Maybe Someday

I've been swamped all morning, back-to-back meetings, appointments, and writing and submitting for deadlines. I've barely taken a breath since I got here. Who knew there were this many fundraisers, charities, and museum exhibits happening in the city this month. They piled a bunch of assignments up on my to-do list. The only upside is that I haven't thought about this weekend once since I got here and seeing as how that's the only thing I've thought about since Saturday, it's a nice change of pace.

I think I'm more embarrassed than anything else, really. Not only did Dastan basically call me used goods, not worth his time or attention now that he's had a taste. I also, made an absolute spectacle of myself by having a panic attack in the kitchen in the middle of his and Anne's argument. The way they all looked at me after; like I was fragile. Weak and breakable. It just rubbed me the wrong way. I hightailed it out of there as soon as I got my bearings. I couldn't face the questions I could see swirling in Anne's eyes- she's obviously not stupid, she must have put together that there's more going on here than we're telling her-or the apathy in Dastan's. When my senses returned I could feel his eyes on me again but when I met his gaze, he just looked right through me. What am I supposed to do with that?

I'd gone into Saturday expecting to have to make amends for how things had ended between us. We both said some things we didn't mean but he was hurt and I was willing to take responsibility for the pain I'd caused him. What I didn't expect was for him to come back an entirely different person. Yes, his physical appearance is rougher, more ragged in a roguishly handsome way. But the real change came in his personality. Dastan had never behaved that way before. He'd always been soft, gentle, and kind, much like Haider. The man who came back is none of those things. He's course, snappy, and closed-off. I've never seen him so guarded, or volatile before. I don't know how to deal with him this way.

I did that. Of all the things in my life I regret, I don't think I regret anything more than this. Laying the ground work for him to become this hollow echo of who he used to be. The boy I loved would've never looked at me that way.

Maybe it's wistful thinking but I think a part of me was still holding out hope that we'd be able to salvage at least some infinitesimal aspect of our friendship. Perhaps we'd never be best friends again and he'd never look at me with that spark of affection shimmering in his starless gaze. But I'd at least hoped we could be civil. Clearly, that's not in the cards for Dastan and I... He, obviously, wants to see me suffer for everything I put him through. I, honestly, can't say I blame him.

So, I've elected to bury myself in other things. I'm a big fan of ignoring the problem until it eventually goes away. It's worked pretty well for me thus far. I'm currently filling in my schedule for the month. It's something I do so that I can keep everything straight and have a way to remind myself what I'm supposed to be doing at any given time. I add little notes and tabs about deadlines, leads, allocate hours for writing and editing and color-code every block and activity. When I'm done I feel entirely satisfied, it's so aesthetically pleasing I can't help but smile as I forward it to Emma. It's just a precaution. It's so she always knows where I should be or where to find me, she reminds me about the most important stuff.

Emma's basically like my walking, breathing, schedule. She always reminds me about appointments, meetings, hell even dates. I've come to rely on her so much more in the last few years. It's pathetic and I hate it but I need her. I don't know what I'd do if she weren't around to constantly police my time; how many hours would I have lost to mindless wandering that I don't even remember if it weren't for her? She's the only person I trust anymore. Don't get me wrong, I love Haider and I would trust him with my life but even he doesn't know the full extent of my memory issues. He's aware of the episodes I have, the forgetfulness, and the panic attacks. But he doesn't know about the dreams, the flashbacks, the mind-numbing headaches, all the gritty stuff. We try to keep him out of all that as much as possible, he has enough on his plate as it is. He doesn't need to worry about me. The downside of that is all of those responsibilities end up falling to Emma. She's never complained and yet I can't help but feel like I've been a burden to her these past years.

Not ten minutes after I've sent the email and settled into my desk with a cup of coffee and notes on the article I'm writing for Wednesdays deadline; I get a text from Emma.

'Holy shit!!! Are you planning to breathe at all this month?'

'This is insane!' She double texts. I want to laugh, leave it to Emma to find time in her day to give unwanted commentary on the workings of my life. She's always got a comment for everything, most times it's not bety helpful either. Emma's a notorious troublemaker. She's always been the one to come up with the plan that gets us all in shit since we were kids. She's always been the most chaotic of our little group. I like to think of her as a chaotic neutral. I smile affectionately at my cellphone, where would I even be without my tiny, anarchist best friend?

'It's fine. I think they're finally starting to trust me more… That's a good sign!' I send a bunch of that lady in the red dress dancing emojis, hoping to convey my excitement at this new development in my life. After the weekend I've had, I definitely need some excitement (of the good kind) in my life.

' True but that's a lot of work K. You gonna be ok?'

'I'll be fine.' I reply, this whole thing about treating me like I'm made of spun glass and will shatter at even the slightest pressure is getting a little annoying. 'Just trust me.' I add, then send another one for good measure, 'Please.'

'Ok.'

'How's Haider?'

'Was it awkward?'

'Did he ask about Dastan?'

'Yikes that must have been rough...'

My phone pings repeatedly, telling me Emma's gone off on a tangent again. I roll my eyes, she never stops mothering. 'Wouldn't know, canceled on him this morning.'

'????'

'Why?'

'Is this because of Dastan?'

'I can kick his ass if you want.' This one she adds an emoji with its tongue sticking out the side of its mouth, and one of a shoe and another of a peach. I laugh... only Emma.

'No, just wasn't in the mood.'

She takes a little longer to respond this time. I see those three little dots that tell me she's typing appear and disappear twice before she sends: 'come to my office after work, well grab dinner and talk shit about your ex.'

I just send a thumbs up and go back to my article. I've got three different deadlines to meet this week and I still have to meet with a few sources for the only actual news story I'm writing that's due next week. It's a follow up article on an ongoing money laundering trial, the original story was written by Dev, a senior journalist. But now she's been asked to cover the Hell's Kitchen Hacker story exclusively so they moved some of her less important projects to the lower level journalists. If I do this well it could lead to more serious articles for me. I'm a little excited. Okay. A lot excited.

Everything in my life might be slowly floating down river but at least my career is looking up. Maybe someday I can work my way up to writing about a story as important and hard-hitting as the Hell's Kitchen Hacker. As it is, they've had me working on silly fluff pieces since I started my internship here in my senior year of college. Back then I was just excited to be given the opportunity to write at all. I'd been turned down for so many intern positions because of my history and my memory problems and then I'd finally caught a break. I took every story they threw at me that first year. I didn't realize then that meant I'd get stuck being their frilly society pages writer because of it. Should've known it was too good to be true.

Now all I can do is keep my head down and hustle as hard as I can so that all this work that I put into being an actual journalist can pay off... Maybe someday.