I stare down at the note that I took out of the takeout container as I pack up my sandwich. Usually I work at home on Fridays, but today is one of those days I have to be in the office.
And I know Monique and I made lunch plans, but sometimes she cancels. If I don’t take my sandwich I ordered last night with me, I’ll be starving if she doesn’t make it to lunch. One thing about having so many women in my life, I’ve learned to just be prepared for anything.
I don’t know what had made me look in the container last night and find the note. Any note would have been from Monique, and she hadn’t been there.
I take a mental inventory of the staff that works on Thursdays. Does one of them know about this little game Monique and I are playing? When I didn’t walk in with her, did someone take it upon themselves to have a little fun and leave the note?
The door to Brandy’s bedroom opens, and she steps out in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt with her company’s logo on it.
She smiles as she looks in my direction. I smile back.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Packing up your lunch?”
“Sure am.”
“Are you leaving?” she asks.
“Yeah, I have to be in the office today,” I say.
Her lips twist, pucker, and then she smiles again. “Well, I hope you have a nice day.”
“I will,” I say, looking down at the note and then back up at her as she walks through the living room, gathers her purse, and heads out the door.
I shake my head. Brandy left me the note. We might not have been on speaking terms for months, but we dated long enough that I know when she’s hiding something. And now, looking at the note objectively, I recognize the handwriting.
I pick up my phone and text Monique.
Me: I figured it out
Monique: And?
Me: Brandy left me the note
I wait for a response, surprised that I don’t get one right away.
I finish packing my lunch and making my coffee, then I head out. It isn’t until I’m in the elevator of my office building that Monique texts me back.
Monique: How do you know it’s from her?
Me: Is it from you?
Monique: I told you it wasn’t
Me: It was just how she reacted to it
Monique: I can’t go to lunch today
The doors open and I step out on my floor, still studying my phone. That was an abrupt change to the conversation.
Me: Okay. Call me later
Monique: Sure
I start to text her that I love her, but I stop. I’m not feeling settled with her reaction to the secret admirer note. It’s supposed to be exactly the end to her plan, right? Monique started this so that Brandy would pay attention to me. Now Brandy is leaving me notes, and Monique won’t pay attention to me.
There’s a heaviness in my chest when I think about it like that.
* * *
At lunch time, I eat my sandwich in my office, looking out over the city. It’s cold and people on the street hurry from one building to another with their coats zipped up.
I take a bite of my sandwich and set it back on the napkin on my desk. For some reason it’s just not satisfying today.
When my phone dings, I quickly pick it up, hoping that Monique has something to say that will brighten my day.
It’s a text from Brandy, and I open the text with a feeling of dread.
Brandy: How is your lunch?
I pick up another napkin and wipe my mouth and my fingertips before replying.
Me: It’s okay
Brandy: Would you be interested in dinner? There’s a new place just down the street from our place. I thought we could try it
I study the text. Dinner. Our place. These are the kinds of texts I used to get. This is what I’ve been waiting for since we called it quits.
Just to make sure I haven’t missed anything, I scroll through my texts and see that Monique hasn’t texted me again all day. Maybe she’s giving me space. Maybe she ran into her boss again and things are going well for her too.
Me: That sounds nice. I’ll meet you at home
Brandy: I can’t wait.
She adds three little hearts to her text.
I let out a long breath.
Brandy is talking to me and now leaving me secret admirer notes that say she loves me, and yet, all I can think about is the fact that Monique is ghosting me today.
Maybe I should head over to her office and make sure she’s okay. I mean, since the seventh grade she’s never ghosted me.
I push my phone to the side of the desk as if to make it appear, to myself, unimportant.
Monique has a life and I need to not worry that she needs to communicate with me every moment of her day. But then again, I think, as I pull the phone near me, I’m not used to her not being in every single moment of my day.
I pull up her text thread and look down at it.
This borders on obsession, I consider as I wipe my mouth again with the napkin.
Me: Everything okay?
Like some puppy waiting for its owner, I sit and wait. And wait. And wait.
I guess I need to do more than text.
Gathering up my lunch items, I scroll to the app for the coffee shop down the street from Monique’s office. I order two coffees and head out.