Page 48 of Love's a Script
“Eons in the making,” she replied.
Cassidy appeared shortly and commenced the meeting, filling the first half with meandering updates. Mary made sure to remain attentive, nodding and smiling. Soon, they reached the last item on the meeting’s docket.
“As promised,” Cassidy began, “I have made a decision on who will lead our inaugural matchmaking cruise event. I understand it’s been a nerve-racking wait. I thank you all for your patience.” Cassidy smiled. “Eden, I’ve chosen you for lead.”
Mary thought she’d misheard her boss, but the room turned to look at Eden, and her usually stoic colleague’s eyebrows were sitting high on her face.
“Thank you, Cassidy,” Eden said, surprise making her sound breathy. “I’m grateful for the opportunity and excited to start planning.”
Excited? Grateful? What happened to the disinterest Eden had expressed for weeks? The others clapped, and Mary dutifully joined in but wanted to shout, “Objection!”
The meeting was adjourned, and the matchmakers circled Eden to congratulate her. Mary’s stomach was in knots listening to all the cooing. When it was her turn to offer Eden some kind words, Mary pushed past her scattered thoughts to say, “Wow, congrats!”
“Thank you,” Eden simply replied, and Mary waited, hoping for an explanation for her coworker’s change of heart. It didn’t come, so on stiff legs, Mary got up and retreated to her office.
There, she paced the floor a few turns, her heart pounding, refusing to ease. She pulled out her phone, intending to text Ruben, only to remember she’d deleted his information and their messages. She fought the urge to search the recent call log for his number.
There was no one else she could reach out to, so she chucked her phone into her desk drawer. The ugly emotions bearing down on her chest would’ve been too much for the friends on her contact list who mostly knew her as an upbeat person, and she didn’t want to freak out her sister or her dad by sending a distressed message.
Mary took a seat and flipped her head over her knees, willing the rush of blood to bring some relief. She stayed that way until there was a knock at her door.
“Sorry,” the receptionist said, peeking inside. “Your door was closed, so I wanted to make sure I could send in your first client.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” Mary responded, pasting on a big smile. “Show them in.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Too quickly, Ruben had subsumed Mary into his routine, placing their conversations among daily tasks like meal preparation and chores. But he was confident that by the end of the week, things would be back to normal; all he had to do was remove all opportunity for his brain to lament the break in pattern, to note Mary’s absence.
So, for the last two nights, Ruben would get home from work and fill his evenings with absorbing activities. He’d drag out his stationery bike and ride for an hour, focusing on keeping pace and breathing. A loud playlist accompanied his showers, and he’d eat dinner while perusing social media. Dishes were completed with the TV on in the background, and he’d read or watch a few episodes of an old sitcom until he was tired enough to fall asleep quickly.
On the third night of this temporary routine, he’d just finished brushing his teeth and had returned to the living room to collect his phone and found he’d missed a call from Mary six minutes ago.
He didn’t hesitate as he called her back, and it was only while the phone was ringing that he considered she might’ve pocket dialed him. He didn’t care, though, and all his intentions of keeping his distance were lost to his quickened pulse and the possibility of even a brief interaction.
When Mary finally answered the phone, her voice was a salve that soothed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have called,” she said.
“It’s all right. You good?” He posted himself against his kitchen counter so as not to get too comfortable. This would be short, he told himself. But Mary’s response was choppy, unintelligible garble.
“I can’t hear you,” he said. “You’re cutting out.”
The static crescendoed before clearing. “Better?” she asked.
“Yeah, kinda. Where are you?”
“Parking lot of a convenience store. I wanted a root beer float.”
“A root beer float,” he said with a laugh, his eyes panning to the stove’s clock. “It’s ten.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “it was a long, shitty day, so I decided to go wild.”
His chest heaved. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“Did you at least get the root beer float?” he asked.
“No, the store had the root beer but not the vanilla ice cream.”
