Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (23 page)

I know that when I leave, it will be the beginning of the end. I know it with every fiber of my being. I know Jonathan senses that something is wrong, too. I could try to explain it to him, but in the end, it won’t make any difference. He won’t understand. He won’t believe me. We’ll spend our last days together arguing. He will swear that we will make it work. He will promise me the moon. He’ll even try to give it to me, I’m sure. But it won’t matter. It will end as it always does, with him tiring of my restlessness, and moving on.

So I choose to keep quiet. I choose to allow us both to be happy for as long I can. Is it wrong for me to do that? Is it wrong for me to stay until that terrible voice in my head becomes so loud I can no longer ignore it? Is it wrong for me to let him love me?

Don’t answer that.

 

The truth is, I can do nothing else. I love him too much.

 

184

I
T WAS
a Wednesday morning when I arrived at the office to find a note saying that Marcus wanted to see me right away. Now that I wasn’t traveling, I didn’t have reason to meet with him as often as before, but it still wasn’t unheard of, and I didn’t think much about it as I made my way upstairs to his corner office. I knew something was wrong though, when I walked in the door and saw his face. His normal joviality was gone, replaced by a solemnity that made me nervous.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Jon. Close the door behind you.” That wasn’t an unusual request either, and I tried to tell myself not to worry. I did as he asked and sat down in my usual seat, across from him.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at some point over my head. He stared at it for a moment, and I made myself count to five. And five again. And finally, he took a deep breath, and looked at me.

“Jon, we’re letting you go.”

The room spun. My world collapsed. I had to remember to breathe. It was like one of those carnival rides where the floor falls out beneath you. There was a roaring in my ears. I felt a terrifying sense of vertigo. “You’re
what
?”

“The company is struggling, Jon. We’re barely in the black. Moving the Senior Liaison Account Directors out of state helped, but not enough.”

“You told me that nobody would lose their jobs! You told me—” “I know what I told you, Jon,” he said, “and I thought it was the truth. I had no reason to suspect otherwise.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Monty’s trying to cut costs. The board only decided on Monday.”

 

“Why
me
?”

 

185

“It’s not just you. It’s all of the Junior Liaisons. Ten of you total.” He sighed, looking down at his desk and rubbing his head. “I was the one person on the board who didn’t vote to downsize. But it’s my department, so I’m the sucker who has to tell ten people today that they’re out of work.” I put my head in my hands and tried to breathe. Tried to stay calm. This wasn’t Marcus’s fault. I truly believed that. He had never been my enemy. But I couldn’t fight the rage that was welling up inside of me. “I’m telling you first, Jon, because you have seniority. We’re prepared to offer you one month’s severance—”

“
One month
? I’ve been here for nine years!”

 

“Jon,” he said firmly, and there was a bit of an edge to his voice now, “I’m sorry. None of this is my decision. You have to know that.” I took a deep breath and made myself say, “Fine.”

 

He sighed again. “One month’s severance, plus any unused vacation time.” That helped, actually. I had quite a lot of that. I stood up. “I assume this is effective immediately.”

He went back to looking at his desk, rubbing his forehead. “Yes. The personnel department has all of your paperwork ready. You can stop there first.” I got his door open, but he stopped me before I walked through. “Jon, I have nine of your colleagues coming behind you.” I knew what he was trying to tell me—nobody wanted to hear about being laid off through the grapevine. He was asking me to be low key about it.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

 

He stood up and came out from behind his desk. “I’m sorry, Jon,” he said, shaking my hand. “I really am.”

 

All I could say was, “I am too.”

I cleaned out my desk. I started out trying to be subtle, but one at a time, my co-workers were returning from their own meetings with Marcus. By the time five of us were cleaning out our desks, the rest could pretty much guess what was coming. Some were despondent. Some were angry. One actually seemed relieved. And me? More than anything, I felt betrayed.
186

It was two o’clock when I got home, and my house was empty. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved to not have to tell Cole yet what had happened. I threw my tie and jacket on the floor. I kicked off my shoes. Then I lay down on the couch and stared at nothing.

