One Time, Badly Read online

  There aren't words for the way it feels to miss you.

  The first time I saw you, I think I felt it then. I think I've always known. Now, there doesn't seem to be a me without you. I don't recognize the girl that I've always been and so, I'm changing.

  I'll be different the next time you see me, but you'll be different, too. That's the point, that's what I'm wishing for now. That we'll both be different, but enough of the same to be us again.

  I know I’ve killed you in certain ways; I’ve taken pieces of you and lost my grip on them. What I was hoping to do was to only take the parts that were keeping you stuck. I was trying to force a change in you. If, in my haste, I took other, more important pieces, then I apologize. But I hope you know that I left some of my most important pieces with you as well.

  Love,

  Cecelia

  She would never send it. Instead, she would keep it to give to Max when he was better. She had to hold on to the hope that the day would come when they could be together again and they could make sense of the past year somehow. He would stand before her, cheeks full, eyes lively, and they would put this all behind them once and for all.

  From that moment on, Cecelia vowed to take Louisiana's advice. Find three things in life that you need to keep; it should've been easy enough. Cee didn't think her family should be considered. She wasn't at risk of losing them. That wasn't the type of family she was from.

  She would add her friends to that list, but she realized she didn't really have any of those anymore. Though Louisiana had always been her best friend, Cee always counted a few of the girls from their college years, and even some from high school, as friends. They'd grab dinner or drinks from time to time, which dwindled to a busy group chat complaining about work and money and boys, which all seemed to have disappeared somewhere along the way.

  She hadn't considered that she'd been quietly losing pieces of herself all this time. When she really looked at her life, most of the things that she counted as important, that added meaning to her day, had evaporated. She hadn't even noticed them go with the shadow of Max casting a darkness on everything else, shrinking the things around him until they didn't exist anymore.

  There wasn't much she could do about it at the moment. She was in survival mode right now; the rebuilding would have to come later. And so her main concern was her job. She'd been scraping by for the past few weeks, but she knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that her work wasn't quite cutting it. She couldn't have that happening, not when she was on the brink of really setting herself apart as a writer.

  After all, hadn't she wanted a new life? She made a change and she'd learned over time that, even in seemingly unrelated ways, more changes normally followed. It was a cycle of sorts and she was at the start of a new one now. All she had to do was adjust for the curves and try to keep up.

  She was lucky to have the boss that she did. Although he hadn't said anything to her and maybe hadn’t even noticed that she really hadn’t been herself for the past few weeks, he didn’t mention it. And the part that put Cecelia at ease the most was that she hadn't expected him to. He made it clear that life got in the way sometimes and there wasn't much anyone could do about. He wouldn't approach her, but his door was always open should the time come that she felt the need to talk to him.

  She'd been tempted to go to him over the past few weeks, but what would she even say? In her mind, Max was really sick and he might even be dying, but she couldn't help. She was only keeping him from getting better, so she'd made the decision to leave. That's how she would like to be able to explain it. But there would need to be more detail, it really made no sense without one important factor and she wasn't willing to share that piece of information with anyone.

  She wished she had the freedom to explain herself, to garner some type of

  understanding from the people around her. She spent every single day with them and it would be so comforting to be able to confide in them, to have them support her through this. But she had a nagging feeling that she'd get more questions than understanding, that she'd put people off by connecting herself to something that was still so taboo. Words like rehab and recovery didn't go over well in a professional setting, as if it were shameful to try and save your own life.

  So she was alone and she came to terms with it. She texted Louisiana and her mom throughout the day, just letting them know what was going on. She tried to infuse as much enthusiasm as she could muster into her messages. An exclamation point here, a goofy emoji there. It was so much easier to fake it when they weren't right in front of her.

  That was the way ahead, as far as she could tell. Just keep pretending things were fine, until they actually were. She could be her new, sad self around a select few people, but, other than that, she was going to start acting like her old self again. And if she wasn't quite as pleasant or upbeat as she used to be, at least she was trying her best. At least she was trying at all.

  The time would come when the happiness and peace that she used to feel would come easily to her. For now, she was going to feel her way through. Her dad had always told her that her sadness was important; it was the best way to understand her strengths and her weaknesses.

  Somewhere along the way, Stan had called her in to let her know that the spot was hers. She'd be writing three pieces per day, two curated and one would be the column for the new section. It was still a very tentative position, but it was hers for the taking should the readers respond accordingly. It had hit her as an afterthought before Stan had even gotten the full sentence out. She couldn't even bring herself to feel the tiniest bit of pride.

  Now, she was doing her best to focus on her writing, making the decision that a change of tone would have to do because any effort to maintain the voice that she'd had before would be a waste. The one thing that she wanted to avoid at all costs was producing something that rang as false or forced. She'd always written the type of thing that she could relate to, and the column would just have to change with her.

  She wrote something up quickly and sent it to Stan, letting him know that it was the start of her next column. She sometimes did this if she wasn't sure about how the topic she was covering would be received, and this was no different. Cee crossed her fingers as she read it through and hit send. She needed his approval, she needed to know that this version of her could still be successful here.

