“Wendy, take the day off - actually no, take the week off,” Ndidi says, less request, more demand. I don’t remember the last time I even took one day off. They need me here! I can’t take a whole week off. I organize all of the calendars and meetings and keep everything running. I field the calls before they get to her and make sure things go exactly how they need to. What would I come back to after a whole week gone?
An amused look passes over her face, “I see you’re spiraling, Wendy, which is something I didn’t think you were capable of, but yes, I’m serious, I want you to take a whole week off. We’ll be fine here, I can handle whatever might come up while you’re gone.”
I feel like I’m being punished for something, which I know isn’t true because I’ve never made a mistake. In anything really. I run through a mental list of tasks I could potentially complete from home this week, unpacking my briefcase wordlessly as Ndidi turns to look across the office at something else. I’m running through some of the home maintenance projects I’ve been considering. I could finally reorganize my bedroom closet by color and brand instead of just having things randomly hung up only by item type. That would only take me a day or two, unless I really overhauled the whole thing to get rid of stuff that doesn’t need to be there anymore. I could add labels and shelving the way I’d been dreaming of since Howard died. Hmm, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
While I was irresponsibly daydreaming, Ndidi repacked everything I’d just taken out.
“Oh,” I say, the slightest tilt of surprise in my voice, “you mean now?” She nods, places my bag on my shoulder and starts walking me through the office to the parking lot where Bill is waiting for me to get in. Confusion settles over me like a storm cloud, it seems like this whole plan is more pre-meditated than she’s letting on.
“Okay, so I might have planned a whole week for you. I know you like to keep your personal life personal, but I also know you’ve been working overtime and I hired someone to be your assistant for the week to help you do whatever you need to do and take you to a few surprise appointments I’ve scheduled for you. I know work is your favorite thing but I want you to see what else is out there. Consider it my thanks for pushing me to give Geoffry a chance. Or a birthday present from me to you.”
“My birthday’s not until January,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth. Ndidi “mhms” as she opens the car door for me. When the door swings open, I instinctively go to step in but I’m stunned by a beautiful, blue haired woman in the backseat. She looks to be just a little younger than me and more at ease in her body than I think I’ve ever felt. I must be staring at her for multiple minutes before I finally get my body to move and sit in the seat next to her. I look back at Ndidi who winks at me before closing me into the car and walking away, back toward the office.
“Hi, you must be Wendy, I’m Charlie Morena. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she reaches out her hand to shake mine, and her perfectly manicured fingers catch my attention. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you and the work you’ve done for Didi.” She’s got a ring on every finger and beautifully intricate designs on each nail. I feel my chest tighten and my stomach flutter in a way that feels unfamiliar. I hesitate slightly, hopefully not enough for her to notice, and take her hand in mine. I force a tight smile as it registers that she’s complimented me. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything in response before pulling out her phone and opening up a calendar app. I don’t see the details closely enough but I see it’s color coded the way I have mine. I wonder what the colors mean. “Our first agenda item is an appointment with a personal shopper - Didi mentioned that you have an outstanding pantsuit collection but was concerned you wouldn’t have enough loungewear to get you through the week.” I let out a huff, ready to argue that I don’t need loungewear but she continues on, “After that we’ll head back to your house so we can assess the situation and gameplan for the remainder of our week together to optimize our time for the perfect balance of relaxation and productivity.” Oh, I find myself thinking this might not be so bad. If I could just get myself to speak eloquently and get past the sense of confused awe I feel in this woman’s presence, we could even have a good week. I look up from the spot in my lap where the hand she just touched lays to see that she’s staring at me waiting for a response.
“Oh, sorry, did you ask me something?” I feel like a self-conscious teenager in a way I didn’t even feel when I was the right age for it. Get it together, Wendy!
Charlie smiles at me, genuine and dazzling, “I just asked if you were hungry, I picked up a breakfast sandwich for you on my way in.” I’m about to tell her I’m not much of a breakfast person but the smell of the bacon and eggs surprises me and takes me back to mornings with Howard when we were young. I get an ache of nostalgia and grief swirling in my sternum and rather than explain the sensation to this alluring woman I’ve just met, I murmur a quiet, “yes, thank you,” and take the sandwich.
