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[roybutgay]

six weeks pt.i

“Six weeks?” Daria asked, outraged “They expect me to pack up my life, stop everything I’m doing and come running for a project I was passed over for?”

Her boss shrugged at her helplessly.

“What if I had kids?” she asked.

“You don’t,” Vanessa pointed out.

“Yes, but what if I did?” she stressed, collapsing into one of the vinyl chairs that she had often claimed as her venting space. “It’s not fair that just because I’ve chosen not to procreate that they think that my life isn’t as valid.”

“Look, George had a death in his family.“ she held up a hand to Daria’s upcoming protest. “They asked if there was anyway you’d consider and I told them of course you would. I thought you’d be happy. I know you’ve been trying to get transferred to New York for awhile and this will put you in direct contact with the CEO.”

It had been her dream. A year spent applying and interviewing only to be told in that sympathetic tone that they really wished that they had a job for her and that if she applied next time….

“This will make you look really good,” Vanessa continued, mistaking Daria’s silence as consideration. “It’s only six weeks. In the city you’ve been so desperate to leave me for.”

The prospect of a job in New York was a lot less appealing now. Back when there had been a reason to want to transfer the city hadn’t seemed so bad. But back then she had an apartment, a ready made group of friends, a personal guide to which bar had the best specials or the best live music on a Tuesday. Now the idea of hunting for a sublet, navigating the crowded streets and having to give up her beloved 1993 Jeep (the same model from Jurassic Park) sounded more like a nightmare.

“Yeah,” Daria gave in. Unable to tell her boss the real reason she’d been trying to desperately to get out of the town she’d called home for the last seven years was gone. “Alright.”

“I knew you’d be excited,” she beamed, “Tomorrow we’ll go over all your existing projects and make a plan to transition them and then you’ll have the rest of the week to get everything in order.”

It was out of habit that the first thing Daria did when she got in her car was to pull out her phone and call her. She was seconds away from hitting Evelyn in her phone when her thumb hesitated. Evelyn would want to know…wouldn’t she?

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Daria held her breath. It wasn’t difficult to recall all the times she’d picked up on the first ring, her voice bright, warm.

“Hello?”

It was like a poor imitation of her memory. No joy, no kindness. Nothing to suggest Daria knew every curve of her mouth, every crack of her lips. Nothing about her voice suggested that at one time, not so long ago, Daria had once called her arms home.

“Hey, uh, hi.”

Silence.

“Sorry, I sort of called on instinct,” Daria lied. “How are you?”  

“Fine,” Evelyn answered in that same short tone.

“I just finished a meeting with Venessa,” she went on, trying to carry on as if it was all normal.

“Oh?”

“I’m coming to New York,” she blurted out. “For six weeks.”

“For what?”

“Work, last minute thing. Remember that bid to print the signs for the Department of Transportation? The one George snatched out from under me?” she paused, waiting for a whitty comment but when none came she was forced to press on. “Anyway, he had a death in the family, so Venessa convinced them to go for me. I only just found out, I start there on Monday.”

She held her breath, waiting for that praise that those assholes who can’t identify talent even when it’s sitting infront of them had finally recognized her. That she’d do amazing. That Evelyn couldn’t believe they hadn’t chosen her in the first place.

But Evelyn didn’t say any of those things. Instead she offered a standard, “Congratulations.”

Tears sprung to her eyes. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting.  It might have been the excuse they’d both used when they’d decided to end things but their living two hours apart from each other (when you hit the traffic right that was) hadn’t been their only issue.

Yet being together, in the same city, living in the same apartment and sharing the same bed had the potential to solve a great deal of those little things that had drive them apart. After the initial shock had worn off, the first thought in Daria’s head had been that maybe this could make things work.

“I just thought you’d want to know.” She tried holding back the emotion.

“Yeah, uh, thanks for the heads up.”

She hadn’t been calling to give a heads up.

“Maybe we could, I dunno, grab drinks?”

“I’ve got plans this weekend.” Evelyn said briskly.

“Right I didn’t…” she trailed off. “Like I said, I’ll be there for six weeks, so whenever-“

A pressing silence that she wasn’t familiar with.

“I don’t think…” Evelyn trailed off. For the first time her voice showed the tiniest flash of emotion. She let out a sigh.

“Yeah,” it was her turn to be short, afraid that if she started crying she might not stop.

“Let me know when you get here.”

“I will,” she agreed. But it didn’t feel like an offer. The same sort of let me know when you get home Daria routinely offered her friends whenever they parted. The offer that didn’t require a response.

“Alright.”

But she didn’t hang up. Behind her Daria could here the rumbling of the train passing by. She could picture her perfectly. Lounging on the grey couch they’d carried all the way up the stairs only to find it didn’t fit inside until they’d taken the door off the hinges. The stemless wineglass she kept balanced in the open window sill.

What happens when you knock it over?

I’ll get a new glass.

The potted plants dancing in the train generated breeze. The smell of her neck. The beside her where she belonged.

“Evelyn-“ Daria started.

“Let me know,” she repeated shortly.

And before she could even manage a goodbye the line went dead.