How could this possibly happen? That was the one thought that kept circling in my brain, over and over again.
How could this happen
? I had worked my ass off for that company for nine years. In that time, I had never said no. I had hardly taken a day of vacation. I had been the model employee. And this was how they repaid me? With one month’s severance pay, a handshake, and an apology?

Would it have been better if I had never accepted the demotion? I would be in Vegas or Utah, but I would still have a job. My gut reaction was to think yes, it would have been better to move. But then I thought about the last few months with Cole, and I knew I had made the right choice. I would not have traded my time with him for anything.

Which brought me back to my original question. I had done what was right. So
how
could this happen? I chased it around in my brain, over and over and over, and I got nowhere. I was by turns completely furious and terribly despondent.

I had no idea how much time had passed. I only knew that I was starting to get hungry. More than hungry, actually. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten lunch. A glance at my watch showed me that it was almost four. I wasn’t sure if I should call Cole or if I should just get shit-faced drunk.

I was still trying to decide when he found me.

I hadn’t moved from my position on the couch, and the door was behind me, so I couldn’t see him. But I heard his key in the lock, and I heard him come in. I heard the crinkling of paper which told me had been at the store. “Hey, love,” he said. “Why are you home so early? Are you sick?” I didn’t answer at first. He came into view, looking down at me in concern, with a brown paper bag in one arm.

The words came easier than I expected. “I lost my job.” 187

 

“Oh no!” He dropped the bag of groceries on the coffee table and sat down on the edge of the couch next to me. “What happened?”

I couldn’t look at him. The sympathy in his eyes was painful, and I kept my eyes on the ceiling. “They’re downsizing. They cut my whole department.”

“Jonny, I’m sorry. I’m so,
so
sorry.” He took my hand, holding it between his. “I don’t know what else to say that won’t sound trite.”

“It’s okay.”
“Tell me what you want me to do, love.”

“Just….” I wasn’t even sure myself until the words came out of my mouth. “Leave me alone for a bit.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then he said, “Okay. I can go home.” He stood up, but I gripped his hand tight, so that he looked back down at me. I was able to meet his eyes this time.

“No. Not for that long. Just give me a few more minutes.” “Okay.” He sat back down, looking concerned, still holding my hand. “I was planning to make dinner. Should I still—”

“That would be great.”
“It’s Cornish hens with scallio—”
“What about the wine?”
“It’s a Zinfandel.”
“We’re going to need two bottles.”

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed me. His lips were soft and a little hesitant and so sweet that it brought a lump to my throat. He pulled away to look into my eyes. “Anything you want, Jonny.”

The dinner was fantastic, but I wasn’t nearly as appreciative as I should have been. I let myself get ridiculously drunk and passed out in my bed while he cleared the table. The next morning I was hung over and completely miserable for the entire day. He was infinitely patient. He stayed by me the whole time. He was unusually quiet. And not once did I see the clouds in his eyes.
188

Date: May 18
From: Cole
To: Jared

I have found hope in his misery. Does that make me a terrible person? I know he is devastated, and yet, all I can think is that now, we can stay together. The answer is so clear. If only he will accept it.

I
SPENT
a couple of weeks being miserable. I snapped at everybody. I didn’t jog or shave. I was sullen and angry, and any intelligent person would have stayed far, far away. Cole, on the other hand, proved to be a glutton for punishment. He was there the entire time, making meals, putting up with me, still making love to me when we went to bed at night.

After two weeks, I was able to accept that sulking would get me nowhere. I made myself straighten up. I worked up my résumé for the first time in nearly ten years and started looking for a job. Still I was hostile and jaded. I had gambled away a portion of my life, banking on a payout, and been shit on instead. My attitude was far from stellar.