Howard was my husband for 28 years before he died. It wasn’t the same as Ndidi losing Alex, sudden and unexpected, but it hurts all the same. I was twenty-one when we got married. We were together longer than we weren’t. He was sick for a long time, but he still died way too young. We were supposed to have the rest of our lives. Not just the rest of his. I expected to grow old together and so I worked too much so that we could hire the best care for him. Looking back, I wish I’d just taken care of him myself, or balanced it all better so that I could have had more time with him. No amount of time would have felt like enough. He was the love of my life. We were everything to each other. And since I’ve been on my own, work has become my life. Even more than it was before.
I don’t talk about him anymore, it hurts too much and it feels like a weakness to show that I still hold so much grief. So I pretend that it’s not there. That work is my whole life and I like it that way. That it’s how I’ve always been and that I don’t know anything different. But sometimes, a stupid breakfast sandwich will remind me of all I’ve lost. Not just my Howard, but parts of myself too. When I saw Ndidi’s grief consuming her I stepped in and helped her see that she could love someone again. It was so simple and so easy to help her get there. To make room for that to be okay. But for me, it doesn’t seem possible. I’m too old to fall in love again. To be vulnerable and open myself up to the possibility of more grief. I’ve had my great love. I’ll hold Howard in my heart forever.
I take a bite of the sandwich and angle my face away from Charlie so she can’t see my eyes mist over. I won’t let a tear fall.
Before I know it, we’re back home and Charlie is making herself comfortable in my living room. I moved here when I got the job with Alex and Ndidi, living in Washington DC for years before, so Howard never lived in this house. I still have pieces of him everywhere. The painting over the entryway was the first piece of art he bought me when he brought home his first big paycheck. The solid gold vase on the end table of the living room, a ridiculous and impractical gift I bought for him when I started making my own money. The ugly yellow and pink throw blanket, the only pop of color in my otherwise neutral space, the one that he brought back and forth to his treatments, even in the summer when it was scorching outside and his body was still cold.
I head into the kitchen as Charlie settles into the couch, making up a tray of snacks and tea for the two of us to bring back in for our meeting. I gather my own iPad and feel myself slipping back into work mode before Charlie clears her throat and signals for me to sit down. I’m still wearing my work clothes, but I put the iPad down and sit on the opposite side of the couch.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been somewhat offputting today, Ms. Morena.” I fix my posture as she says, “Please, call me Charlie.”
Our “meeting” goes by in a blur of Charlie asking me questions about myself and me feeling unguarded in an unfamiliar way, answering all of them truthfully. She left an hour ago and I’m still confused about how she made me comfortable enough to disarm my usual professionalism. She’d even gotten me to talk about Howard, mentioning to her that I still have a lot of his clothing in my closet, having intentionally taken it with me when I moved. We agreed that we’d tackle the closet and make that our big project for the week, in between the few surprises that Ndidi had scheduled for me.
The next day I’m startled awake as I realize my 5am alarm hasn’t gone off. I look around and see my bedroom through new eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the east facing window. I’m usually out of bed and more than halfway through my morning routine before the sun starts coming up. I settle into the memory of Charlie taking my phone and disarming all of my alarms and reminders for the week. It was incredibly unsettling how willing I was to let her do whatever she wanted. Maybe with more than just my schedule.
I was never against the idea of being with a woman. But Howard and I found each other so young and so I never got the chance to explore that part of me. I haven’t been with anyone since he’s died, it felt like a betrayal to seek out another man and work fulfilled me in most of the ways I needed. So it wasn’t surprising to find myself attracted to Charlie because she was a woman, it was surprising because she wasn’t Howard. It was surprising because I haven’t let myself be attracted to anyone in years.
I look at the spot on the wall where my clock usually hangs and notice it’s gone. Charlie must have come in here and removed it after we talked about letting go of my routine for a few days to let her lead. If I wasn’t so taken with her and her organizational skills I would have argued but she seemed to really know what she was doing. I’d done some digging after she left last night and found enough information about her and her history to essentially create a full resume and dating profile for her. I’d learned that she got her nails done at the same salon that Ndidi gets her hair done, which is probably how they’d met. I learned that she moved to San Francisco as a young adult and then put herself through college, majoring in business, by working as a hotel concierge who was awarded concierge of the year by the hotel group thrice. She was promoted to eventually manage the hotel before she’d left and started her own business as an organizer both for large scale businesses and wealthy individuals. Helping me organize my closet was way beneath her usual work so I wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to spend this week with me. She was also breathtaking in every photo I came across, even one posted by a local non-profit organization, Lavender House, where she was gardening outside of a brightly painted rainbow house, and covered in dirt. It was an organization supporting LGBTQ+ young adults that had been displaced due to family ostracisation, that provided housing and job training and happened to be on our list for Giga to consider a large-scale donation to. Seeing that photo of Charlie prompted me to bring it to the top of our list.
