When she got home that night, she called Derek. They usually talked in the morning, since he was three hours ahead of her, but she hoped she might catch him since it was nine there: late enough he’d be home, but early enough to be awake.
He answered the phone on the second ring, which gave her a sense of comfort. He was there. His voice sounded normal, even pleased to hear hers. They began to exchange some pleasantries, but she couldn’t stand it. “I quit today.”
A long quiet pause. “Oh. What happened?” he asked.
She went over her day.
“Well, that was shitty,” he replied. “I can’t believe Patricia let it play out like that.”
He would see the HR complications, wouldn’t he? She hadn’t considered that.
“It’s Rick’s show. It always has been, always will be. Patricia just sweeps up whatever mess he leaves.”
“HR works for the company,” he said.
She let that sit. He knew it, too. He just always tried to do the right thing anyhow. That was her Derek.
“Anyhow, it’s got me thinking. A lot.” She told him about Rob’s advice, and the team’s reaction. She felt her throat starting to close with tears again, and reached for a glass of wine. Derek was quiet, but she imagined she could hear him listening anyhow. “I would like to come out for a visit, if you’d like?”
“Yes, please.”
“A long visit?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got a lot to talk about. I think we need to set our own team charter. I feel like we’ve just been talking past each other these last few months. I want to figure out what we both think is important, and make sure we’re sharing goals.”
“And roles and norms,” he joked.
She replied quite seriously. “Yes. Actually. The other day I realized we never talked about kids before we got married. We both just kind of assumed the other one had the same ideas.” Oops, that came out suddenly. Wine. Exhaustion. Emotions. “I mean, we’ve got a lot to discuss, really discuss. And I want to do it right, slowly, with my full attention. I love you too much to assume some relationship fairy will just make it work.” Yeah, too much wine.
“I love you, too. You’re right, you are so right. I thought everyone . . . Well, I assumed. You know what that does.”
“Ass.”
“Yup.” The tone of his voice changed, signaling a change of topic. “So, when do you think you’ll arrive? The corporate apartment is big enough for two. And not one more, honestly. New York. I bang my shins on the coffee table every day, I swear, and the efficiency kitchen is efficient if you are the world’s tiniest chef.” He’d told this to her before. He was nervous.
“I’ll check flights. I could be there by this weekend . . . ?”
“I can’t wait,” he said.
And then they said little nothings until he had to beg off to sleep.
Allie laid back on the couch, and found herself there the next morning, rumpled but rested. She lay there for a moment, reveling in the lack of urgency. She didn’t need to check email. She didn’t need to look at her phone, which sat on the coffee table uncharged and unimportant. Soon enough, she’d be building a new company. Soon enough, she’d rebuild her marriage. But for right now? She looked at the sun streaming in the window, lighting up dust motes in the living room. Now she’d make some coffee. The slow way, the right way. Grind the beans, heat the water just so. . . . She staggered to her feet. Then breakfast, then . . . Everything else. The slow, right way.