Cord stormed in. “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
“Why were you such a dick to Pearl? She got in early today to get everything ready for our meeting. Since you forgot about that shit until the last goddamned minute.”
“I’ll apologize later.” I tossed my messenger bag by my desk and shook the mouse, then banged it against the desk to wake up the machine.
Cord crossed his arms over his chest. “Apologize now.”
“I said I’ll do it later. Step the fuck off.” I banged the mouse and the screen lit up.
“You’ve been a moody, short-tempered, unreliable prick all week. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Are you suddenly her knight in shining armor or something? Pearl’s fine.”
“That woman is one of the few people in the world who give a damn about you. And maybe you’ve forgotten, but you run this fucking company. People depend on us. I don’t know if you’re bored or you need a different distraction or whatever, but you need to figure it out. No one twisted your arm to be here, so stop acting like it’s a goddamned chore to do your job, and grow up.” Cord took a step toward me and we squared off.
“Fuck you. I don’t need a lecture.” I held my fists balled at my sides.
His nostrils flared as we faced each other, voices raised. We were posturing like two people about to brawl.
What am I doing?
“Damn it,” I muttered. I sunk into my chair and pressed my fingertips to my forehead, the dull ache stretching into a throbbing pain. “I’m sorry. Maybe I need the lecture. Everything is fucked right now. Mom overdosed. She’s getting worse. Libby is MIA again.”
“Shit, man.” Cord blew out a long breath before crossing the room and sitting on the other side of the desk. “I didn’t know.”
I took in the exposed ductwork in the ceiling before meeting his eyes. “You’re right. I’ve been a dick, and I’ll apologize to Pearl. I’ve just been . . . it’s been rough. I’m sorry.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nah. I’ll get it together.”
Cord studied my face. “For the record, I’m one of the other people who give a damn. You don’t always have to keep this stuff to yourself.”
I grunted with a nod. My head pounded. I considered telling him everything about Britta. Part of me was still hoping I could rewind to the moment before I felt anything, and it wouldn’t matter. She’s a client. She’s just a client. It wasn’t working. “I’m sorry, man. I’ll make it up to Pearl. Is there something going on with you two?”
Cord shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “We’re just friends.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “Want to meet up in thirty to go over things ahead of time?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you in the conference room.”
I glanced at my phone.
Wes: What flowers say, “I’m sorry for being an asshole?”
Britta: Depends. Who are they for and what did you do?
Wes: Someone I rely on for pretty much everything at work, and I’ve been a jerk.
Britta: I’d go tulips. And maybe cash. Perhaps a puppy?
Wes: On it. How was your run this morning?
Britta: Did almost four miles.
Wes: That’s great. I’m sorry I canceled on you.
The dots bounced, but she didn’t respond. I could picture her, biting her lower lip and second-guessing what she wanted to say. God, I fucked everything up.
Wes: Should I send you tulips and a puppy, too?
It was the first honest thing I’d said to her since the hospital, and the muscles in my neck relaxed as soon as I sent it. I missed more than talking to her—I missed the smell of her hair and how her voice turned up when she told me she hated me—but I didn’t get to say those things, not after everything that happened in the hospital. I didn’t want to mess with her head any more than I already had.
Britta: Just the cash would be fine.
Britta: But seriously, I’m here when you need a friend.
Reading “friend” was a stab to the gut, but she was playing by my rules. I just needed to keep what I was feeling in check.
Wes: Gym tomorrow morning at 6:30?
Britta: Sorry. I can’t tomorrow.
41
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I took a long time to work up the courage to try the weight bench. I watched the how-to videos on the FitMi app and asked my coach, but I was still nervous when it came time to add weight to the bar and stretch out on my back—what if people laughed at how little I added? What if I looked silly? On top of all that, I had an irrational fear I’d fart while lifting and everyone would stop and stare. I think this whole journey is like that—watching from the sidelines and learning, and then feeling uncomfortable when you try something new. What made it easier was having my spotter there—someone to catch the weight if it came to that. I think we should have spotters on hand more often in life. Here’s a photo of @BestLifeClaire and me on our way to a weekend retreat. If you’re using FitMi coaching, you have a built-in spotter, but who else is supporting you?