From Rémy Portier to Jade Kaya on March 25, 2019 at 11:00 am
RE: Offer of Employment—Jade Kaya
Dear Jade,
Thank you for your email. It is with regret that I inform you that, after careful consideration, Arrow has decided to go in another direction for this role. At this stage, we are unable to provide specific feedback. We wish you the best in all your future endeavors and are grateful for your time.
Kind regards,
Rémy
When I realized Genevieve had blocked me, I knew it was all over. But the callousness, the cowardice to not tell me to my face—to not tell me at all—rocked me. Genevieve had nurtured me. Had positioned herself as my mentor. Only to cast me aside as soon as association with me jeopardized a business relationship of hers. I was a virus.
I wasn’t angry, exactly. After all, her ruthless business mind was what I had admired about her for so long. Was numbness a feeling, or an absence of feelings? Even if I did feel angry, what could I do about it? Show up at Arrow’s offices in a fit of histrionics, demanding they deliver on an offer of a job? Confirm everyone’s suspicions that I was unhinged? No. It was clear that if I wanted to progress the career I had invested almost a third of my life into, a show of tacit acceptance of my treatment was required.
In the fortnight after my call with Will, there was a watchful pressure to react accordingly. Receive the humiliation graciously and, for the love of God, quietly. Perish the thought of causing a scene. It was imperative that I evoke a nonchalant lightness, betraying no trace of bitterness. A scorned woman was an unattractive woman. At work, I had to keep a low profile—show penance for seeking to leave—but not so low that I was pushed into obscurity. I had to attend every event, display myself as Still Standing. If I wasn’t furious before, I certainly was after two weeks of this charade. The seeping wound I had carried for the last four months had overnight been trivialized to a cliché of the young woman burned by the wolf in sheepskin, man in power. A woman’s indignity is simply so mass market, it’s irrelevant what part the man played in her downfall. I had become ornamental, twinkling a warning. Poor Jade, it’s really such a shame. All that hard work circling the drain.
I managed to shoehorn myself into another, much more dormant, case. Tuning out on a conference call, I picked up my phone, automatically tapped the Instagram icon and began scrolling. A puppy, new homeowners, Donald Trump satire memes, targeted ads for self-help books. Like a magpie, the colorful infographic drew my attention. To use the parlance of Instagram, a paltry TW was insufficient warning for the juicy bubble letters: RAPE 101. Social media was a minefield. A constant barrage of forced empowerment. Healing narratives about overcoming. Neat arcs tied up with eureka moments. Butterflies not caterpillars. But I had a barren resignation that this aching was forever. There was no guaranteed happy ending at the end of this shitty pilgrimage. Far from a straightforward road ahead, it would be more like a circuit. I would have to learn how to orbit around my new sun.
I kept scrolling until I saw it. @leo_cannon had posted two hours ago. Against my better judgment, I clicked on Leo’s profile. His life appeared to have carried on with barely an interruption. I looked through the photos posted by Emma and Ollie in Leo’s chalet in the Alps, their cheeks burned from the spring sun that bounced off the fresh snow. They would know too; Ollie was on the trip to Dorset. And they still chose to go on holiday with him.
View all 3 comments:
@charlotte_cannon, 2 hours ago: a well-deserved break bro, come home soon!
@mich.morgan, 1 hour ago: beautiful shot xx
@kit.campbell, 3 minutes ago: looks great mate!
I had replied to Kit once in the past fortnight. A brief text saying please stop calling. I need space. I missed him. My body twitched at night because it missed being held by him. But then, three minutes ago, a mile away in his office, Kit had commented on Leo’s post, and my chest simply ached at the idea of looking at him. It hurt so much I wondered if I would shortly crumble to dust.
Suddenly, I was furious. Furious that Leo appeared to be coasting through life with as little resistance as the room-temperature butter spreading over his morning crumpet. Before I could stop myself, I started typing a cathartic flurry to Kit.
You’re a coward.
I feel so utterly let down.
How could you?
Fuck you.
I scrolled through my vitriol and deleted it all. I saw the last message he sent me.
I love you, Jade. Please come home. I was exhausted. I was so sad, so mad, but so tired.
I clicked on his message and called him.
“Jade.” Kit picked up on the first ring.
I was lost for words. That voice of his. So familiar, so warm.
“Hey,” I managed.
“Hey,” he said, “it’s a relief to hear your voice.”
“How have you been?”
He said softly, “I can’t do this on the phone, I have to see you.”
London weather laughed in the face of the changing seasons, with blustering wind nearly blowing me over on the walk from Clapham Common to the flat. All my efforts to look immaculate on arrival were futile. Kit stood in the hallway, hands pocketed, head to one side. I halted. We gazed at each other. Wordlessly, he took tentative steps toward me and gave me a hug that filled me with nostalgia. The smell of him: clean linen and coffee. My cheek against his chest, my arms around his waist. Maybe this was, we were, salvageable. We could reset, recharge. Pretend the last few months never happened.
“How’ve you been?” Kit murmured.
“Pretty rubbish, to be honest.” I looked up at him. Kit was over a foot taller than me and nearly double my weight. I felt safe in the shadow of his size. His arms wrapped around my shoulders and his chin rested atop my head.
“I know, me too,” he muffled into my hair. “This time without you has been awful. Who knew I’d miss you waking up every day and saying ‘it’s morning everyone, today’s the day! The sun is shining, the tank is clean!’ ”
I gasped. “THA TANK IS CLEAN!”
We both chuckled into each other.
