July 1983 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC
"Don't give me that, Mark! I put a work order in to have these ready to go no later than 9am this morning! It's 4 o'clock!" Angela slammed the file on her desk. "I can't run the test without those ads! It does me no good to have the copy without the images – both of them!"
With wide eyes of innocence, Mark shrugged off the indictment, "Look, my department has been tied up with Motorola for the last two weeks. But we just finished, and the entire docket is cleared to work on your snack food A/Bs first thing tomorrow." He scrunched his face and waved her off, "It's not a big job. It should only take-"
"It's not big to you, Mark. But you aren't paid to triage by preference! This test is part of a very big job. Nabisco has more than twice the potential of Motorola - and this goes to print tomorrow!"
Mark's head tipped back in exasperation, but Angela didn't lay off. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward, "I gave you the approved copy a week ago, and I am not going to be stalling my focus group with knock-knock jokes while you get around to doing your job! So, if you don't have them with you now, make sure I have them when I walk in tomorrow. Get. On it!" She punctuated her command with a sharp point toward the open door.
Mark snatched the file and stormed out of her office.
Angela plunked down on her chair, and leaned back into it, finally letting herself exhale.
"RRRAYer!" Peterson's donut-muffled meow drifted past her door.
Angela's manicure sliced into her palms as she glared toward the hallway. …that greasy little jester!
She sat there, chest heaving for a couple of seconds.
You know what? I have had it! I am so sick of everybody assuming my work isn't important, and my reactions aren't justified!
Angela shoved her chair back, and marched angrily toward her door. But right before she could tell Peterson to suck that hairball back down to the pimply ass from whence it came, Paxton's controlled voice stopped her. Quieted, Angela stepped to the side of the doorframe closest the men and listened.
"What's she supposed to do, Jim? Let him walk all over her? She's right. Nabisco is a much bigger fish, and no part of our job with them should ever have been compromised."
Angela lowered her smiling face to herself.
She heard steps toward her door, and then Paxton walked past it. She looked up after him to see him looking back at her over his shoulder, smiling.
July 1983 - Fairfield, CT
Jonathan squeezed his stuffed leopard as he looked out the window of the back seat. He still wouldn't look at her. Michael had wanted to go four-wheeling with his crew, and Jonathan's weekend plans had been truncated to a Sunday afternoon.
Michael does need to get out and be with his friends. Who doesn't? But things were different with them being separated. She was with Jonathan all week. Having breakfast with him, checking his homework, reading him bedtime stories, Michael wasn't there for any of it. But when Michael wanted to have a normal-guy-weekend, Jonathan already hadn't seen him for a week.
'You need to hang out with your friends during the week, Michael. A week is a long time to a kid.'
'Chill out, Angela. Everybody else can't go four-wheeling during the week, and you can't pack a day trip into a weeknight anyway. I don't even do it every month. And why the hell did you get me one if you didn't want me to use it?'
'First of all, I got you the four-wheeler years ago. We weren't separated then; you had more time you could spend with Jonathan. Second of all, I'm not saying I don't want you to use it. I'm not even saying you shouldn't take the occasional weekend and go off with the guys. I'm just saying, plan it ahead of time. Don't let Jonathan think you're going to be spending all that time together if you're not committed to being there. He looks forward to it!'
'I didn't know we were going the last time I saw Jonathan. I wasn't trying to tease him. But the guys and I were talking this week, and it worked out with all our schedules to go!'
'It didn't work out with yours. You could've tried for another weekend, after you prepared Jonathan for the possibility, and he wasn't waiting all week only to be disappointed. You could've told them, "No".'
'Yeah, you like that word, don't you? Well, sorry, wifey; but this is something I want to do and I'm going to do it. I am very happy to hang out with Jonathan on Sunday, and we can spend the whole next weekend together. God knows, you and I don't have plans…'
She'd taken a second to adjust. 'You aren't even willing to live with us - your family - and you're mad I'm not having sex with you?'
'I'm not saying we're better. I'm saying it could be part of the process – a fucking reminder, if you will. As for me not being willing to live with you, it's really been more of a mutual default, hasn't it? I moved out, and with all our ups and downs and me being gone, I never got my footing enough to move back. I'd ask you if you want me to, but I'm afraid I'd get a different answer tomorrow! And you suggesting I'm the one with a lot of nerve, is just laughable. You haven't even let me touch you in two months, and you're getting on me about not moving back? We're in a sticky place, sweetheart! It doesn't mean I want to break off all contact with you.'
Angela had taken a few seconds to absorb what he'd said. Then she answered. 'Is this really the situation you think could use that kind of advance?'
Somehow, he'd managed to scoff seriously. 'It's a Hail Mary pass, to be sure.'
