Monster Control Inc. 35
Pretending to work
I spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to work while actually wallowing in self-pity. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was ready to get drunk and forget this entire day had happened.
“Hey Horace,” Reb called as I was gathering my things. “You want to grab dinner? I’m still figuring out the area, and it’d be good to get to know you better outside of work.”
The generous offer made me feel even worse about my jealousy. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.”
“No worries. Rain check?”
“Sure.”
I headed for Murphy’s Tap, my usual refuge from the complications of life. The bar was busy with the Monday evening crowd—mostly blue-collar workers winding down from their day. I found a stool at the bar and ordered a Grain Belt and a shot of whiskey.
“Rough day?” the bartender asked, setting down my drinks.
“You could say that.”
I was halfway through my second beer when Eric slid onto the stool next to me.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I said before he could speak.
“Too bad, because we’re going to.” Eric ordered his own beer. “You’re doing it again, Race. The exact same thing you did in Chicago.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just having a drink.”
“You’re sulking because Julie’s going out with Reb. Which, by the way, is completely her right to do.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you think she owes you something.”
“I don’t think that.” But even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. Did I think Julie owed me a chance because I’d been trying so hard to be better?
“Look, man, I like you. You’re a good hunter, you’ve got good instincts, and you came through when it counted up in Ely.” Eric took a swig of his beer. “But you’ve got this blind spot when it comes to women. This idea that if you just do enough nice things or prove yourself enough, they’ll have to give you a chance.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. It’s exactly what you’re doing. And it’s not fair to them or to you.”
I stared into my whiskey. “So what am I supposed to do? Just give up?”
“No. You’re supposed to accept that sometimes people just don’t feel that way about you, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re not good enough or that you haven’t earned it. It just means the chemistry isn’t there.”
“She’s never even given me a chance to see if there’s chemistry.”
“Because she doesn’t want to. That’s the chemistry, Horace. That’s what you’re not getting.” Eric’s voice was gentle but firm. “If someone’s interested, you’ll know. If they’re not, no amount of proving yourself will change that.”
“So I’m just supposed to watch her date Reb and be happy about it?”
“You’re supposed to be professional about it and move on with your life. Find someone who actually likes you back instead of fixating on someone who doesn’t.”
The truth of his words hit harder than I wanted to admit. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Becoming the creepy stalker.”
“You’re not there yet. But you’re heading in that direction, and I’m trying to stop you before you cross that line again.” Eric finished his beer. “Look, take some time, feel your feelings, whatever. But then let it go. For your own sake as much as Julie’s.”
After Eric left, I sat at the bar nursing my drinks and trying to process everything. He was right. I knew he was right. But knowing something intellectually and accepting it emotionally were two very different things.
My phone buzzed with a text from Carlson: “Team meeting tomorrow 9 AM. Multiple missing persons reports from Lake Minnetonka. Come prepared.”
Great. Just what I needed on top of everything else—actual work that required me to function like a professional adult.
I paid my tab and headed home through the freezing Minneapolis night, my breath fogging in the air, my thoughts as cold and uncomfortable as the weather.
Tomorrow I’d have to work with Reb on whatever was happening at Lake Minnetonka. I’d have to watch him be charming and competent. I’d probably have to hear Julie talk about their upcoming date.
And I’d have to do all of it without letting my jealousy turn me into the lunatic I’d become in Chicago.
The lunatic who’d gotten a man stabbed and myself exiled.
The freak I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be anymore.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I made a decision. I would be professional. I would work with Reb as a colleague and, if possible, a friend. I would be happy for Julie—or at least convincingly pretend to be.
Because the alternative was losing this job, this second chance, this opportunity to prove I could be better.
Even if it killed me.
Even if it felt like it already was.