Push(41)

“The point of it all,” he says with irritation, “is to get through an eight-hour work day in a civil way. And to get to know the person you are spending those eight hours with. But, like I said, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine with me. I don’t want you to start referring to me as the-dude-at-work-who-never-shuts-up.”
I can’t help but laugh. Thankfully he is smiling, too, and the pair of us share a self-deprecating chuckle—I think we both know that I already consider him the-dude-at-work-who-never-shuts-up. I want to tell him it’s too late for that, but I’m afraid that would be taking it too far.
So instead I say, “Yeah, well, I don’t want you to start referring to me as the-bitch-at-work, so let’s meet somewhere in the middle.” I don’t even know what that means. Except, perhaps, that I am no longer going to consider choking him just to get him to shut the f*ck up.
“Agreed,” he says. And then he is silent, and we return to the plans spread out across the conference table. Over the course of the rest of the afternoon, with the exception of a brief conversation about what to get for lunch, Matt and I talk only about the project. No posturing. No chattering. Nothing. It is workplace bliss. I wonder how long it will last.
For the first time since I started working here, I’m not watching the clock. I’m not waiting for six to arrive so I can walk out of the building, sink my earbuds into my head, and shuffle out of Matt’s world and into my own. Instead, when six comes, I am still sitting in my cubicle with Matt next to me, typing specs into the keyboard and talking about how we can synchronize five different conference rooms on five different floors. He acknowledges the time first by silently tapping on the clock at the top of my computer screen with his index finger. I turn to look at him, and he’s already up and out of his seat. I quickly hit “save,” tell Matt I will see him tomorrow, and write a sticky note to myself to remind me where we need to pick up the project in the morning. I gather up my stuff and walk out to the elevator.
Matt is standing there, too. While we wait for the elevator to arrive I decide to meet him in the middle.
“So, yeah, I guess you are kind of right. David is sort of intense,” I say, looking up at the digital numbers above the elevator doors.
“What?” I look over at him briefly, and I see confusion.
“My kind-of boyfriend. His name is David.”
“Oh,” he says. Then after a few seconds, he adds, “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental when I mentioned it before. I just thought he seemed pretty intense. About you, I mean.”
“We haven’t been together very long. So I think the intensity you noticed wasn’t necessarily about me.”
“Ah, I see,” he says, the sound dragging out of him, slow and full of sarcasm. “Then I guess he must have just had a bad burger or something.” He looks back over at me and smiles. “In fact, now that I think about it, he did look more like a man with food poisoning than a man in love,” he continues. “It’s kind of hard to tell them apart sometimes, what with both being such intense feelings and all....” He laughs a little bit. I am smiling, too, realizing that maybe he does have a sense of humor somewhere in there.
“It was definitely food poisoning,” I say, nodding in jest. “Trust me.” Because there’s no way in hell it was love.
When the elevator arrives, we get in and ride to the lobby in silence. Matt nods at me as he steps off the elevator, and I say a quick goodbye. I walk through the lobby a few steps behind him, but he holds the door open for me, and we walk out of the building together. And then he splits off without a word, walking toward the parking garage while I turn toward the bus stop. I take a dozen steps and then stop to get out my cell phone. As I am about to flip it open, it pings.


Hi.


It’s David.


Hi back.


Have a good day at work?


Yes. What r u doing?


Feeling covetous.


Why’s that?


Because you came out with the douche bag.


What? David is here? I scan the courtyard. He is sitting on a bench under an island of trees, looking down at his phone.


What r u doing here?


Giving u a ride.


Where to?


Wherever u want to go.


Anywhere?


Anywhere.


Take me to a burger joint.


Done.


I watch him stand up and slide his phone into his back pocket. He is wearing jeans and an untucked, short-sleeved button-down with black chucks. As he is walking toward me his face is turned as if he is waiting for someone to come out of the building. When he’s a couple dozen steps from me, he turns his face to mine and smirks. I put my phone back into my purse. I want to have two free hands. When he steps up to me, I move forward and slide my hands around his waist. He grasps the back of my neck and kisses me. It is f*cking amazing.
I don’t know why, but as we are kissing, I think about something Matt said: “He seems pretty intense. About you, I mean.” This is how David kissed me on Wednesday. This is the same kiss that Matt saw. Apparently, this is the kind of kiss that screams “food poisoning.” And that is some scary shit.
* * *

David takes me to a place called Quarter-Pound Love. They must make a mean burger because the place is full. Really full. And it’s a Monday. We decide to sit at the bar in hopes that we’ll get served faster. As we look at the menus and wait for the bartender to come take our order, we are both silent. David’s hand is on my bare knee. It feels light and sweet and still. He brushes his fingertips across the top of my knee, barely making contact. It is enough to make me want to leave. But I don’t say a word. I don’t flinch. I don’t move. I don’t look up at him. I just read my menu and pretend I don’t notice his fingers sweeping under the hem of my skirt, pushing it up just a little higher.