Finding a job proved to be impossible. Lots of companies were downsizing, and the market was flooded with men and women of all ages scrambling for the few positions that were still available. I had a handful of interviews, but it seemed that if I wasn’t under-qualified, then I was over-qualified. It was hard to accept that there was nothing I could do. The entire process was unbelievably frustrating.

On top of that, things between Cole and me were hot and cold, and I had no idea what to do about it. I was absolutely crazy in love with him. There was no other way to put it. And at times I thought he felt the same way. We spent most of our time together. We rarely 189

argued, and if we did, it never lasted. The sex had reached an all-new level of intensity that left me breathless. We would have periods where everything seemed perfect.

And yet, more and more, I saw those clouds in his eyes. More and more, as I tried to pull him close, he would push me away as he had done in the past. He seemed sad and restless. I tried to ask him about it a few times, but he would just give me a strained smile and say, “It’s your imagination, love.” All I could do was hope that he wasn’t lying.

I returned one afternoon from an interview that had not ended on a promising note to find him sitting on my couch. His back was to me, and at first I thought he had curled up in the corner of the couch to read, as he often did. But when the door closed behind me, he jumped. He turned toward me for only a moment, probably on sheer impulse, before turning away to cover his face with his hands. But in that moment, I saw what he was trying to hide from me—that his eyes were red and wet with tears.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said, standing up, but not turning to face me. He was wiping his cheeks. “How did the interview go?”

 

“Terrible.” But I didn’t care about that. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I just nodded off. I guess I’m tired. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, though. I’ll start dinner. Are you hungry? I was going to make—”

“Cole,” I said, interrupting him, because I knew he was lying. I knew that talking a mile a minute about inane bullshit was his primary method of avoidance. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, love. Really.”
“I don’t believe you.”

“I was so tired, but I’m better now. Just give me a minute….” His words trailed off as he went into the kitchen, trying to escape, but I followed him. He was pulling things out of the fridge, still refusing to look at me.

“Why are you lying to me?” He froze, and hung his head. “Are you angry at me? Have I done something to upset you?”

 

190

“No,” he said, shaking his head, and his tone sounded sincere. “Then what?”

He covered his eyes with his hands, and I knew he was fighting not to cry again. “I need some time,” he said shakily, “to get myself together. I can’t face you like this.”

More than anything, I wanted to pull him into my arms and hold him, but when I reached for him, he flinched away from me. It was painful, being kept outside his walls. I wished they were tangible so I could tear them down with my bare hands. “Please,” he whispered, pleading. “We’ll talk after dinner, Jonny. I promise. But I need you to give me some space right now.”

“Okay,” I said, not because I wanted to. It broke my heart to have him push me away again. But I knew that honoring his wishes was the only thing I could do. I changed out of my suit, and after debating it for a while, I decided to join him in the kitchen. I tried to help him cook most nights now. I knew nothing, and mostly I just got in his way and drank wine, but it was still fun. Tonight was no different. Although he was awkward with me at first, once he realized I wasn’t going to push him, he relaxed, and when I put my arms around him from behind, burying my face in his hair, he actually leaned back against me and sighed as I kissed his neck.

I was a little bit curious about what he would have to say after dinner, but I wasn’t concerned. Most of the time, he seemed happy with me, and I wasn’t worried. We ate, and I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t say anything immediately afterward. I did the dishes while he read on the couch. When I came out of the kitchen, he took me into the bedroom, and we had sex that I truly would have classified as earthshattering. When it was over, he moved to the other side of the bed, not touching me. And then, lying in the dark, he finally spoke.

“Come to Paris with me.”

 

I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it, and I actually laughed. “Are you serious?”

 

He didn’t laugh with me. “Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

191

 

“Why not?”

I realized then that, although I didn’t understand why or how, this was connected to whatever it was that had had him in tears on my couch earlier. Whatever this was, it meant a great deal to him. I quit laughing and thought about what he was saying. Paris? “I would love to, Cole, someday, but—”