Rain drips off my jacket as I step into the lobby of a downtown high-rise. Luckily, this is Seattle, so they know the likelihood of someone walking in here wet. The smooth tiled floors sport absorbent mats for the first ten feet or so, and I don’t feel bad about giving myself a little shake to disperse the excess moisture.
As I swipe through the security station, the guard on duty, Simon, smiles and offers me a wave.
“Haven’t seen you around lately.” He’s just making polite conversation, and I’m not about to do a deep dive into how I was working on the other side of the country during my brother’s last two weeks of life, then came back and acted out a half-assed bereavement leave at home, especially not with a guy I’ve only had a few casual chats with.
With an ease developed early in life, I let a smile curve my mouth despite the gaping hole of pain and anger and sadness in my chest. “Went home for a long visit. And Pamela has been fine with me working more remote hours. Hard to convince me to change out of sweatpants if I don’t have to.”
Simon chuckles. “I’m with you there. Have a good day.”
“You, too!” I inject cheer into my voice and face as I wave and head for the elevators.
Pamela requested I come in the next three days in a row, when normally I’m only in the office once or twice a week. When I get off the elevator, I stride through the open workspace my company prefers, aiming for a cubicle in the back corner where I can get a semblance of privacy and therefore focus enough to work. I barely set my bag down before Pamela, director of logistics, is at my elbow, looking both regal and harried.
“Maddie. You’re here. Thank god. The deployment mix-up is a nightmare, the numbers aren’t matching the report, and we’re meeting in ten minutes with the heads of the Northwest team.”
I offer my frantic boss an understanding smile I’ve honed over years of working with her whirlwind personality. Everything seems like life or death when it comes out of her mouth, even if it’s something as simple as forgetting to water the plant in her office for a week.
“Let me take a look. I reviewed everything last night, and I’m sure we can get it straightened out.”
“You are a lifesaver. I don’t know what I would do without you. This entire company would collapse.” As dire as that statement sounds, it’s not entirely an overexaggeration. As the sole logistics associate, I do deployments and project processing—along with a collection of other data-driven tasks—that keep operations running smoothly.
If I were to disappear off the face of the earth, The Redford Team would have a hell of a time filling the void left in my absence. Hence why I was working at my brother’s funeral. It’s not that Pamela was disregarding my personal time. It’s just that there was an emergency and literally no one else was equipped to deal with it.
Also, I might have kept the fact that I was at my brother’s memorial to myself. Pamela knew that Josh was sick. She’s known for a year and hasn’t batted an eye about my trips to the East Coast to check in on him. As long as I got my work done, there was no reason for her to worry. And as long as I got my work done, there was no reason for me to ask Pamela for time off. My job is largely portable.
And, once again, imperative for the company to keep functioning smoothly.
As I settle in at my cubicle, I ignore the guilt that pricks at my stomach, the little voice in the back of my head that says a good employee would be proactive about training a backup. About pushing to have another on call to fill my shoes if they ever become empty.
But whenever I decide I’m going to bring it up with Pamela, something more pressing comes up.
Besides, I don’t mind being a necessary cog in the Redford machine. I like knowing that Pamela trusts and relies on me. That I’m her problem-solver. That everyone in the company knows who I am and how integral I am to our success, even if I’m not one of the rock-star accountants who brings in the big money.
Odd as it may seem to the people who mocked math nerds in high school, at Redford, the accountants are the applauded celebrities. The hotshot bad boys. The “work hard, play hard” crew.
My mind flits away from The Redford Team to another accountant I know.
Dominic Perry.
He’s of the “work hard, then work harder” mentality. I doubt he’d fit well at our firm.
Although, I’ve found people tend to like the taciturn asshole for some reason. Like his hot face makes up for his domineering personality.
I don’t get it.
Seemed like you got it when you tried to kiss him.
I shake my head, trying to shut up the part of my brain that enjoys replaying all my past mistakes on a loop whenever I let my guard down.
Focusing on work keeps me busy enough to drive away all unwanted thoughts about things I left on the other side of the country. The day goes by at a normal pace with multiple morning meetings, and the rest of my time is filled with digging through datasets, processing accountant deployments, and doing a hundred other little tasks.
When lunch rolls around, I check the windows and smile to see the rain has paused. I love the gray clouds and thunderstorms when I can stay inside all day watching how droplets spill down the glass panes. But when I want to walk the block to my favorite falafel shop, I’d prefer to stay dry on the excursion. As I finish wrapping a thick scarf around my neck to fight off the Seattle winter chill, I do a quick check of my personal email on my phone.
I freeze at the sight of a familiar name.
