I jump up and stride away as if to physically leave these thoughts on the seat next to me. I’m exaggerating all this. Sam is in my life for another six weeks, maximum, and so far there have been zero signs of him reciprocating any interest, as I saw firsthand the other day. I need to redirect those energies into a more positive project, like my Eppy planner.
On my way back to the Xanadu, my phone buzzes with a text from Anjali. Hey.
Yo yo yo, I write back.
Anjali: Are you kidding?
Me: All the cool kids say it. What’s up?
Anjali: Rough day, she writes.
That’s not usually like her. I hesitate. Can I call you?
Anjali: Yeah.
She picks up on the first ring. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Work stuff.” She sounds down. “This life coach. I’m trying to integrate what he says into my work style.”
“Is it not working?”
“I get what he’s doing,” she says. “I need to tone it down to get shit done, give people space to make mistakes.”
“I hear a but.”
“I feel like an imposter,” she says, each word dragged out. “It doesn’t feel like me. Do you think I was such a jerk before?”
“No. It’s not bad to be assertive, confident, and open about your feelings. I thought you liked the coach.”
“I did at first, but now I don’t know.” She sounds discouraged. “At work, they keep second-guessing me. That’s never happened before.”
“You’re a project manager. It’s your job to make decisions and get the work done.”
“I know.”
“Anjali, you know you can stop, right?”
“What?”
“This life coach. He’s not, like, a god. You can thank him kindly for his time and stop seeing him.”
There’s a long silence. “He was so helpful. It made me think more deeply about things.”
“You’ve gotten what you can, and now you can leave.”
“I can, can’t I?” She sounds a bit happier.
“Yup.”
“I’ve got two more sessions prepaid,” she says practically.
“Tell the guy it’s not working and to change his approach, then. You’re paying him.”
“Thanks, Gracie.” Anjali sounds relieved. “I needed to talk this out.”
“No problem.”
We talk a bit more and hang up. Then it dawns on me that was the first time we’ve talked on the phone. We always text or meet up. I feel like I’ve unlocked a friendship achievement.
The rest of the day passes peacefully. I go for a run, and the physical activity, which I’ve been missing, does wonders for my mood. Could this whole Sam crush thing be the result of not getting enough exercise?
I see Sam in the hallway as I come back up, and there’s no disguising my sweaty and matted-haired self. He’s in a black ball cap pulled low and his hair covers his eyes.
“We should talk about the event tonight,” he says as a greeting. He follows me in and grabs a drink out of my fridge as I pour a glass of water. If I don’t drink at least two, I’ll get a brutal dehydration headache.
“Is Fangli out?”
“She’ll be back before we need to leave.” He takes off the cap and runs his hand through his hair. “What did you think of today?”
“It was amazing. Were you channeling that detective in Gold Road deliberately?”
He puts the bottle down with a clink on the table. “What do you mean?”
“The scene with Fangli, when you moved her against the wall.”
“Yes, I know it.” He makes an impatient gesture. Is this a big deal? I guess it is.
“It was the same thing you did in Gold Road.”
“That movie is eight years old.”
“Well, I only saw it the other day,” I defend myself.
“What else did you see?”
“Nothing. It’s not like I studied you.” Although, since I’ve seen enough of his movies to pick up his tells, I feel I’m well on my way to a graduate degree in Samonomics.
He’s about to press me when the phone rings and I grab it. One of the nurses from Mom’s home tells me that she’s been agitated all day. “I know how busy you are, but it might soothe her if you came by, even if you can only manage a few minutes.”
“Of course.”
I hang up and check the time. It’s already four, so I do some quick calculations. If I take a cab…but rush hour’s starting. The TTC will be faster. “I need to see my mom,” I tell Sam. “I can get ready there and meet you at the hospital.”