“Discretion is the key to a successful office romance,” Britt said.
“Being attracted to colleagues should be a big no-no. You need to pull the plug. Is it really worth the office politics and gossip? It’s worse than high school. Your career and reputation are at stake. Office affairs are complicated and unprofessional. And I can’t believe Jack would cruise ‘the cubicles’ for love.”
“I met him before he ever set foot in the office.”
“Still, why would you do it?”
“Because love doesn’t come with instructions.”
Storming, Britt left. She knew people would always look at her in a different light. It’s why she worked so hard to keep it a secret.
She wondered how Jack was doing. She knew he was loyal and faithful. Still, some small jealous part of her wondered if Miranda had left that funeral dinner alone or if she had decided to provide Jack with a special kind of solace. That night, Britt went over to his apartment to see how he was doing. She just wanted to see him. She had to trust that everything would be okay.
When she stepped out of the elevator on his floor, she took a long breath. She wished she had the armor of some excuse to be there, just in case there was another woman there. Scolding herself for being a coward, she knocked on the door. No one answered. She knocked louder. When there was no response, she took out her phone and rang his. She could hear the ringtone from where she stood in the hallway so unless he’d forgotten his phone, he was on the premises.
“Please open the door, Jack.
“Or what? Are you going to break it down?” he said.
“Maybe I will.”
She looked down at her flip-flops and wished she’d chosen more aggressive footwear...something apropos for destroying doors, perhaps. Still, she listened closely and heard a grumble, a shuffle and the door creaked open. Inside it was completely dark and frankly the air inside the apartment didn’t smell all that good. Fresh air had not been part of the last couple of days for Jack. She pushed past him, noting from the light of the hallway that he was scruffy, unwashed, either half-asleep or half-drunk.
“What’s gotten into you?” she said.
“Shit! You’re loud,” he mumbled, brushing past her to flop onto the sofa.
Britt flicked on a lamp and he shielded his eyes like he was emerging from a subterranean lair. He blinked and turned his head to the couch cushions. She picked up messy piles of papers, wrinkled and with coffee stains on them, and tried to bundle them into their respective folders without being intrusive. Finally she just shoved them all into one big stack to deal with later. She brought Jack a glass of water and two aspirin.
Jack sat up, rubbed his hands over his face and looked around ineffectually.
“I can’t remember what happened. I don’t know. I know I had drinks.” He nodded toward a few empty bottles on the side table, one dirty tumbler on its side.
“I’m starving though,” he said.
In his kitchen, she found the remnants of the meat tray in the refrigerator, some olives, part of a fruit tray that was mostly soggy melon, and a few mini cheesecakes. She paused, popped a pumpkin one into her mouth—just to test their freshness and safety obviously—and started to assemble a plate for Jack. She loaded a leftover brioche bun with a stack of meat slices and put some olives and melon on the side. She reluctantly parted with a couple of the cheesecakes in chocolate mint and presented him with the loaded plate.
When she came back in, he had fallen asleep again.
“Jack,” she said.
He opened his eyes. “What’s going on?” he said. “Everything’s fuzzy. My head hurts.”
“Your dad died and you’ve been on a two-day drunk. I found some food in your kitchen. Give your body something to bounce back on.”
“How did you know I was hungry?”
“Um, you told me.”
“Oh. I must’ve fallen asleep again.”
“You did.”
Jack regarded her dubiously and poked at the massive sandwich overloaded with meat. Taking a labored breath, he took a bite of the mini cheesecake. Despite the fact that she and Marj had been popping those things in a single bite, she was happy to see him consume anything that wasn’t straight alcohol. When he ate the rest of that single mini cheesecake, Britt felt her eyes well with tears. She wanted him to be okay. He wasn’t okay, not anywhere close to it yet, but this was one step in the right direction. She wanted to seize him, hug him, and tell him everything was going to be okay.
Jack set the plate down on the coffee table and picked up the sandwich with both hands. He chewed it and swallowed it and set the sandwich back down. He reached for the water glass and aspirin.
“Why did Charlie leave you like this?” she asked.