creeping terror had been needling at me, telling me I'd thrown it away already.

"Jenn?
Come back to bed," Drake said, stirring.

"In a few minutes.
Go back to sleep," I replied.

My fingers worked the note open, but I couldn't make out Bud's writing in the poor light. I rushed back to
the kitchen, eager to examine my prize.

My eyes quickly scanned the single line scrawled across the piece of yellow paper. I covered my dropping mouth with my hand.

It read only: "25% plus bonus." A bit of chicken scratch beside it appeared to be Bud's signature.

During our little argument, I'd scoffed at the idea of accepting Bud's offer. I had integrity. I wouldn't sell out for money, and I certainly wouldn't have him buy me out of a boyfriend.

What it would buy (or at the very least greatly assist with buying) was that new drug for my dad.

That money could go a very long way.

My stomach twisted into knots. If I told mom and dad about it, the whole situation, mom would refuse the money. She wouldn't mortgage her daughter's future and happiness, not even for the health of her husband. On the other hand, I didn't need to tell them the whole situation, just that I got a nice raise at work.

But it would mean pushing Drake out of my life. Could I live every single day from now
seeing him in the elevator, our eyes meeting for a moment, then dropping to the floor? I'd have to move out of this building at the very least.

And I didn't want to leave him. This was the start of something good.
Something incredible.

I grabbed the yellow note with both hands, my fingers trembling. Should I tear it up? Should I keep it in some safe place so that Bud couldn't go back on his word?

"I don't know... Damn it, I just don't know..." I said.

I got so wrapped up in it that I didn't hear Drake come up behind me.

"What? What's wrong?"

All the worry stewing inside me headed off any impulse to get startled.

Drake had pulled on his briefs, but was otherwise still naked. Rather than doing anything bad to his hair, sleep seemed to have tousled it in just the right way. Why did he have to look so damn handsome? It made everything even harder.

The impulse to lie about everything sped through me. Just smooth things over and try to deal with everything myself.

The problem was that I didn't believe I could handle everything by myself anymore.

So I told Drake. I told him about my dad's Alzheimer's. I told him about the
enormous cost of his medical bills.

And I told him about Bud telling me that we had to split up if I wanted to keep my job. I kept back the bit about Bud's buyout offer. Why, I'm not really sure. I guess it was because I was actually considering it, and I didn't want Drake to see that part of me.

Drake stood in front of me, one hand on the countertop, one hand on his hip. For all this, he looked like an underwear model.

He stayed quiet for a bit, making me acutely aware of the fridge's
hum, and of the trickle of water through their pipes in the walls.

"You should have told me right away," he said finally.

"I know, I'm sorry..."

"No, really.
You should have. I would have went right back into his office with you, and he really would've learned his lesson then."

As they say, hindsight is 20/20. But who knows what would have really happened in this hypothetical.

I could feel that pressure building behind my eyes again, and I fought the urge to sniffle.

Seeing this, Drake took me in his arms and held me close. I rested the side of my head against his chest, and again the steady rhythm of his heart calmed me down. But it was only on the surface. I was a placid-looking lake with a treacherous undertow.

"What should I do?" I said, my voice muffled slightly by his body.

He ran his fingers through my hair. It was amazing, the calming effect so simple an action could have.

"What's that?" Drake said.

My body went rigid, my eyes shooting open. Play dumb, the voice in my head told me.

"What?" I replied, studiously examining my fridge magnet in the shape of the Empire State Building.

"This," Drake said, picking up the rumpled Post-It.

I made a snatch for it, but Drake simply lifted it out of my reach. This was all going so wrong. He brought it down to eye level so he could read it. I took another chance for grabbing it, but he turned around, butting my arm out of the way.

"Is this a raise?
And a bonus... That's Bud's signature, isn't it?" Drake said, scrutinizing the scrawl.

I told him the final bit I'd kept back. Drake looked off into the distance right over my head. Then he sighed, his shoulders sinking.

"I'm sorry," I said. A single hot tear rolled down my cheek. Again, Drake made my body tremble. Except this time it was an awful feeling.

Drake put the note back on the counter. When he saw my tear, he wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. My skin came alive at his touch, and for a moment I dared to hope.

Then that undertow I referred to earlier pulled me back in.

"Don't be. You don't have anything to be sorry about. Take the deal," he said, his eyes looking down at the last part. He shook a little, his fingers flexing into fists.

"No! I won't. I can't! I'll find another job..."

Drake silenced me by holding up one finger. "I don't bet, but if I did, I'd put my money on you not finding anything that paid you as much as Bud's offering. At least not
soon enough to do you any good..." he put his hands on my shoulders, his fingers digging in like he didn't ever want to let go, "Just... take it. Take care of your dad."

Then he pulled me close enough to kiss my forehead. His stubble tickled at me, but I didn't want it to end. But I couldn't say anything; I was too shocked. I'd have guessed he'd be mad at me for not telling, and I maybe even would have preferred that.

This, I never would have guessed. I'd have won the lottery before then.

His hands left my shoulders reluctantly, and my skin felt unpleasantly cool without them there. That feeling spread throughout my whole body.