I whispered, “I was so embarrassed the first time I said that, I felt like such a kid.”
Kit lifted my chin up. His eyes had clouded over, lacked the clarity I was used to.
“Shall we talk?” I asked, walking toward the sofa.
Kit was like a recalcitrant dog being persuaded to leave the park.
“I know we need to,” he said, “but I don’t want to. I want to move on with you.”
I wondered if this is how cows feel before going to the slaughterhouse. Do they know what’s coming? I got the hollow sense that we both did.
“Things haven’t been good between us for a long time,” I started.
He puffed out his cheeks.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you had a chance to think about our last conversation?”
“Yes.”
“Will all your responses be monosyllabic going forward?”
“No.”
“What are your thoughts on our argument?”
Kit stared into the middle distance, his body perpendicular to mine. He sighed and put his head in his hands.
“Kit, I need you to communicate with me. You’re not saying anything.”
“Listen, this is a waste of time. We’ve both had a horrendous time without each other, haven’t we learned we should be together?”
“Kit,” I said quietly, “if you think it’s a waste of time, then it will be. You need to be willing to have difficult conversations with me.”
I tried again.
“This is something that’s really important to me.” I injected as much softness into my tone as possible, to clear the hostility in the air. I didn’t really know what I came here thinking would happen. I thought it was clear there was no way back. Not after everything. But now that I was here, in our home, I still wanted to say it was all okay. Let’s forget about that horrible conversation. Let’s live in amazing ignorant bliss together, overlooking our differences. But everything we had was marred by what we both now saw in each other. Luxurious warm memories trimmed down by cynicism. “But Kit, ultimately it’s so important to me that it’s not something I can move past. I hope you’ll tell me that you’ve had a chance to reflect and reconsider. But, if not, I’m sorry—”
“I won’t respond to an ultimatum, Jade.” Kit was firm.
“It’s not an ultimatum. It’s my position.”
“Who are you?” Kit was staring at me with incredulity. “I’m not in some boardroom negotiation with you! We’re not in The Apprentice, all right?”
“You know what I mean.”
“So what are you saying? I have to choose between you or one of my oldest friends?”
When he put it that way, it did seem unreasonable. I nearly dissolved, said no of course that’s not what I’m saying. But then I thought about Leo pushing that woman—I wish I knew her name—his grubby fingers reaching inside her. Suzie’s bleary-eyed fear and confusion.
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Fuck, J.”
“What do you mean! Don’t you think there is anything questionable about remaining friends with him?”
“Who am I to judge? He’s been a good friend to me. Yes, he made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes”—he looked at me pointedly—“people can change. They deserve second chances.”
Kit continued, “I mean, for God’s sake, he was drunk! People do dumb shit when they’re drunk! Plus, it’s all just hearsay. It’s his word against hers.”
I held Kit’s eyes square on as I played my last card.
“So you think it’s Josh’s word against mine?”
“Stop it, Jade,” Kit snapped. “This isn’t some fucking thought experiment. Why can’t we agree to disagree? Why do you need me to see things the same way you do? I want to be his friend. End of story.”
Kit’s legs were spread over two seats on the sofa, his arms out like an albatross, motioning ferociously as if he were a Tory MP in Parliament opposing a bill to give schoolchildren free meals. My cup was empty. I had nothing more to give to him. He carried on ranting about how it wasn’t my place to judge his and Leo’s friendship, how what he’d done wasn’t that bad, how the woman who tipped Suzie off was clearly a liar, a vindictive shrew going after Leo. He said all this with eloquence, clear articulation. His oratorial skills alone almost made me give in. So much of what is perceived to be “intelligence” was Kit talking in a deep, male voice, being white and educated, and packaging up abhorrent views in grandiloquent, pretentious language. Men like Kit had been groomed from birth to speak the vernacular of success. An extremely precise monotone that conveyed to the listener hey, I’m posh and civilized and I know you will equate that with intellect and skill. I hated myself for falling for this cycle of arrogance for so long.
“I don’t think there’s anything more to say,” I said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a red line for me.” I was on the edge of a moment. The second before a waterfall reaches a river. “We can’t move past this.”
Kit looked dazed. My intestines felt like they were being used as a skipping rope.
“So… this is it?”
“It is.” I knew, with intense conviction, that we were no longer. Kit bit his lip to stop it from trembling, and innately I moved to comfort him, before stopping myself.
Actually, no.
He called Leo’s victim a liar. Deep down, he must think I’m a liar too.
“This can’t be it, J.” Kit clasped both my hands. “It’s always been us. How can we not be us?”
I was crying. Tears of mourning. Not for our relationship. For myself. For trying so hard to make this work. For wasting all this time. For losing myself in Kit.
“I love you.” He tried to hold me close. “And you love me too. I know we’ve hit a rough patch, but it’s you and me, J. Please remember that. Remember all our good times?”
“We’ve moved so far from the people we fell in love with,” I cried. It was all too much. “What is the point of remembering them? They’re gone. What are we even holding on to, Kit?” My hands were in his and we leaned into each other, our foreheads touching. Kit sniffled and squeezed his eyes shut. I pulled away, looked around the house we shared, where I never truly felt at home. They puddled around me, our years together. Our relationship the linchpin of our lives. I have to do this. I have to. But if I stay here, if I hear him tell me he loves me again, I won’t have the strength to leave.
“I should—” I tried to shift and stand up.
“Don’t go.” Kit held me tighter. “Please.”
I gently pulled his arms off me.
“I’m sorry.”
I held my chin up, and for the first time in months, felt in control of my grief.