Emily’s Diary – Entry 22

Two Messages

Something in me had changed. I don't even know exactly how to put it into words. It was like a door had opened onto a whole different world — new, exciting. On Monday I got up half an hour earlier, just so that if Ben happened to invite me sailing again, I'd be able to go without any hassle. I didn't stop to wonder why he'd bring me along, assuming he even went out at all. I just waited.

Three full weeks later, Mark called.

"So, how's the job going? Turned it in yet?"

I twisted my mouth.

He could at least pretend to care. Pretend something other than himself actually mattered to him.

"It runs through the end of August."

He hissed through his teeth, visibly playing up the part.

"Ugh... working the whole summer? No time off at all?"

Sure. Keep it up. Savor it.

"I'll survive it, this once."

"Remind me, how much did you say it was?"

Prick. I know full well I never told him a number. Especially not him. Whatever it is, it's pocket change to Mark.

"Three times my salary."

"Not bad," he murmured, still faking interest.

It irritated me, badly. And yet I'd been missing our evenings together. Our afternoons. Whatever we used to do. I know I'm the one in a rough headspace right now, and that's why we haven't been spending time together. I couldn't handle them right now. Especially not the complaining. Sofia's the only one who never whines. She just does what needs doing and adapts to everything and everyone.

She could come over, actually. Quietly clean the place, do the laundry, iron my clothes until they smelled nice, the way she does for Mark. Cook a few days' worth of meals while she was at it. I shook my head. Time to get back to reality.

"What? Sorry?"

"I didn't say anything. You okay?" Mark sounded puzzled. "I'm actually nearby, by the way. Should I swing by?"

I thought about it for a second.

"You know what?" I perked up. "Come on over. Let's order something, and then I'll get back to work."

I figured it was better to set the ground rules up front. I would have liked to add: no complaining, no digging up our history together, and Adele stays off the table. But by then he'd already hung up. I just hoped he'd be decent company and not drag me down with him.

I have no idea where "nearby" meant, but I'm guessing he called from right outside the building. We'd barely said goodbye when the intercom was already buzzing. He let himself in with my code.

"Jesus, Emily…" He stared at me, stunned. "Did you get run over by a steamroller or something? God, you look rough."

"Fuck off."

"No, seriously." He threw his arms open. "Come here."

He stepped in and pulled me against him. I refuse to believe I look that bad. He alternated between stroking the top of my head and patting my back, like I was a little kid. I didn't have the strength or the will to fight it.

"Pasta King?" I mumbled, half into his armpit.

"We can eat dead fish for your sake," he cooed.

I didn't need convincing. I slipped out of his grip and hurried to the kitchen. I pulled the sushi menu off the fridge, the one stuck on with a magnet.

"Should I order for you too?"

Instead of answering, he just waved a hand and headed for the balcony.

It was like Mark had changed too. Maybe we're getting older. Maybe as we creep up on thirty, we finally start growing up a little. He didn't complain about Sofia. Didn't take a single jab at Adele, even though right now I'm furious with her too. He was just a good friend, someone I could spend a carefree hour and a half with. We talked about easy, cheerful things. Stayed in the present. The food. The summer. The view of the river. How genuinely comfortable our lives are.

When I walked him down to his car, I hugged him for a long time.

"Bye, guys!"

Ryan called out to us. He was heading toward his car.

Now he could manage a nice, loud, clearly articulated greeting. Figures. Everyone's apparently going through some kind of change.

The highlight of my week was Thessa. She also called me from the parking lot outside the building, Thursday evening. I guess it's that obvious I don't have a life outside this apartment.

Like something out of a crime movie, I got into the car next to her, and she shoved a thick envelope into my hands.

"Count it," she ordered, with a smug little grin.

If she weren't such a nasty bitch, I might actually admire her. Might even look up to her a little. But she remains devoted, without fail, to her horrible personality. She never changes, not one bit.

Whatever. I dove straight into the stack of cash. Counted it with my nostrils flared. Then counted it again. There was a lot more in there than we'd agreed on.

"Something wrong?" she asked, sly.

"Does this already include next month?"

She shook her head.

"They're thrilled with you over at the telecom, and Ben was singing your praises too, so I threw in a bit extra."

Then, as if she were about to try to seduce me, she tilted her head and waggled her eyebrows. I was speechless. Inside, of course, I was screaming with joy.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Just don't let it go to your head," she added.

A real mood killer.

The second the heavy front door of the building slammed shut behind me, I bolted up to the third floor. Didn't even occur to me to bother with the elevator. I took the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. Kicked off my shoes, gasping for breath, the second I got through the door. Turned the key in the lock, threw myself onto the couch, and dumped the entire contents of the envelope onto the glass coffee table. I clasped my hands together. Just stared at the messy pile. I'd never had that much cash in one place in my life. Then I ran my fingers through it. Grabbed a fistful, deep, and let the bills fall back onto the table.

I jumped up, buzzing with excitement, and paced around the living room. What could I go buy right now, this instant, that would finally make me feel like I actually earn good money? Something I could get my hands on immediately.

For a while, my mind was just a swirl of black fog.

Then it hit me.

I found myself in front of the fridge again and pulled up the drinks supplier's latest catalog. A fancy bottled, pink gin gift set with matching glasses. Pink tonic to go with it. Cost a small fortune. True, I had to pay upfront, but whatever.

I still bought it out of that stack.

Once it arrived, I showered and put on my satin robe. Marched out onto the balcony and sipped my drink over the glowing city, chest puffed out with pride.

By the third glass, the devil on my shoulder showed up.

I couldn't decide whether to text Ryan or Ben. So I texted both.

To Ryan:

"My friend Sofia's husband — you know, the one I walked out when you were arriving — said you look like Ryan Phillippe. I think you're way better looking..."

To Ben:

"Hey Ben! I have to ask — have you sold that blue yacht yet? Because if you have, I'm going to have to hunt down the new owner..."

Ugh.

I know.

That's rough.

That's what money and alcohol do together. Suddenly you feel stronger and hotter than you actually are.

Ryan answered about an hour later.

"Haha, kind of awkward that I had to look him up? Yeah, I guess I see it, though sadly I'm not that charismatic. But thanks."

That was it.

Damn it.

I really thought that the second he read it, he'd come running over and not go home till morning.

And instead… "Haha." And… "Thanks."

I thought I was going to explode.

And Ben… Nothing.

Still nothing.

Fuck my life.

I embarrassed myself unbelievably.

I'm trying to comfort myself with the thought that he'll forget about it soon enough. And that next year, I'm definitely not taking his catalog job again.

That, and staring at the cash in the safe.

And gin, obviously.