Then it felt as though I watched myself, like this was all some movie. I kept wanting to yell out to do something, that I couldn't let him go through with this.

But I didn't.

"I'm... not good at this sort of thing. Saying goodbye, that is. I'm gonna head out. And Jenn? Take care of yourself, okay? Don't let Bud get to you anymore. I... I..." he said, my heart picking up at the thought of what words he might choose.

But he didn't say any more. I stayed in the kitchen, listening to him rustle around in my bedroom, dressing and getting ready to step out of my life for good.

Again, I watched myself watch Drake. He didn't look at me when he marched stiffly past the kitchen doorway.

He threw the deadbolt back, the crack of steel like a gunshot in the relative silence of the early morning.

Call out to him, I thought, call out to him now, before he goes!

But I
didn’t

The door didn't open right away. Was he waiting for me to come and take him back? I could have. The me watching all this screamed out for it to happen, screamed for to run over there and slam the lock back into place and tell him that we would just figure out another way to make all this work.

But I didn't.

***

I stood in front of Bud's big desk, looking down at my distorted reflection in the high polish of its surface. I could see Bud's reflection, too, moving as he shifted in his chair.

He said something, but I didn't catch it.

I want to say that I felt something. Anger, sadness, loss. Anything at all, really. However, I felt nothing at all. Instead, an all-consuming emptiness filled me in the place where my feelings used to live.

I watched Bud's fat, wet lips wag but didn't hear what he said. There was a small, brown stain on the grey tie he wore, and I focused on that instead. It was about the size of a quarter, and it shifted shape a little each time Bud tugged the tie back down his prominent stomach.

He'd worn that tie before. I know he had. Was the stain always there? It seemed so important for me to find the answer to this question.

So I attempted to clear my head of the sick cloud of the sour smelling cologne Bud liked so much to find that answer.

"Well?" Bud said, slapping his hands down onto his desk. When he pulled them back, he left greasy prints there.

"Well what?" I asked, snapping out of my
daze.

"You're accepting it then? And admitting I'm right?" Bud said, waving a hand at the Post-It containing his offer.

"Yeah, I am."

Bud stood up, pushing his chair back. I flinched at the awful, squealing complaint it made from the movement. He
panted at the effort, and I parted my lips slightly so that I could breathe in through my mouth and not smell his breath.

"Well then, sweetie, I'm happy to welcome you back to the
Styrex family with a considerable raise. Glad to have you."

At least he didn't make me shake his hand or anything. I'm not sure if I could have stomached that.

So, after checking with payroll to make certain that Bud's promise was true (and discovering almost to my disappointment that it was) I went back to work.

***

A week after that, in a moment of poor judgment, I found myself in front of Drake's door. My hand balled into a fist at my side, and I couldn't quite work up the courage to knock.

I'd been there for ten minutes already. An old guy with a horseshoe of hair around his shiny cranium gave me a look when he walked past. He had his mail in his hand, a few envelopes. He'd nodded politely at me when I first arrived and he'd been on his way to get those envelopes.

Work had been particularly hellish that day. Bud had called me into his office three times, ostensibly to discuss a big presentation with him, but really to just flirt with me. And to remind me about Drake. Making women uncomfortable seemed to be a turn-on for him.

I came about this close to quitting (picture me holding my thumb and forefinger a hair's breadth from touching). I just didn't know how to keep going. Mom had gotten my check, and I'd made her cash it (and promised to send more on a regular basis) but it also felt like if I had to step one foot into the
Styrex office again I would drop dead.

It all came down to reassurance, I suppose. I needed some, and Drake was just the guy to give it to me.

It was just a little chit-chat. I promised myself I wouldn't even go into his apartment. I had no idea if Bud was having me watched or anything like that. He was a sleazy guy, and I definitely wouldn't put it past him.

So I looked both ways down the hall and saw no one. Good a time as any, I figured.

Before I could over think it anymore, I knocked.

When the door opened, a middle-aged Indian man peered out at me. He left the chain on
the door, as though I meant to break into the place.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he said, his accent strong.

This was unexpected. I looked at the number on the door just above the peephole again. It was definitely the number of Drake's apartment. Unless someone had switched them or something.

"Is... Is Drake around?" I said.

"I do not know any Drake. Please, have a nice day," he said.

I shoved my foot into the doorjamb. It hurt, but I needed to know what was happening. My mouth went dry, and a cold perspiration stuck my blouse to the small of
my back. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Drake... he lives here. This is his apartment."

"No, miss. This is my apartment. I moved in two days ago. Perhaps your Drake used to live here before me?"

"Oh. Okay. Well, thank you for your time," I said, withdrawing my foot from the doorjamb. My toes smarted, but
a fuzziness in my head dulled the pain.

"Miss?
Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine, thanks," I said.

I walked away. He watched me for a few moments more, then closed the door and slapped the deadbolt back into place.

In my apartment, I sipped at a hot tea without really tasting it. Normally, I liked to put a splash of cool water in so that I could drink it faster. That day, I just let it scald the roof of my mouth.

Drake was gone. He'd moved away, and hadn't told me. Just up and left. Not even a text message goodbye or anything of the sort.