Page 79 of Drowning Erin

“Written up?” I ask. “I haven’t been written up.”

“Timothy submitted a complaint Friday afternoon. He said you refused to complete your work and walked out of the office without requesting leave or informing anyone. He also said you’ve shown a pattern of ‘volatile’ behavior over the last few months.”

“He crumpled up a brochure and threw it at me, then told me to pick it up and fix it,” I tell her. “Was I just supposed to obey?”

“His version is somewhat different,” she says.

And right then I know his version is very different, and she believes him.

“You’re welcome to file a complaint,” she continues. “Just be aware that your credibility is suspect, under the circumstances.”

When she hands me a brochure I wrote about the Employee Assistance Program, it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to ball it up and hurl it at her, since that kind of behavior is apparently not a big deal around here.

I fume all day long. I fume all evening. The only person I want to discuss this with is Brendan, but he’s not here. I lunge toward my phone when it rings late, assuming it’s him.

Seeing Rob’s name instead is an unhappy surprise. Until now he’s respected my request that he not call, and I’m not sure why I answer. It’s mostly guilt, I suspect.

He asks what I’ve been doing—a difficult question to answer honestly, since I spend every free minute with Brendan—so I focus on work. I tell him what Timothy did, about my complaint to HR, and he advises me to make sure I document everything that happens, and note anything actionable. I’ve been so busy maligning Rob since he left that I’d forgotten his strengths—he’s smart, and focused, and no one is better in a crisis. If there’s ever an apocalypse, Rob will be the one person who acquires food and shelter without breaking a sweat.

As we get off the phone, he tells me he wishes we hadn’t broken up, that he misses me. Though I choose not to say the same, talking to him has reminded me of something I absolutely do miss, something I don’t have right now: I miss being with someone I know for a fact is mine. I miss that a lot.

55

Erin

Present

On Friday I’m on my way to meet Brendan at his friend Beck’s bar, already late thanks to Harper’s insistence that I allow her to add a few highlights to my hair, when Rob calls. I overlooked it the first time, but now he’s pushing it. I hold my temper only because it’s 3 AM in Amsterdam, and nobody calls at 3 AM without a reason.

“I was just on my way out,” I tell him.

“With a guy?” he asks.

I sigh. “Rob, I think this isn’t a good line of discussion, for either of us.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“That’s just it. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t benefit anyone.”

“I miss you, Erin,” he says. “I miss you so damn much. I wish I’d never let you go. I wish I’d never left in the first place.”

I feel almost sick with guilt. He made mistakes, but I do care about him. I don’t want him to be unhappy, so I hate what I have to say next.

“Rob, I think it was probably for the best.”

The silence on his end of the phone makes me feel even worse. I’ve heard words like that before, the kind that land like a punch to the gut. I hate that I’m the one responsible.

“You sound like you don’t want to start over,” he finally says.

“I changed a lot when I was with you,” I tell him, “in ways that weren’t great for me. I’m not saying it was your fault, or even that we weren’t happy together, but…I’m happier now.”

There. I said it. I wish I felt proud of myself for my honesty, but really I just feel sick.

“I had no idea I was making you unhappy before. You have to at least give me a chance.”

“Rob…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say after that. “I just don’t see it working out.”

“It will,” he says. “You’ll see. I can change. And when I come home I’m going to prove it to you.”