Ache With Me

The soft clicking of heels on the carpet made me snap into standing up straight. I had my hands behind my back, standing as tall as a queen.

“Roses? Really?” Zina said, looking me over. I was standing in an inspection line at seven o’clock in the morning at the Seattle Times. The boss lady had forced us to be here early to inspect us for the “surprise visit” from the owner that we’d been preparing for for weeks. My normally free-spirited boss had her bright red hair scraped into a high pony tail and straightened within an inch of its life. She wore slacks, a white blouse, and a power blazer with her black heels. She looked every inch the corporate drone and I hated it. Usually she had at least one flower in her hair and jingled as she walked from the jewelry.

“I had to spice it up somehow.” I smoothed my hands over the rose-covered pencil skirt in question. At least the rest of my outfit was office-friendly, even my stockings. For once they didn’t have any holes or funky patterns or exposed garters.

“I guess it’s fine.” She moved on down the line and eventually approved everyone’s appearance.

“I’m gonna be glad when this is over, Zina doesn’t look like Zina.” The assistant editor, Brian, muttered from next to me. He’d been forced to slick his hair back instead of letting it fall over the place as usual, and covered his tattoos up with a suit. Usually he only wore a button down with the sleeves rolled up and a tie with his jeans. I had to admit he cleaned up well, but he didn’t look right. None of us looked right. We were all free spirits and Zina gave us free reign to dress as we liked. It was the opinion of most of the departments that we were poorly run and Zina gave us too much freedom. It was our opinion that the other departments had sticks up their asses and writing was supposed to be creative, so why shouldn’t we dress and act the way we did?

We wanted to prove ourselves to the owner, which was why we had pulled out all the stops. We’d spent the last week cleaning up the office: no strange knick knacks on the desks, the dart board was taken out of the break room, no funny pictures of cats on the bulletin board, and definitely no mean pictures of the Business editor on the bulletin board.

“I don’t need to tell you how important this visit is. Just…make me proud, all right guys? And then when this is over we’ll all go out and get shitfaced drunk.” Zina said, standing in front of us. There was a great cheer, and then we formed a huddle. We all put our hands in on top of Zina’s, counted to three and then screamed, “Culture!” at the top of our lungs. If anyone had been around at this time of the morning, they truly would have thought we had gone insane.

We took our places at our desks, now white and sterile, and chatted softly to each other. Once the clock struck eight, we began to work on our articles quietly and efficiently. That’s what we were trying to show the owner: that we could work as well as any department. I was supposed to go ask Zina about sending a fax at ten fifteen, to make it seem like we had something important to do. We had carefully scripted the whole visit and it was completely necessary. After all, half the time all we were doing was shooting spitballs at each other.

I was sitting there, clacking away at my computer as I planned my next interview with none other than Max’s friend Hunter, when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up to see the Iron Lady of the Seattle Times, Alyssa Cappelletti. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun at the back of her head, making her look both soft and terrifying. She was a scary lady, I had to admit.

“I love the roses.” She said, indicating my skirt.

“Uh, thank you.” I stammered. Zina gave me the thumbs up as Mrs. Cappelletti walked away. I did my timed fax question, which went very well. I literally faxed Max a page that said, “I miss you,” just to have something to fax.

The day was very tense and the moment the owner left, the tension exploded into cheers and high fives and even a little dancing.

“I am so proud of you guys! We did amazingly, thank you so much for helping me prove to her that we are a hard working department.” Zina ripped the hair tie out of her hair, letting her red mane flow free. “Now let’s clean up and get the hell out of here. On Friday we’ll go to a bar, sound good?” There was another cheer of agreement, and then we started cleaning. Well, by cleaning I mean we put the office back together. All of our knickknacks and pictures went back on the desks, the cat pictures were back on the bulletin boards, and someone even put the Business editor’s picture on the dartboard.

By the time I got home, it was far later than usual because of the cleaning and the bus breaking down halfway back to my building. I was exhausted and my feet hurt from walking the last ten blocks in these damn heels. All of that melted away, though, when I saw the inside of my loft.

More specifically, the person in it. Max was sitting on my couch reading the newspaper, one sneakered foot propped up on my recycled wood coffee table. His knees were peeking out from the holes in his jeans and he’d tied his hair back into a bun again. Cheshire was sleeping next to him. He didn’t look up from the paper as I slipped off my heels and jacket, dumping them on the arm chair before flopping down next to him.

“Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you.” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. He put down the paper, a grin starting to break across his face.

“And why is that?” He asked.

“Well, today was very long and very stressful, and then I had to walk half of the way home because the bus broke down. And then I come home and find my gorgeous boyfriend sitting on the couch and it smells like you made me dinner.”

“I did in fact make you dinner.” He kissed my nose. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” I wiggled my toes in my stockings. “I’m gonna go change.”

“Can I watch?” My only answer was to shut the curtains around my bed area. I could hear him laughing from across the loft. I changed into leggings and a big shirt before padding into the kitchen. He’d made pasta of some kind. My stomach growled loudly in anticipation.

“That smells delicious.” I said, accepting the bowl of food he’d handed me. We ate at my table for once, talking about the owner’s visit and the painting he was working on at the moment. The evening passed in quiet contentment, since both of us were tired. Around eleven he kissed me goodbye and went home, since he had to be up early the next morning and I had work.

I missed him when I got into bed. I wanted to hear his breathing, to feel his body next to mine under the sheets. Hell, I needed to cuddle up to him and listen to his heartbeat just so I could sleep. I wished he was with me more than anything.

I was getting far too attached to him for a little over a month of dating. Well, if I was honest we’d kinda been dating for a bit before that, what with all the phone calls and coffee dates, but we’d only been official for a short time. I was lonely without him. So I did what every lonely woman does.

I got out of bed, grabbed my cat, and made her cuddle with me while I tried and failed to sleep for about an hour. Eventually I must have passed out from sheer exhaustion, but the whole time I was tossing and turning, I was thinking about Max and his painter’s hands and his ridiculous smile and his heartbeat.