18. Daniel

18

DANIEL

A fter several meetings, I realized that my morning coffee had never arrived on my desk as usual. For the past two weeks, ever since Michael embarrassed Emily, I’d had nothing but long workdays and exhausting business dinners. I knew Emily was disappointed. She’d been down and noncommunicative. I felt bad that she had been nudged to the periphery, but sometimes, work got like this and there was nothing I could do to change that.

I’d just hung up the call with Wexler and Main, a competing firm now joining us in a class-action suit over privacy concerns with a tech giant, and my head was throbbing. If I didn’t get caffeine soon, I would have a blinding headache that wouldn’t go away. I pressed the intercom button on my phone, the chime ringing out. “Emily, could I get my coffee, please?”

A few seconds passed and she didn’t respond, so I pushed the button again. “Emily? My coffee, please?” I gave her the benefit of the doubt that maybe she was on a call or something, but when she didn’t respond the second time, I dialed her extension. She didn’t pick up.

Frustrated, I stood and strolled over to my office door, pulling it open. I looked out at her desk to find it was empty. Her chair was pushed in, the computer screen dark, not turned on today. Her purse wasn’t on the shelf beneath the desk, and there was no sweater draped over the back of the chair, which confused me. I glanced at my watch. It was past eight a.m. She should have been in hours ago.

Emily hadn’t called to let me know she wasn’t coming in, and I hadn’t heard from Olivia either, so I headed to Olivia’s office. When I peeked in the window, I noticed she was on a call, so I knocked quietly. After a few minutes, her voice called out, “Come in.” I pushed the door open and stood in the doorway.

“Hey, did Emily call you? She’s not at her desk.” I leaned on the door jamb, keeping my hand on the doorknob.

“Yeah, sorry.” Olivia cleared her throat and grimaced. “She called before seven, said she was sick. I was going to let you know and then got wrapped up in that conference call with Japan and the Maxell Thurman case. I apologize.”

“No, that’s okay.” I started to leave but stuck my head back in the door. “Did she sound sick? I mean, do you think she needs anything?” My heart was on my sleeve, and I didn't care. If any one of the partners sympathized with my feelings for Emily, it was Olivia or Ben.

“Yeah, she sounded really tired and down. I’m not sure what’s wrong. She didn’t say. Do you want me to call her and follow up? Maybe I can send some flowers.” She held her hand over her phone receiver, poised to follow my commands.

“No, that’s okay. Do me a favor and have Jill cancel my morning meetings. I’m going to pick up a few things and stop by Emily’s house to make sure she’s okay.”

“Sure thing, sir.” Olivia was already dialing Jill’s extension as I retreated out the door. I realized I had no clue where Emily lived, our relationship mostly centered around work, my place, and the two restaurants we’d had lunch or dinner at. I felt bad for that too. I was horrible at relationships, apparently.

I headed back to my office and sat down behind my computer. My fingers went to work searching employee personnel files for her information. I got the address and typed it into a message to my driver as well as instructions to pick me up and a few stops to make, then I took my wallet and phone and headed down to the ground floor where my limo was already waiting out front.

The line at the café where I planned to buy some soup was wrapped around the building, so I passed on that, heading instead to a coffee shop. At least I could get rid of my headache and buy her a cup of her own favorite brew. I was in and out in under fifteen minutes and on my way to Emily’s apartment. I had no idea her commute across town was so long. She probably took public transportation, which was appalling to me, the idea of sitting next to common strangers and beggars on a train for thirty minutes, but I had been pampered my entire life.

By the time my driver pulled up in front of the building, I’d gained a whole new understanding of Emily that I never had a clue about. Her apartment building stood between two condemned buildings, burnt out by fire years ago and never restored. Their ownership was probably tied up in legal red tape or something. Across the street were buildings with graffiti, a computer repair shop, and a laundromat. Both had bars on the windows, which boasted of the crime rate in this neighborhood.