'Well, I need something steadier than that.'
Now, Angela drove down the quiet streets, gripping the steering wheel even tighter. He just didn't get it. She was scared. Why didn't that mean anything to him? Why didn't he see his choice in that? Why didn't he see his choice in making it worse? His callousness had reignited her anger on the subject. And the worst part was, she didn't want to fight him off. Even as he dismissed her feelings and lashed out at her, she knew, at the base of it, he was throwing the fit because he wanted her, too. And that felt good. They'd always wanted each other.
But now, most of their interactions were frosted over with devout snarkiness and bitter stares. Even angry, Angela missed when things were warmer. Other than this recent square-off, they'd hardly had even practical conversation since that night in her room. Michael had been conveniently? tied up with his upcoming project, and curiously, she found that the distance both irritated and inoculated her. She didn't know how long they could hold out like this, but it didn't seem that either of them was in much of a rush to do anything drastic. She wondered if that meant anything about the strength of their relationship, or if it just referenced their fear. Either possibility made her jittery.
Angela pulled up to Michael's apartment. She'd barely taken the car out of gear, when Jonathan unbuckled and dashed out the side. Dropping her head to her chest, Angela unbuckled herself and made a much slower trek to her husband's door. I want them to want to be together. I don't know why that hurts so much, but it does.
Michael had left the door open, and she walked in to see him leaning against the counter on which Jonathan was sitting. Jonathan was talking a mile a minute, while Michael listened.
"-and she said He-Man was stupid! But he isn't! He's the best!" Jonathan crossed his arms, and wrinkled his nose. "Girls don't know anything," he scowled.
Michael laughed and looked up at Angela's half-lidded response. "They'll be driving you nuts your whole life, son. Better get used to it."
Jonathan shot Angela an annoyed look and tried to refocus his dad's attention. "Most of the times, Jenny's fun. Now she likes My Little Pony," he said, twisting his face in disgust.
Michael nodded in solidarity. "That's a woman for you. She starts off doing fun stuff with you, then she goes and changes her mind…" he cast a half-amused glance back up at Angela's squinting eyes.
Exasperated, Jonathan spun around, "Mommy! Can you go now?"
At Angela's shocked and hurt look, Michael picked up Jonathan and looked him in the eyes. "Be nice to your mother, son," he said quietly. "Go read your comic for a minute. I'm going to say goodbye to her, and then we can hang out." He put him down, and Jonathan pouted over to the couch.
Michael walked silently up to Angela, who still hadn't lifted her face. He stood before her, but she didn't move. After a few seconds, Michael leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Angela," he said softly. "I'll talk to him."
Angela slowly revealed her teary face. Stepping backward, her voice was barely audible. "See you at 7:30." She turned, and walked quietly back to her car.
Michael brought Jonathan home at exactly 7:30 that evening. Jonathan pleaded for Michael to put him to bed, so Michael did. At 9:52, Michael finally descended the staircase, and found Angela staring blankly on the couch, her full mug of tea, long-since cooled, holding down the coffee table in front of her.
He came up near her. "Hey," he said in a groggy voice. She looked up at him, but didn't move. "That took forever," he said, shaking his head.
She looked back into the distance. "Thank you for putting him down," she said absently.
Michael shifted his weight as he looked to the side, then up, and down.
"Look, Angela, about earlier. I wasn't trying to-"
Her face dropped and her eyes squeezed shut.
Sighing, Michael sat down next to her. He turned his head, and tried to catch her eye. "I'm sorry."
Angela turned her face toward his shoulder and cried into it, hard. Michael overlapped his arms around her and leaned back against the couch. Softly nestling his lips into her hair, he held her tightly. Her sobs were nearly silent, but they shook both of them.
When she was spent, she didn't let go. Neither did he. She leaned her whole body into him, soaking up the comfort for which she was starved. No thoughts formed in her mind, but a long-awaited sense of rest relaxed her entire body. She didn't realize when her headache went away, and she didn't know when she fell asleep.
Angela's eyes stuttered open in what was clearly the middle of the night. She moved her chin up and watched Michael's sleeping face. Her sadness nearly paralyzed her, but her gratitude didn't confuse her. She tucked her chin back down and focused on the way his chest rose and fell, finding herself synching her breaths with his. She was exhausted, but she didn't want to miss this.
They were quiet. They weren't hurting each other. For once, they were being everything the other needed, and it was a moment to be captured. No camera could do it. She just had to experience it. His heart thumped softly in her ear, and she noticed his wrist had fallen over her hip. She turned her head just enough to see it, securing the image to memory.
When Angela couldn't keep her stinging eyes open any longer, they closed like a vacuum-sealed door. Vaguely, she comprehended a ghostly wish that they'd never open again.
