Page 4 of The Rebound
“I’m coming back from Sligo.”
It doesn’t tell me much. Sligo town is a two-hour drive from Clonard and most of the village commutes there for work or to shop.
“Visiting your girlfriend?” I ask, super casually.
“No.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He shakes his head.
“A boyfriend?”
“I was studying,” he says. “I’m doing a physiotherapy course there.”
“Good for you.” I immediately wince at the condescending tone in my voice. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Better late than never. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m single.”
“I meant your job,” he says with a small smile.
“I don’t have a job, remember?”
I meant it as a joke. It doesn’t come out like one.
“Well,” he continues after an awkward beat. “You know what they say. When one door closes another one opens.”
“I think I’m going to have to kick it down actually.”
“That bad?”
“I used to work for MacFarlane.”
His reaction is what I expected. Or one of two I expected anyway. It was going to be a look of surprise followed by either pity or anger. Thankfully it’s the former.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Me too.”
MacFarlane. My home for the past five years. As of December, it was the ninth biggest investment bank in the world. As of three weeks ago, it was nothing at all. On a cloudy Sunday afternoon, while I was dropping too much money for a facial, it filed for bankruptcy and my entire world, along with thousands of other employees, came crashing down with it.
Everything in my life was tied to that company. Everything I’d worked for. Not just my salary but my investments, my savings. Everything I had I put into its hands because that was what we were encouraged to do. Now all of it was gone.
And I don’t know how I’m going to get it back.
My chest tightens as I sink into my seat, drawing my jacket around me.
“Are you still cold?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning over to adjust the heating on my side. I breathe in as he does, catching the scent of him. Coffee and paper and soap.
Tyler always smelled of cologne. The same expensive cologne day in and day out. He’d go through two bottles of the stuff every year. It used to give me a headache.
Where are you?
It’s the fifth text he’s sent me in as many days. I haven’t replied to a single one.
Childish? Yes. But forgive me if I’m not thinking straight.