I shuddered at the thought of living in such horrible conditions, but I gave Emily the benefit of the doubt. She was smart—smart enough to make her own decisions. And the location of one’s dwelling shouldn’t reflect negatively on their value as a person, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit odd, as if she’d kept this from me somehow.

I made my way to the building carrying the cups of coffee and a paper sack from the drug store where I’d purchased some pain and fever medication. There was no doorman, only a metal- framed glass door with the lock mechanism broken off it. The elevator had an Out of Order sign on it, so I climbed the three flights of stairs to her floor and looked for three-oh-nine. The carpet in the hallway was stained, sticky too as I walked across it.

When I found her door, I knocked, not knowing what to expect when I entered. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for a response. After several seconds, I heard shuffling from inside and the sound of locks being undone. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit apartment. The curtains were drawn shut, and the only source of light came from a flickering lamp in the corner.

“Em, Olivia said you called in sick. I brought you this.” I held out the coffee and drugs.

She stood in front of me, disheveled and pale. Her eyes were sunken in as if she’d been sleeping, but she didn’t look sick. She took the coffee and medicine from my hands, her fingers trembling as she did so. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

I followed her into the apartment, taking in the surroundings. Second-hand furniture that had seen better days framed in the living space, separating the open-concept kitchen from the lounge area. A short hallway to the right was dark, a door on either side, likely the bathroom and bedroom. Emily shuffled to the kitchen counter and set the bag down, then turned toward me, hugging her coffee in her hands.

“You didn’t have to come out.” She wore a stained T-shirt and old gym shorts that looked like they belonged to another man. Her face still sported the mascara she’d worn yesterday, now a strange smudge of smokey eyes and clumps on her lashes.

“You’re sick?” I leaned against the kitchen counter, and it moaned under my weight. Part of me wondered if the paper-thin walls would collapse if I put weight on them.

“Just feeling off today.” She held her hand to her stomach. “Didn’t want to share germs with anyone.” The way she looked down at the coffee cup made me think she was lying, but I didn’t pry. Everyone deserved a mental health day once in a while, and she’d been really depressed. I’d have been depressed, too, if I lived in conditions like this.

“I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” she continued, setting her cup down. She grabbed the few plates and cups that were in her sink and stuffed them into the dishwasher, then dried her hands. I didn’t think the place looked messy, just rundown. The building had to be close to being condemned.

“No, it’s okay. If you’re not feeling good, you should lie down.” I gestured to the couch, and she nodded, picking up her coffee and heading that direction. I followed her, floorboards creaking under my feet as I went. The room smelled like old tobacco and mildew, neither scent pleasant, though she probably had gone nose blind within the first week of living here. I knew she wasn’t a smoker, so it had to have been the previous tenant.

“You didn’t have to check in on me. I’m fine, really.” Emily plopped onto the couch and sipped her coffee, and I sat, sinking into the oversized cushion a little more than I’d have liked. The springs beneath the leather had given way a long time ago, by the looks of it. My heart wrenched in my chest. Emily didn’t deserve to live in conditions like this. She was too smart, too driven.

“I care about you a lot, Em. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been down a lot lately, and I didn’t want you to think I didn’t notice.”

She looked down at the coffee and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked, and she squirmed.

“No, that’s alright.” She sipped the coffee again, and I could tell she was using it as a means to cover her unease. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“Of course.”

Seeing how she was uncomfortable, I changed the subject and talked about work. We discussed a few cases she’d been helping me with, the briefings and filings I had to organize. I hated that our conversation had been reduced to only work topics, but I knew those topics were safe and wouldn’t upset her. Inside, however, I was feeling tense, like maybe everyone was right and I was making a mistake.

I didn’t feel like that because of any reason other than her living conditions, though, so I warred with myself over what to believe. Mom was right. I was far out of Emily’s league, and I could see it plainly now, but that shouldn’t matter when love was present.

If only I could convince my logical mind what my heart vehemently believed. I told myself over and over, “Emily is pure as the driven snow,” but my logic was winning out over my emotion.