Outgoing Email: 10:48pm
To: ndidi@giga.org
From: wendy@giga.org
Subject: Lavender House Inquiry
Ms. Davis, sending a short note as a reminder to schedule a meeting with Lavender House, the LGBTQ+ Youth Housing Organization that we were considering making a large-scale donation to. I think it would be in our best interest to move forward with this org and provide them with funds to expand their reach. I’ve attached a link to their website and instagram page for you and Elijah to review prior to my return. Best, W
Incoming Email: 7:45am
To: wendy@giga.org
CC: elijah@giga.org
From: ndidi@giga.org
Subject: Re: Lavender House Inquiry
Wendy, respectfully, stop working during your time off.
Elijah, look into this please!
Incoming Email: 7:58am
To: wendy@giga.org
From: ndidi@giga.org
Subject: Re: Lavender House Inquiry
Btw, I see you liked a photo of theirs from 43 weeks ago featuring your new friend, Charlie. That’s a funny coincidence. I hope you’re enjoying your time!
I let out a short huff and place my phone face down on the end table next to my bed. Ndidi knows me too well, I’ve let myself get close to her in a way I haven’t done in other workplaces. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, just new for me.
As I make my way out of bed, I take a look in the closet, all of Howard’s favorite sweaters hung next to my blazers as if he’d hung them himself. Totally random, no color coordination, and aesthetically horrific, just the way he loved it. I couldn’t get myself to get rid of them, even though I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of the eye sores in public. Sometimes when I feel like I could drown in the sorrows of missing him, I put one on and imagine his arms wrapped around me. I don’t know how I’ll explain the sweaters to Charlie.
As if she could hear my thoughts, the doorbell rings and I hear her singsong, buttery voice through the window, “Wennnnnnnn, I hope you’re decent because I’m very eager to get you in that closet and don’t like to be kept waiting.” I find myself with an incredibly embarrassing blush creeping over my chest and up to my cheeks. A blush?? I’m too old to blush! Get it together Wendy! And why do I feel giddy that she’s given me a nickname?
As I open the door, she barges past me toward my bedroom. She’s got a labelmaker in one hand and shopping bags full of different colored hangers in the other. I sigh, following her wherever she’s about to lead me.
A few hours later we’re knee deep in sweaters and pantsuits, sitting on the floor of my closet. I’ve cried twice telling her about Howard. It feels so good to talk about him and have someone really listen.
“It’s not that I wish he were still here, I hated to see him suffer for so long, and it’s not even that I hate to be alone, I’m comfortable with myself and I have a good life, I just miss him and I miss the companionship of having a guaranteed forever partner in life.” She looks at me in a way that makes me know she’s really absorbing everything I’ve said. Her eyes have an earnestness that makes me feel less afraid to feel vulnerable, even here in my own home, surrounded by my dead husband’s sweaters.
“Thank you for sharing him with me, Wen,” Charlie leans closer to me as she starts to talk. “I’ve never been married, but I’ve experienced my fair share of death and loss and there’s something special about finding other people who know death intimately too.” She licks her lips in a way that sends a shiver up my spine. “It changes you, to get close to her. To really see death and survive her presence.” I’ve leaned into her now too. Our knees are touching and I can smell the cinnamon on her breath and a hint of warm vanilla in her hair.
“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” I whisper, almost breathlessly. We’re looking into each other’s eyes in a way that’s exhilarating and also terrifying. I look down at her lips and realize I’m desperately attracted to this woman. I want to kiss her. Her mouth turns up into a smile and I think she might want to kiss me too. We sit there for a moment, waiting, breathing each other’s air before I lean a little closer, closer, closer, until my lips gently meet hers. She brings her hands up to my face and meets me, deepening the kiss. I feel her smirk against my mouth. I pull away to get a better look and she says, “I was waiting to see how long it would take you to make a move.” I let out a relieved laugh and pull us both up to stand. “Let’s get out of the closet.”
