Emily’s Diary – Entry 25

What I Shouldn't Have Written Down

I went to bed Sunday night with a bad feeling in my gut. I'd worked until three in the morning, and the second I hit send, my chest tightened.

I muttered to myself, trying to fall asleep faster:

"It's fine, Emily. You're just tired. You're a seasoned, professional translator…"

The sentence fell apart bit by bit, the words swapping letters with each other, until all that was left was some meaningless mumbling. It did the job anyway, though — I fell asleep.

Then I jolted awake. I was sweating, my heart pounding. I grabbed for my phone. It was already past eight.

I opened my inbox. The telecom project manager had written a few minutes earlier.

That message had everything a chewing-out could possibly hold: disappointment, threats of contract termination, penalty-fee calculations, legal department. I mostly just skimmed it. The scattered phrases did plenty of damage on their own. There was no point sinking deeper into it, savoring the weight of every single word.

I knew this was coming. I just hadn't seen it coming.

To her credit, the project manager came up with a solution right away. Every day this week, I have to send in the corrected version of the next day's text. So by Sunday I'll have caught up a full week's worth of edits, while translating the following week's material at the same time. At least she's letting me make up the backlog in pieces. It works for them, since they can get the corrected text up on the site on time. It's brutal for me, but at least it's pacing my time for me and forcing some discipline. Monday's text was already a lost cause — someone on their end had to scramble to fix it.

I'm dying of shame. Especially because the project manager was being so damn helpful about it. But I can't afford another mistake. I have to push myself insanely hard until the end of August.

Once I'd pulled myself together somewhat, I checked their website and read that day's campaign copy. Whoever fixed it did a pretty good job. For a while I went back and forth on whether to redo Monday's text as well, or move on to fixing Tuesday's. In the end, I reworked the version already live on the site and attached it to my apology email.

It would've been better if Adele had helped me write it. She's damn good at this — official groveling, I mean. In her personal life, she can never admit when she's wrong.

For the sake of my own sanity — not that there's much of it left — I kept the email short and stuck to the facts. No excuses. I owned what I'd done. Or more precisely, what I damn well hadn't done.

I checked the website several times throughout the day, but they hadn't swapped the text out.

Thessa switched into passive-aggressive mode. She didn't reply to the dressing-down email that morning, even though she was, of course, among the dozens of recipients. Instead, she forwarded some pointless junk — an ad for office software. God forbid I have any doubt she'd read every heartwarming word of it.

What finally pulled me out of the crushing anxiety and guilt was remembering how much money I'm getting for this six-month contract. And what I'm going to spend it on. I pictured the renovated bathroom and the gorgeous bar cart I've had my eye on. That finally made me stop tearing myself apart, and I turned back to Tuesday's text.

Either this is part of Ben's strategy too, or he just sensed it was better to keep his distance right now. Either way, I haven't heard from him since the boat trip. I don't mind. On top of everything else, I really don't need the sexual tension or the dating stress. I might actually come apart at the seams.

Thursday morning, I let myself take an early walk along the river. It was the best thing I could have done for myself. Thin sunbeams piercing the mist curling over the water, the damp smell of earth in the air, the quiet of a city still waking up — it gave me back some of my spark. Walking home, I promised myself I'd start every day like this from now on.

Back at the building, I ran into Ryan just as he was stepping out of the elevator. My face lit up the moment I saw him. Luckily, his eyebrows shot up too, and his mouth stretched almost ear to ear.

"How are the kids?" I asked, lamely.

"With their mom this week."

We just stood there, staring at each other, at a loss. My mind went completely blank. Not one right word came to me. Then again, neither did a wrong one. Ryan kept opening his mouth like he was about to say something, then biting his lower lip instead.

Eventually I tilted my head toward the stairs. I swear it wasn't deliberate — just some instinctive twitch. Ryan let out a visible breath of relief.

We both flinched when the elevator arrived behind us. The old woman from the top floor stepped out. Ryan grabbed my hand and pulled me in after him. We'd barely started going up when he took my face in both hands and kissed me. I gave myself over to him instantly.

The moment we got inside the apartment, we tore our clothes off and fell onto each other on the rug in front of the couch. After the impatient, frantic, not remotely gentle act, we laughed awkwardly, our foreheads pressed together.

Then he pulled me into his arms. Held me softly. Slowly, we both went slack, resting against each other.

"Good to have you back, Magic Girl…" he murmured.

I let out a breath into his chest. I couldn't speak. I think it was less that I'd missed Ryan himself, and more that I needed to release the tension that had built up in me. Though it is good with him. I love how close he lets me get, his scent, the way he takes me. His familiar movements and the sound of his voice put me at ease.

I didn't want to leave that unanswered.

"I really needed that."

His chest jerked under my cheek, but he didn't say anything. Then again, what I'd said was a compliment, in its own way.

Not long after, I got back to work with fresh energy and a clear head. Ryan said goodbye with a cryptic "See you around." If I had to guess, he'll vanish for weeks again.

Honestly, the way I picture things with Ryan, neither of us has really reached the point of settling down. Me especially. And then there are the two kids, who complicate the whole thing. Because, well, there's their mother. Not to mention that messed-up story about her ending up with Ryan's brother. I can't quite picture myself at family dinners as the "new mom"… Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.

What I'd really want right now is to sleep with Ben over and over, no strings attached. Sail around the world on his boat, mess around day and night, and then run off somewhere far away with Ryan, somewhere nobody knows us, and live happily ever after.

Reading that back now is genuinely depressing. I basically just wrote down that, with the people actually in my life right now, I have zero shot at a happy, grown-up, family life.

I think it's best if I stop planning my future for tonight. I'm clipping today's scribbled pages together with a paperclip, so I don't accidentally reread these awful lines again.

This whole week can go straight to hell.