The wait was longer than I had anticipated. Company came for Labor Day, and before that, I was surprisingly unmotivated to write when I had time, and when I didn't, I wanted to so badly. Anyway, enough of my excuses, here's the next one :)
Chapter 7
Ever have the feeling like something big is about to happen? Like you've been sent all these signs; ones you didn't give a second thought, passing them off as insignificant or inconsequential?
Well that's how I've been feeling all day, and besides being a bit ominous, it's very annoying. I feel anxiously paranoid, and I never would have combined those two emotions before, but they seem fitting as of right now.
I was actually afraid to get in my car and go anywhere, partially convinced that I was going to be in a wreck. And although it would have been damn near impossible, considering I was stuck behind a Lincoln Mercury that was doing 15mph in a 55, meaning I'd barely had enough speed to make it over a speed bump, I was still cautious.
It is with slight trepidation that I now make my way through my dad's office to meet him to head to lunch. I'm really not sure why we don't just meet at the restaurant and save gas, but when my dad's smiling face greets me, I can't do anything other than hug him warmly and nod at his request to wait for five minutes while he finishes up.
I take the afforded time to really look around my father's office. I've been here, several times in fact, though mostly when I was a kid. It hasn't changed much really, other than the pictures on his desk having been swapped out for more recent ones. The jar full of jolly ranchers is still there, and has been since as long as I can remember, and even as I smile at the familiarity, I can't help but wonder how often my dad replaces the candy. Hardy candy or not, they aren't timeless. It's enough to keep my hand from reaching forward to grab one.
My eyes rest on the other desk in the room. Last I saw, it was empty and collecting dust – if not a few spider webs. Now, however, it has piles of important looking documents littering its surface, complete with stamps and seals and other office supplies. I walk over to it with interest.
"Did the desk even stand a chance?" I ask my dad as I plop myself down in the chair.
"What's that kiddo?" I hear him all from underneath his desk as he searches for something on the floor. I smile at the endearment, even if I'm far from a 'kiddo.'
"The other desk you decided to conquer. How's your desk doing? Any feelings of inadequacy or jealousy?"
His head pops up and he gives me a confused smile. "What? Oh," he laughs as he realizes what I'm talking about, "no, that's actually not mine." He stands up and holds up his found pen triumphantly. "You are looking at the proud owner of a new secretary."
"Oh wow." I offer him a curtsy. "I wasn't aware that I was in the presence of such royalty, good sir. So let me guess, they gave you good ol' Ingrid Beecher?"
Yes, that's actually her name. She's one of those woman whom you automatically know she's a 70 year old, senile woman, simply just from hearing her name. Ingrid really is a dear old woman, but I'm convinced she's one diagnosis away from dementia, though I say that in the nicest way possible.
She's not that bad, though her perfume leaves something to be reckoned with. My dad laughs about me commenting on it, but I really did gag when I first smelled it; old people mixed with a hint of fifty cats. Let's just say it's not an alluring concoction.
"Actually, no they didn't. They had her at first, but when she spilled her tea on an important document and put accidentally put it through the shredder, thinking it was a paper dryer, they...reluctantly...let her go." He laughs slightly before sheepishly sobering.
"Anyway," he continues, "they ending up sending me this young woman. Who's great, by the way. She's organized, funny, sweet as anyone, and man can she file."
I watch his eyes glaze over slightly and I can't help but roll my eyes with a laugh over my lame dad. I gasp in fake astonishment. "And she can file! Wow, she is great!"
My dad blushes slightly and nudges me slightly. "You ready kiddo?"
"Yeah, just let me run to the bathroom real quick." I grab my purse and walk to the bathroom, faintly hearing my dad talk to some one who walked in.
As I wash my hands and open the door, I find my dad looking at me with a smile, waving me over.
"And this is my daughter I've been telling you about." He points to where I am, swelling with fatherly pride, and my cheeks flame before I even get over towards him.
"Spencer, this is-"
But I don't need him to introduce me, because I already know who it is. Really I should have seen it coming. Who else would it be? My life is too predictably fucked up for it to be anyone else.
"Ashley," I supply for him, feeling the sudden urge to burst out laughing at the situation.
"Oh," he says in surprise, looking between Ashley and I. "You've met?"
This time Ashley answers. "We've run into each other – literally." She smiles at me. "How've you been?"
There's so much I want to say to her, but with my father there, and frankly, with her there, I'm finding speaking in complete sentences to be beyond my ability at the moment. "Fine."
"Spencer," my dad chastises gently, mistaking my short response for rudeness, instead of nervousness.
Ashley shakes her head and smiles, offering a polite, "It's okay, Mr. Carlin. We're old friends, aren't we Spencer? We go way back."