  We're sitting at an outdoor table (my request) and splitting a medium rare burger and an order of onion rings (his). The sun is warm, too warm, on my back and there's a bird chirping above us, so loudly it's becoming shrill.

  He doesn't hear it, but I do and it's loud enough in my ears to cause distraction. I'm not paying attention to what he's saying, I'm not even sure that he's saying anything at all. Because that's what happens when you realize things aren't working. You start to panic.

  Suddenly you're as sensitive as a newborn stepping outside for the first time. Everything is sharp; everything stings. There's a confusion that you can't even begin to grasp.

  I start breathing evenly, strong but low and as quietly as I can manage. I don't need him to see me, because I know him and it hasn't hit him yet that we're not making it work. He's always a little slower to reach these conclusions; I usually drop some hints and let it come to him naturally, if with a few some small nudges.

  But no hints this time. None. My lips are sealed on this one, I decide. Maybe he won't ever notice it. Maybe I could unnotice it.

  Stan emailed her back an hour later.

  Looks good. Darker than usual, but it feels fresh. It's a go.

  -Stan

  Cecelia smiled at her screen, feeling a bit of confidence return to her. She could do this.

  Chapter 19

  2015

  December

  "Something's wrong, Lou. It looks totally crooked. Is the stand on tight enough?" Cecelia was crouched down in the middle of her living room, face to face with the wobbliest Christmas tree in town, possibly in the world.
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  "I don't know. Probably not?" Lou was clearly over decorating. She'd made it a whole 20 minutes before throwing her hands up. "I think I pulled a muscle in my arm on the treadmill last night, I couldn't fasten it as well I wanted to."

  "Alright, will you just stand here while I try to fix it? Make sure it's standing up straight, otherwise we'll have to do it again."

  With that, Cecelia crawled under the tree, doing her best to close the stand tighter around its stem. It immediately began to fasten, small gaps closing all around. Louisiana must've pulled all of the muscles in her arm if that was the best she could do.

  "There! That should be better," Cecelia backed away from the tree and straightened up, giving it a close look. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't look like it would be falling over anytime soon, either.

  "Looks great, Cee!" Status update on Lou: still not into it. "Let's take a break now."

  "Sounds good, do you want some hot chocolate? I love drinking hot chocolate in front of the Christmas tree."

  "Sure. As long as I can sit my ass on the couch, I'll do whatever you want," Lou's ass was already sat on the couch by the time Cecelia reached the kitchen.

  "So I was thinking about something," Cecelia began heating the milk, leaning back against the counter as she spoke.

  "Oh yeah? Anything interesting?" Lou twisted around on the couch, meeting Cecelia's eye over the island countertop that separated the rooms.

  "I might sign up for a writing class in the city," she didn't know why she was nervous to hear Lou's opinion, but she could feel her cheeks warming a bit as she spoke. "I know I haven't really done it before, but ever since I started the column at work I was thinking that I might want to try creative writing."

  "I think it's a great idea, Cee," Lou's enthusiasm was genuine. "That'll be so interesting! Who knows, you could end up writing the next great American novel."

  "I wouldn't take it that far just yet, but it's been on my mind lately and it's kind of expensive, but I think the timing is right for something like this," she moved the pot from the heat and poured it into the mugs she'd placed on the counter.

  "I'm enjoying the column, but it's kind of easy because I'm usually writing things that have happened to me, or getting stories from my coworkers that they don't mind having published.

  "This would be completely different though, more of a challenge. I'd have to make up characters and plotlines myself; everything would be from scratch, which is kind of scary, but I'd have total control."

  "That could be so much fun, think of all of the drama you could create," Lou's smile was bright and it made all of the difference for Cecelia. All it took was one vote of support to make a tiny, little dream seem totally realistic.

  "Right? I was reading about it and the professors in the program all seem cool and they had examples on the site of the types of prompts that students get and they all seem so interesting. Obviously, it'll be a bit time consuming, but I think I'm going to really like it."

  "I think this is the best idea, Cee," Lou made her way into the kitchen, ripping the hot cocoa packages open and finishing up the job that Cee had started. She handed Cecelia her mug with a small smile, a trace of pride evident on her face. "I'm excited for you."

  "Thanks, Lou. I'm excited for me, too." And with that, Cee shot a look at the Christmas tree and took a sip of her hot cocoa, peaceful.

  That night, nestled safely in her bed, Cecelia pulled out her credit card and signed herself up for Creative Writing 101, the class she'd been eyeing. A thrill of excitement ran up her spine at the thought of sitting in a room, listening to ideas and watching as the people around her crafted a skill that was so new to her. She couldn't wait for her own thoughts to form a world full of people that she'd dream up.

  As Christmas Day rolled around and Cecelia's office began buzzing with talk of booked flights home and packed bags, she took the opportunity to sit down with Stan before he caught his own flight up to Boston to stay with his brother's family for the holidays. It was the first trip home that he'd be bringing his new boyfriend, Greg, and he'd been seriously freaking out over it for the past week.

