Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?

Sophie

The silence is killing me. Actually, it’s not silent; the shower is pounding on the ceramic tile in spurts because my water-pressure is unsteady. Specifically, Boyd’s silence is killing me. So here I am, standing with my track pants pooled at my ankles, waiting for an answer to a question I blurted out before all of my courage left. Something I’ve been in short supply of tonight.

There’s something about Boyd that makes me feel like I don’t have to be power-suit Sophie, determined to control a boardroom. I can just be regular Sophie with flaws and fears and dreams that exist outside of my job. A woman, instead of someone striving to be a boss someday. He cares, and that’s not something I take for granted.

“Boyd?”

“Sorry. I… It’s just… you didn’t want to go out with me before because of what your dad might think… and now—”

“He hates you,” I clarify. I know what he’s getting at, but for once, I want to make a decision that isn’t based on Henry’s demands. “But I don’t, and what I do outside of work shouldn’t be his business.”

“Sophie, he’s your father. His involvement in your life doesn’t stop after work hours.”

This sounds a lot like a shutdown. I should have known this was coming; I deserve it. “You don’t know Henry McNamara very well. But it’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can take no for an answer.” Though I’ve never been rejected before; I can’t say I’m enjoying it. This is exactly why I made up an excuse to spare Boyd’s feelings.

“Well enough to know it could make life more miserable for you. That’s the last thing I want.”

I’m so embarrassed by this obvious snuff, I just want to hang up and let the shower wash away my shame. “It’s fine. Thanks again for making sure I got home safely.” I end the call, pull my ear buds out, get undressed, and step inside the shower. The lack of steady water pressure makes washing my hair a nightmare, but on the bright side, it almost feels like a massage. It alleviates some of the tension in my shoulders and upper back.

Twenty minutes later, I add call superintendent to my to-do list to address this water issue once and for all, then drop on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea and Wilson.

“Why didn’t you warn me it was a stupid idea to ask him out? I confided in you and you let me look like an idiot.”

The poor guy looks sad at my half-hearted chastisement. In his defence, a dog’s way of showing a fellow canine he’s interested isn’t the best course of action here. He curls up beside me and lays his head on my lap. I realize I forgot my phone after he’s already comfortable, but at least I can reach the remote. My plan for the rest of the evening is watching a few episodes of The Wire and wallowing in self-pity.

Lately I’ve been feeling increasingly lonely, despite Wilson’s company. Despite my job, Ashlyn, Celeste, and Caleb. Everyone has their own lives and I feel like a bystander watching everyone go for what they want without being held back.

Is that what made me misread the signals with Boyd? Loneliness making me see things that aren’t there?

He’s right; if Henry found out I had gone on a date with Boyd, he’d blow a gasket, but there’s something about Boyd that makes me want to risk it. I guess some risks just aren’t worth taking, so for tonight, I’ll settle for snuggling my dog.

I wake up to my alarm at 6am, as usual. When I finally dragged myself to bed last night, my phone was dead, so I plugged it in across the room, knowing I’d be forced to leave my warm cocoon to shut it off. Wilson grumbles from his perch at the end of the bed when I remove my foot from under his head. Early morning wake-ups are the only time he’s ever cranky.

Once I shut off the incessant beeping, I look at the multiple notifications on my home screen. Seventeen emails, one voicemail, three text messages, and various social media alerts. I start by opening my personal email and clearing out the junk mail. Then I move on to my business account and forward some to Andy to deal with and mark others for further review once I get to the office. Then I move to the text messages. Ashlyn is checking in, letting me know she signed up for another CrossFit competition in Boston in February, asking if I’ll come watch. The second is my brother, replying to my earlier message checking if he’s still alive. He is. The last one is from an unsaved number.

416-555-2793: You didn’t let me answer your question.

I scrunch my nose at the cryptic message, suddenly realizing that’s Boyd’s number when I compare it to my call log from last night.

What do I even say to that? I’m pretty sure he said all he needed to. He asked me out. I lied. I asked him out. He shot me down. The circle of non-dating life.

Sophie: I think you answered it fine.

I drop onto the mattress beside Wilson, burying my face into his curly brown fur. He needs a bath and my olfactory system recognizes that fact, but there’s no way I’m wrangling him in my malfunctioning shower. I love him anyway. Stink and all. My phone chimes again, so I try to hold it up from my sideways position. Thanks to modern technology, the screen rotates, so it’s harder to access my text messages. It’s a battle and requires extra thumb stretchability, but I get it open to find Boyd replied.

Boyd: I said I didn’t want to make things harder for you. You didn’t let me say I’d like to take you out.

I pause and restart typing a few times, but a message interrupts my reply.

Boyd: I wouldn’t have asked you the first time if I didn’t mean it.

That stings a little. The reminder of me shooting him down for no reason other than I judged him the same way my father does. They way I hate how he judges people. That’s what upsets me more than anything about the situation. I don’t want to be like my father in any capacity.

This is my chance to rectify the situation.

Sophie: You misunderstood.

Boyd: I’m confused.

Sophie: I didn’t ask you to take me out. I asked you to go out with me.

Boyd: What does that even mean? What’s the difference?

I chuckle to myself.

Sophie: Oh, Boyd. Semantics matter. I’d think as “the greatest legal-minded business student” at Montgomery, you’d know that by now.

It’s silly how much his reply has changed my mood. My injured pride rejuvenates a bit more with each of his messages.

Boyd: So…?

You want to take me out?

Sophie: Bingo.