I can't help but inwardly laugh at that. If she only knew.
"Well we're about to head to lunch," my dad tell hers. He pauses, and before I can stop him – though I'm not sure if I really want to – he looks at Ashley. "You're welcome to join us, if you want."
I don't know why her eyes flick to me, but they do. "Well," she considers, and I don't know if she's politely pausing to turn the offer down, or if she really is contemplating the pros and cons.
I find myself leaning forward in anticipation.
"Sure," she agrees finally, and I release the air I'd been holding in.
"Great!" My dad grabs his coat and gives a smile to Ashley and me. "Shall we?" He holds the door open.
Ashley laughs at his chivalry and walks into the hallway, stopping just outside the door and peering at me. I blush as I trip over my feet while walking after her. For her part, she doesn't laugh, but I can see the amusement in her brown eyes, and I don't have to look at my father to know he's green eyes are smiling as well.
The only thing I can think is, 'what have I gotten myself into?'
Dad laughs as he unlocks the door, smiling as Ashley recounts one of the many funny stories from lunch. Me? I'm trudging behind, staring at the floor to make sure no threads jump out from the carpet to trip me. Not that I need assistance.
Lunch really wasn't bad. Awkward, sure, but only because Dad and Ashley kept talking about work related things. And as much as I tried to contribute my knowledge, all I could offer was the company name. They laughed politely and then went back to discussing a specific case, stopping and looking at me as if forgetting I was there with them.
Is it wrong that I'm jealous of my father?
Anyway, despite me feeling like a third wheel with my happily married father and his very young (Dream Girl) secretary, I am glad Ashley came with us.
It was great seeing Ashley in a different setting, one without us unintentionally trying to kill the other. Watching her get along perfectly with my dad had my lips smiling and my chest aching, and I can't help but think she's the only person I've known who's flowed with him so effortlessly.
And now I wish that I had been more loquacious - anything other than my lame monosyllabic responses and small laughs. My nerves had me stuttering like a per-pubescent boy, and I was afraid that if I was successful in making a witty comment, I'd combust.
"We should do this again," my dad offers, drawing my attention back to my surroundings.
"Definitely." Ashley smiles so brightly, causing her eyes to sparkle. I can feel my heart clench again. I have to stop my hand from resting on my chest.
"Ashley, why don't you get Spencer's number, you know, so the two of you can hang without this old man cramping your style?"
I feel heat rise to my face in mortification, and I don't know whether to kill my dad or kiss him. I keep my eyes cast downward so that there's no chance of me meeting Ashley's gaze.
And I can't help but wish for the balls that my dad has.
And now I can't help but wish I could take that thought back.
My eyes reluctantly find Ashley's, searching for any signs of disgust or disdain or something distasteful at my dad's suggestion. Finding none, I breath a small sigh of relief and step over closer to Ashley, offering a sheepish smile, as if I'm simply acquiescing to my dad's request. As if my heart isn't threatening to beat out of my chest and my hands aren't shaking.
Before she can get her phone out, I've thrust mine into her hands, avoiding seeing the concerned look she's probably shooting me. "Put your number in and then I'll call you so you'll have mine."
It's the only thing I can think to do. There's no way I can sit at home with her number, knowing it all rests in my hands.
"Sure." She smiles again and types her number in, handing it back to me and holding her own phone as she waits for my call to go through.
When it rings, she holds it up with a smile and silences it. In my mind, I congratulate myself for calling her, even if it's not the situation I pictured.
Offering parting words by way of an excuse about catching up with work, I leave my father's office. Their office. My feet carry me to my car, and I trip several times on the way.
I don't mind though, because I know why I tripped so many times. It's because they weren't on the path ahead of me.
No.
They were on the phone in my hand, the one displaying Ashley's phone number so tantalizingly in front of me.
I really do have work do, but I know there's no way I'm finishing it. My eyes are faithfully glued to my phone, just in case it vibrates with a message or call; either way, I don't want to miss it.
It vibrated early, and I about spilled my water as I bounced excitedly in my chair, only to find out it was a stupid chain text from a woman at work, warning me that if I didn't forward it to at least ten people, I'd miss out on finding my true love.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes, knowing that I'd already found my true love. Sure, my true love currently only existed in a dream, but the more time I spend in my dreams – with Ashley – the more I realize that she was right; maybe I shouldn't be looking. Maybe I have already found it.
My phone lights up with a message, and I briefly glance down before my eyes quickly snap back to it and I pick it up quickly.
Is it just me, or did my desk smell like rotten eggs blended with coconut?
The message isn't anything special, but as I reread its contents and its sender's name with an ever widening smile, I feel like I know I've found it. And it's not scary at all.