  "How are you doing? Feeling any better about the holidays?" Cecelia asked as she closed his office door behind her and took a seat across from him at his oak desk. At 36 floors up, Stan had a gorgeous view of the city, with buildings spreading out for miles, catching the sun's rays and reflecting them in every direction.

  "Not really, but there's nothing I can do. They'll either like him or they won't, it is what it is," he looked resigned as he said it.

  She knew that Stan's main concern was the fact that Greg was a struggling actor. In a family of doctors and lawyers, Stan was already an outcast for choosing to work in publishing. He didn't want to have to deal with his family turning up their noses at Greg simply because he was pursuing a creative career path as well.

  "They'll like him. He's too funny not to like. They can try all they want, but he'll have them cracking up in no time," Cecelia had only met Greg a handful of times, but his sense of humor was most definitely the quality that stood out most to her. She often thought that must be what attracted Stan as well, for the entire time she'd known him, he always seemed like he could use a good laugh.

  "Hopefully you're right. So as long as you're not here to give me your two weeks notice, I'm just going to stick my chin up and get through it," he was eyeing her carefully. She knew it wasn't every day that she asked to meet with him, but did he really think she'd quit on him the week before Christmas?

  "Oh my God, of course not! After all you've just done for me? I'm staying right where I am," she shook her head at the thought.

  "Thank God. I just noticed that you haven't been quite yourself lately and that sometimes happens. Someone starts looking for a job elsewhere and they can't even meet your eye anymore."

  "Not me. I actually just went through a kind of tough break up, but that's all. I'm really happy here, Stan. I'm not planning on leaving," she blinked back the emotion that threatened to come through. She'd been playing it so cool; she didn't need a single tear rolling down her cheek right now.

  "Oh no, not Max! I thought you guys were doing well. I'm so sorry to hear that, Cecelia," he looked genuinely sad at the news. The one thing she'd learned since getting her heart smashed was that it was a completely relatable brand of awfulness. Everyone's been there; it was like joining a shitty club.

  "It's alright. I just wasn't feeling like myself for a while, but I'm doing better now," she needed to change the subject.

  "What I really came here to talk about though," Stan interjected a quick 'Oh, yes' into her sentence, happy to be getting back on topic. "I signed up for a creative writing class down at Empire Writers and I felt like I should thank you."

  "That sounds like a great move! No need to thank me, Cecelia. I'm not the one paying the tuition," Stan joked, clearly more relaxed now that he knew which field they were playing on.

  "But it was you who thought that I could start writing like this and I really don't think I would've considered it without you. I'm so excited to start and it all goes back to your encouragement. I just wanted to say how much it means to me to have a boss like you, it makes all the difference."

  "You make it easy, Cecelia. There's so much talent and, as your boss I must say, such a fine work ethic. I feel lucky to have you on my team."

  "Thanks, Stan, for everything."

  "You're so very welcome. Now make sure you're not working too hard before the holiday, we only need two more pieces set to publish before we can take a few days off. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year."

  The rest of Cecelia's year was filled with gift shopping and holiday parties. Her coworkers had extended quite a few invitations her way and she happily accepted. She was now the proud owner of three new ugly sweaters, two were for parties that she'd be going to in the city and one was for the small get together that she and Louisiana had decided to throw at their apartment.

  She'd asked some
of the people she'd been spending time with at work and Lou had invited the clique that she'd slowly grown closer to as well as some of the girls that they'd hung out with in college. Barring any questions from the Rutgers girls about Max, it should be a really fun night.

  As the December days passed by and the holidays came and went, Cecelia found herself looking forward to the year ahead. She felt like she'd been trudging through mud for months now and it was finally letting up, turning to solid ground beneath her feet. She had her new writing class to look forward to and she promised herself she'd get back into the gym routine that had been so good for her in college.

  Though she hadn't been able to reconnect with any of the girls that she'd lost touch with, she found herself making real friends at work. She'd been saying no to happy hours and nights out for birthdays for so long that she hadn't even considered what she'd been missing. She felt like she was truly at the beginning of something and it was more than she'd been able to imagine just a few weeks before. One change and she'd sparked a whole new movement in her own world.

  "Can you pass the broccoli down this way, Cee?" her dad had already loaded up his plate with chicken cutlet and buttered noodles, so it was only right that he add some greens, if only for the splash of color.

  Cecelia lifted the plate of steamed broccoli and handed it over to Sedona to pass to their father. He nodded his thanks as he scooped a spoonful of the vegetable onto his dish.

  When her mom had called her that morning asking if Cee wanted to come by for an early dinner she was happy to oblige. Between work, writing class, and her brand new social calendar, she hadn’t seen her parents in a few weeks. She couldn’t be happier to be seated in their cozy dining room enjoying a home cooked meal. Even Sedona had made the time to join them.

  "So the writing class is going well?" her mom finally took a seat at the table. She never could just sit and eat when the food was ready, neurotically loading the dishwasher and wiping the counters down before she joined the rest of the family.