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: Travel Plans
Maddie,
You didn’t give me your phone number. Please do so.
We still need to spread Josh’s ashes in Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Idaho, Kansas, North Dakota, and South Dakota. Provide me with dates you are available, and I will begin making travel arrangements. I can cover the initial cost until Josh’s assets are released.
My phone number is (215) 555-6055.
Dom
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, glaring at my phone screen.
Did he get a robot to write this?
No, I remind myself. This is Dom through and through. Demand the pertinent details, and don’t mess around with anything silly like emotions.
Not that I want him to bring up feelings that I may or may not have toward him. But after the motel, I just thought there’d be…something.
Frustrated with myself and Dom and the universe, I exit my inbox, shove my phone in my pocket, and vow not to look at or even think about the message until I get home tonight. Maybe not even then.
Dom can wait.
Luckily, I don’t have any afternoon meetings, so I’m able to squirrel myself away in my cubicle after I get back with my spicy falafel wrap and stew in my cranky mood. I’d have trouble pasting on my helpful work smile with Dom’s cold message rattling around in my brain.
At the end of the workday, I’m still irritated. I stow my laptop in my bag, put on my rain gear, and stomp the entire three blocks back to my condo. Back in my home, I shuck off my rain jacket, then start pacing. Without work as a distraction, all my mind can focus on is the email. As my agitated feet pound a steady rhythm back and forth, I mentally plot my response to Mr. Responsible Asshole.
Fuck off.
No, that’s too simple and makes it sound like I’m backing out of Josh’s wishes. Which I’m not, as much as I want to never see Dominic Perry’s face again. If it weren’t for Dom’s involvement, I’d be on a plane tomorrow, heading to a new Josh destination. I want more of my brother’s words now.
But I’m worried if we meet up too soon, I’ll make the same bumbling mistake I did in Delaware. That my grief will manifest in bad choices.
Then there’s also my job. Pamela was flexible this past year with me working remotely because of Josh’s illness. But I’m not sure these ash-spreading trips would be met with the same understanding.
With these two concerns in my mind, I force past my needy urge to tell Dom to pack a bag by tomorrow. Eventually I come up with a message as devoid of emotion as his was.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: Travel Plans
I can meet you in Alabama any weekend in April. Give me the coordinates. I’ll make my own travel arrangements.
-M
There. I completely ignore his request for my phone number, because I see no reason for him to have it, and I suggest just over two months from now so I can utilize the weeks to reconstruct my Dominic defenses. We’re still too close to Josh’s…
What do I call it?
Death day?
Whatever. All I know is I’m not okay yet and being around Dom has me doing terrible things.
Like kissing him.
I need to not kiss him ever again, which means I need to not be emotionally vulnerable near him.
My laptop dings, and I realize there’s already a response to my email. Was the guy hovering over his inbox like a hawk? Ready to swoop in and make more demands on me?
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: RE: Travel Plans
The first weekend. It’s more efficient for me to make both bookings at the same time. And I’ll text you the coordinates when you message me.
-Dom
“You pushy asshole,” I mutter while typing.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Travel Plans
It’s more efficient for you to type the coordinates into the means of communication we’re already using.
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Travel plans
Texting and phone calls are a more immediate means of communication.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: Control Freak
Dear Ass,
Stop holding the coordinates hostage. The only way I’m showing up in Alabama with Josh’s ashes is if you tell me where to go. I will get there on my own.
Sincerely,
Don’t Fuck With Me
The response to my no-longer-playing-nice email takes longer, no doubt as he weighs his options.
I want to do the Josh tasks, if only to open those envelopes and read more of my brother’s words. But Dom is the one who reached out first. I can hold out longer than him, I know it. I may have agreed to follow Josh’s rules, but that doesn’t mean letting Dom boss me around the whole time.
My email dings.
Sender: Dominic Perry
Subject: RE: Control Freak
Dear Don’t Fuck With Me,
34°19’38.00” N
87°46’57.00” W
Send me your flight plans when you have them. Please. And I would appreciate it if you at least let me book our accommodations.
-Dom
In this message, I can read Dom actively learning the error of his ways. His domineering tone is slightly diminished. He’ll soon accept that I only take orders from my boss, and that’s because Pamela pays me well and appreciates my work.
A childhood that consisted of zero control over my life makes it almost impossible for me to allow someone else to dictate my choices now. One more reason to be pissed off at Josh for this postdeath dance he’s making me do.
But I’ll follow the steps because I love him and each one gives me a sliver of the brother I no longer have.
Sender: Maddie Sanderson
Subject: RE: RE: Control Freak
Fine
I won. Kind of.
Now I have until April to mentally prepare for another Dom encounter.