Better Than That

six

The following week, I lost my phone.

I'd taken it out and set it atop the toilet paper dispenser in the ladies' room. Thoughts floating to God-knows-where, I got up and walked away. When I realized I'd forgotten and gone back to the washroom, it was gone. No matter how I dialled my own number, there was no answer: whoever found it was determined to keep it.

In a last-ditch effort to find it, I sent a department-wide email. Rather than receiving clues, I was flooded with condolences ranging from sympathy to rage about privacy theft. In one afternoon, I received more consolation than the time I broke my leg and hobbled around the school for a month. The world was strange that way.

When no news came after a day, I decided to give up. I saw my lost phone as an omen, a warning sign that I should cut contacts with Nick. Not that he wasn't doing the same: since that evening, there were no more texts from him, and no good mornings or goodbyes on the corporate communicator.

❃

The year-end was the craziest period for everyone. As autumn deepened, each department was inundated with a chain of due dates. There was more staff working overtime than ever, yet everything was still behind, behind, behind. It made me wonder how Exgen managed to keep up with itself when nothing and no one was on time.

Near the end of October, there was a monthly town hall at the west Toronto site. That day, I woke up at six a.m. to catch the earliest bus. When I arrived with half an hour to spare, I wandered down to the cafeteria and ordered a black coffee. By the time I got back, the conference room slowly began to fill up. One of the early arrivals was my previous manager and we spent some time chatting about the latest problem reports.

Nick didn't arrive until after eight-thirty. His hair was windblown and his breathing ragged. He hastily apologized and surveyed the room. Finally, his eyes landed on an empty seat beside me and he didn't hesitate to come over.

The meeting had already started so I kept my eyes on the presenter. Even with my head turned, I felt him watching me. Wrapping the styrofoam coffee cup with my fingers, I squeezed it and hoped for the morning to end.

When the first break was announced, Nick tapped my shoulders.

"What?"

"Just wanted to say hi," he said from the adjacent seat.

"I thought we agreed to stay away from each other."

"We made no such agreement," replied Nick. "We agreed that... 'it' was a mistake."

It, I thought. Aloud, I said, "Seemed we agreed to more than that since you stopped texting."

"I texted you several times. You never replied."

"I lost my phone."

"Oh. You could've told me using the corporate messenger."

"I was waiting for your message."

He raised an eyebrow. "But I'm always messaging you. It'd be nice for you to take the lead once in a while."

I wanted to dump the remaining coffee over his head. But the attendees were returning for the next segment of the meeting. Stray conversations in the room began to quiet down until there was only silence. I glared at Nick once then turned my back on him.

As the next presenter introduced himself, Nick asked in a whisper, "We're still carpooling after this, right?"

I ignored him.

"I thought nothing changed between us," he said quietly from behind me.

When these words came, I felt a distinct tug in my chest. I hated myself for holding onto that drunken kiss when it meant nothing to him.