From the Jump(11)
“Yeah.” I think of how much of the semester’s bills that could’ve paid for it. “What else would you call it?”
“I don’t know.” He shot me a grin I could only half see in the moonlight. “It felt more like an adventure to me.”
CHAPTER 3
That’s not what I meant!” Elena scurries down the street after me. “I just wanted you to say no to staying late like one time.”
“I know.” I glance up at the sun, which has begun its slow descent. It’s still bright with the joy that spring brings, and I realize it must have been a beautiful day. The air is crisp with the promise of a new season. Away from this strip of cement, there are entire parks full of blooming flowers and burbling birds. It’s been way too long since I’ve walked through one.
“Can you please just stop and talk to me for a minute?” The frantic edge to Elena’s voice causes me to slow and turn toward her. Someone bumps my arm as they hurry past. We’re gumming up the works. The sidewalk is no place for existential crises. And really, I don’t need it to be. Mine has already happened.
“Elena.” My tone softens as I take in the tension etched across her face. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
“So, you didn’t just quit your job?” I can see the relief shining from her eyes. Somehow, she’s taken on the responsibility for the last hour. The irony isn’t lost on me, given the fact that this might be the one time in my whole life I’ve actually done something because I wanted to.
“I had six weeks of vacation built up,” I say, tweaking the truth about my meeting with Mr. Dailey into something more palatable for Elena’s digestion. Vacation sounds better than the unpaid leave he’s gifted me to deal with, as he so delicately termed it, my “personal issues.” “We’ve agreed that I’ll use that time to get my priorities straight.”
It’s a miracle he didn’t just fire me, but it doesn’t matter either way. I’m done with Infinity Designs. If I want to work on the kind of projects I want to work, I’ll clearly have to find them on my own. I, Olivia Bakersfield, am officially going freelance.
“Six weeks of vacation? That’s perfect!” Elena bounces on her heels. “He’s always liked you. You’ll take a little break, and then you’ll come back. Everything will be right back to normal.”
I don’t bother to correct her.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say when it becomes clear she’s not going away. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Her face scrunches up with doubt. “Maybe we should get a drink or something and hash all of this out.”
I blink, surprised by the offer. Surely Elena already has plans for a Friday night. From what I’ve deduced, her social life is usually overflowing. More than once, I’ve heard her groan aloud at the realization of having double-booked. But, I realize, she hasn’t really invited me to get a drink. She’s only suggesting it might be something we should do.
“But that’s silly,” she says, squirming at my silence. “I’m sure you have other friends you’d rather be with.”
“My friends all left for South Africa this afternoon.” Realizing how ridiculous my timing has been distracts me enough to allow the words to slip out. If I’d only quit a few weeks earlier, maybe I’d be with them. But that’s not right, is it? I would’ve been too concerned about money. “They’ve gone on vacation without me.”
“Of course you have friends who vacation in South Africa,” Elena says, a strange smile slipping across her face. “I always pictured them sipping low-calorie cocktails at polo matches, but frolicking abroad sounds about right, too.”
“What?” I search her face, but the mental image of Deiss in a leisure suit distracts me, causing me to laugh aloud.
“Is comparing them to me so funny?” she asks, hurt tinging the edges of her words. “Not everyone sees me as the ridiculous person they got stuck next to at work, you know. A lot of people actually like me.”
“What are you talking about, Elena?” I cringe at the implication of her words. There’s no way I could’ve made her feel like that. “Everyone likes you. I like you.”
“Sure.” She smiles wryly. “That must be why you’re always offering me books on how to behave differently.”
“But . . .” I stutter, taken aback. “Those were books I read myself. I offered them because I thought they might be helpful, not because I wanted you to be different.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t need help?” She throws her hands out in front of her. “That I was sharing my mistakes as a way to connect with you? Typically, people—at least the ones who are interested in being friends—respond by offering a sympathetic ear. Or even better, they share something in return. They don’t just offer professional help before returning to their keyboard.”
For the second time, I’m left blinking speechlessly at the woman in front of me. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say. An apology feels most appropriate, but something tells me Elena would only be insulted by more polite words. Unlike me, she’s a person driven by feelings, and apparently, without realizing, I’ve hurt hers repeatedly.