Shipped(76)

I slide my fingers from his arm and stuff my trembling hands into my pockets. He still hasn’t put the camera down. “Good luck on the promotion. For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great digital marketing director. See you around.”

I turn my back just as the sun creeps out from behind the clouds, illuminating the landscape in dazzling color. At the base of the island, Pinnacle Rock, a jagged, ruddy peak, points toward the blue sky like an arrowhead.

Graeme doesn’t say a word.



* * *



It’s been two full weeks since the cruise.

Two weeks of meetings and the fall term starting and sliding back into the daily grind of existence. I’ve caught up on all my work emails, my current projects are up to date, and I’m ahead of schedule on next month’s Alaska mailing.

So why do I feel so empty?

My phone pulses like a beacon from where it’s tucked inside my purse. On it, hundreds of pictures from the Galápagos hover in the cloud. At least three dozen include Graeme. I run my index finger along the purse strap peeking out from under my desk. I could swipe through the photos again… it’d only be the fourth time today…

I ball my hand into a fist on my lap, forcing it to stillness.

No. I said my piece two weeks ago, and Graeme hasn’t called or texted since—nothing except obligatory work communications. His silence is perfectly clear. My chest aches and I grind the heel of my palm against the physical pain.

No more crying over what might have been. I need to face forward, especially now that I’ve taken stock of my life. Nearly losing my sister to an abusive relationship and falling for a guy only to drive him away changed everything. It made me realize I’ve been so singularly focused on my career that I’ve sacrificed too much—missed out on too much with the people I love.

Not anymore.

I can be career minded and make room for meaningful experiences in my life. Even if it doesn’t include Graeme.

Shaking my head with an exasperated moan, I open the PowerPoint presentation of my digital marketing proposal: thirty-two slides of persuasive data laid out in rich, numbers-supported glory.

“Girl, are you still tinkering with that?” Christina’s voice rings out from behind me. She’s standing in my cubicle, a light jacket pulled tight around her to chase away the hint of autumn hanging in the air. “I thought you already shared it with Barb.”

“I did, this morning. Well, I sent it to James. He wanted to see it before I formally presented it to him. I’m just proofreading,” I hedge.

“I told you, this promotion is in the bag. Your idea to start a conservation initiative in the Galápagos is killer. James is going to love it, you’ll see.”

I force my lips into the semblance of a smile. “Yeah.” At least Gustavo never told James about finding Graeme in my cabin—that’s one less roadblock to this promotion. My jaw tenses at the reminder that Graeme had been right.

Christina leans a hip against my desk. “Tory and I are headed to lunch in a few. Want to come?”

“I’d love to, but I’m already booked. Lunch with Walsh. How about a rain check? What are you doing after our soccer game on Saturday?” I finally let Christina talk me into joining her rec league. Even after two weeks, my muscles are still stiff from the new level of exercise.

She drops her chin and her dark eyes twinkle. “Can’t. Date night with the new man.”

“Ooo, is this Nerd Glasses or Man Bun?”

“Nerd Glasses. Now I know what you’re going to say. His Bumble profile was sooooo dorky, but I don’t know, he just seems… nice.”

I suppress a sigh. There is so much to be said for “nice.” “Brunch on Sunday to debrief?”

“Only if I’m not up too late the night before.” She clicks her tongue twice and points her index finger at me like she’s shooting a pistol. “I’ll text you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When she leaves, I check the time on my phone. Half an hour until lunch with Walsh. The photos folder beckons, but I text her instead.

How was therapy today?





Not twenty seconds later, my phone buzzes.

Super. I had a breakthrough… I think I finally hate Keith!



YES!





I text her a meme of a kitten gleefully firing a machine gun, Rambo-style.





Better than the alternative





A chill creeps down my spine and I pull my sweater tighter around myself at the prospect of what could have happened.

Should I bring home champagne tonight to celebrate?



Don’t you have class?



No, I dropped my Tuesday class remember



Ahhh okay. So just Thursdays now?



Right





Reducing my course load meant I’d extend my degree program by a couple of semesters, but what would I get in return? Sanity. Balance. And sweet, sweet free time to spend with the people most important to me—like Walsh. My phone buzzes again.

Let’s pop the bubbly then! Except make it sparkling cider because I have an early morning yoga class tomorrow.





Atta girl.