I Got the Boy

“Ms. Belrose,” my assistant rapped on the glass door to my office, “Do you need any help?” I looked up from my box of office supplies and smiled at her. She was young—a perky 20-something who was freshly out of undergraduate at the School of Art Institute of Chicago and overly excited to wait on my beck and call.

I shook my head, “I’m okay. You can take off for the rest of the day; I’m just going to finish unpacking.”

She bounced on her heels nervously, unsure how to respond in the circumstance, “Are you sure, Ms. Belrose?” She paused and glanced down at her watch, noting the early time, “It’s only 4 o’clock.”

“I’m sure, Rosie,” I placed an old photo of my family onto my desk, “Have a nice night.”

She returned my sentiments and gave me an appreciative smile, before scurrying towards the door and calling over her shoulder, “I organized your mail for you! It’s on my desk.”

I thanked her and returned to my box, which was filled with knickknacks from my Winnipeg office. The various framed pictures, mostly of my parents, my sister, and my friends, were organized on my desk and the adjacent bookshelf. I had stocked a majority of the bookshelf with my favorite designers’ books, catalogs, and old sketchbooks. I had pinned other random pictures, postcards, and drawings onto the corkboard on the opposite wall. The edges of my computer screen were already lined with post-it notes—containing motivational quotes about starting over in a new place, miniature design sketches and patterns, and important to-do’s for the upcoming weekend.

When I finally emptied the box, I tossed it into the corner and plopped into my desk chair, turning to look out of my picture window wall. The view was similar to the one from my kitchen island. Seemingly infinitely tall, steel buildings lined the edges, golden light flickering off of their pristine windows. In the middle, above the countless rows of honking cars racing to get home, the water from Lake Michigan shimmered in the background.

Lake Michigan was one of my favorite things about Chicago. It seemed so peaceful and calm, contrasting greatly with the rowdiness and chaos that surrounded it. Although Winnipeg had two rivers weaving through it, it was nothing like being in a city on the shore of a lake. The lake seemed to extend forever past the horizon line, its opposite shore unable to be seen. It was beautifully majestic and calming. And I had learned quickly that its serenity quieted my raging thoughts and organized them simply.

As I result, I took this time to think about recent occurrences. Seven days ago, I had moved into my newly purchased apartment in Chicago. Seven days ago, I had run into someone I hadn’t seen in 8 years and we talked for the first time since we were torn apart. And four days ago, I ate dinner with him and his fiancé.

Suddenly, I shook my head firmly, jarring the thoughts of him out of the forefront of my mind. I didn’t want Jonathan to be able to plague my thoughts so quickly, but it was a battle I was losing. It had been 8 years, but my mind hadn’t quite recognized that things had changed; my mind told me to pick everything back up where it ended. But I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. For now, I was just going to try to block his image from my thoughts.

However, disrupting my thoughts entirely, my phone’s loud ringtone pierced through the silent air. I scrambled to snatch it off of my desk. “Hello, this is Callista Belrose,” I spoke quickly, bringing the phone to my ear.

On the other end of the line, I heard my best friend bark out her high-pitched laugh. “Oh my god,” she breathed into the phone, “You sound so professional already. Is my bestie already a big shot in the big city?”

I huffed, “You’re funny, Dani. I just didn’t recognize the number. Where are you calling from?”

“Oh!” I could hear the playful smirk in her voice, “This would be the number of my new apartment. Y’know, since my previous roommate decided to flip her life upside-down and move away?”

I rolled my eyes at her passive aggressiveness. Danielle had been my best friend since middle school. She was everything that I wasn’t. While I tended to be shy and keep to myself, Danielle was extremely outgoing and shameless around strangers. She was loud and spastic; I was more levelheaded and quiet. All in all, we balanced each other out. She forced me to reach past my comfort zones; and I helped her organize different aspects of her life and keep them orderly.

Though we had initially parted ways after high school, we reunited after obtaining undergraduate degrees and landing jobs in Winnipeg. We quickly found an apartment—that we could afford with the pressure of student loans—and we had shared it for the past 6 years.

“So how’s the big, bad city?” her voice floated through the speaker.

I sighed quietly and turned in my chair, looking back at my view, “I’m falling in love with it already.”

“Any cute guys, yet?”

“Not yet,” I laughed, before pausing and clearing my throat quietly. “But I ran into him on the first day here.”

She fell silent, something that only occurred when she was in shock. After a few moments, she let out a large breath of air and asked quietly, “Excuse me. Can you repeat that?”

“I saw Jonathan last week.”

“Oh my god,” her voice rang clearly over the phone again, “How could this have happened so quickly? I knew it would happen at some point. But god, the first day?”

I nodded slightly, “I was way more surprised than you are right now.”

“I bet,” she huffed. “God, what’s he like now? It’s been 8 years.”

I sighed, “Serious, well-groomed, business-like, high-scale.” As I described him, I thought about the dinner. He was clad in a freshly pressed button-down shirt and kakis; his wrist was adorned with a leather-banded, designer watch; his sleek iPhone 6 rested on the table, illuminating sporadically with a new team-related or endorsement-related email; and when he spoke about the team’s success, he rattled off answers robotically as if he was participating in an everyday interview.

“He was different,” I finished my ramble of adjectives.

“Eight years can change a person,” Danielle reminded me, “Have you talked to him since?”

I sighed heavily, “I went to dinner with him and his fiancé.”

For the next few minutes, Danielle rambled on about the ridiculousness of my situation, going out with Jonathan and his new blonde bimbo. I rolled
my eyes at her dramatic rant, but I let her continue.

“But, anyway,” she concluded, “This relates to the purpose of this phone call.” I nodded and waited for her to continue. “Have you checked your mail yet?”

“No,” I shook my head, standing up from my desk chair to retrieve the pile of mail from Rosie’s desk, “Why?”

“You should.” I did as instructed and brought the envelopes into my office, scattering them across my desk. As I sorted through the different junk mail and welcoming cards from various co-workers, I finally came to a small, light blue envelope.

Tearing it open, I pulled out a cream-colored card. On the front flap, in the color of the envelope, Jonathan and Lindsey’s names were written in script. I quickly flipped it up and attached my eyes to the inside.

As one of our dearest friends, you have been invited to celebrate the engagement of Jonathan Toews and Lindsey Vecchione! Please join us at…

“Oh my god.”