Happily Never After

“GOOD MORNING, SOPHIE,” I heard from the office to my left.

“Good morning, Ben,” I replied on autopilot, not even looking in that direction as I mentally prepared myself for my eight o’clock meeting.

After tossing and turning last night, I got up and decided to catch up on some emails. Yes, it was a Sunday night, but I had nothing else going on, so why not, right?

I’d nearly had a heart attack when I saw that Edie had scheduled a subjectless meeting on my calendar for eight a.m.—with Richard Kasee, EVP of administration.

Could it be? Was I about to have the conversation that would launch my career into a new direction? I doubted that was it exactly, but there was the possibility that it was a pre-conversation.

“Morning, Sophie,” from my right, to which I responded, “Morning, Dallas.”

“Morning, Soph,” from the cubicle in the corner.

“Morning, Betsy,” I said, replaying in my head all of the strategic goals I’d set and met over the past two years that I needed to illuminate in my interview. Wrote and launched new organizational development module.

“Good morning, Sophie,” Izabel said.

“Good morning, Iz,” I replied, rummaging through my tote.

“Good morning, Sophie,” Stuart said.

“Good morning, Stuart,” I muttered, reminding myself to focus on the necessary steps we’d taken to implement that plan.

“Good morning, Sophie,” I heard from the corner office.

“Good morning, Amy,” I replied, breathing in through my nose and trying to focus on staying calm so my anxiety didn’t send all of my thoughts exploding into a nonsensical burst of nerves.

Edie wasn’t in her office when I reached my cubicle, but I’d come in early, so she was probably still downstairs getting coffee.

I fired up my computer, but as I read through the printed memo that’d been left on my desk, I heard the Slack notification.

Someone in the office was IM’ing me.

I narrowed my eyes and saw Stuart’s name.

What in the actual . . . ?

Stuart: Are you okay?

I looked around my empty department and I wondered if this were a joke. Why would Stuart be messaging me?

I didn’t get it.

Maybe he was trying to hijack my promotion.

I typed: Fine. Why?

Stuart: Because you didn’t insult me.

I typed, What?

Stuart: You’ve insulted me via “Good mornings” every day since we broke up. You looked distracted today and called me by my name. So . . . are you feeling okay?

I looked out the window, at the bright morning sun, and thought about what he’d said.

I’d forgotten to call him a name.

Since the day we’d both returned to work after the wedding, I’d made it my mission to come up with new and interesting insults to call him upon my daily arrival. At first, it’d taken some Google searching, but then laziness had settled to where I used low-hanging fruit like assbag and doucheball on the regular.

Either way, I’d never missed the opportunity to make him feel like a cockroach every time I saw him.

But today . . . today I’d forgotten.

This felt like a breakthrough.

I closed out of Slack, done engaging with Stuart, and texted Max instead.

Me: I think I just had a breakthrough!

Another thing that had been born from my insomnia—relief that we’d cut out the sexual activities. Even though I would miss it and absolutely thought we could continue hooking up without issues, it was comforting, being on solid footing.

Without the physical intimacy, I wouldn’t have to overthink things like texting Max every time I had news.

We were friends and everything was fine.

Max: Details, please.

Me: I FORGOT to insult Stuart when I saw him today!!

Max: Holy shit! Proud of you. You’re on your way.

Me: To . . . ?

Max: To almost never thinking about him.

I smiled, even though there was no one to see it. Because Max was sentimental. He remembered conversational details and things that mattered to other people.

Things that mattered to me.

I texted: How’s your morning going so far?

Max: MY DAD BOUGHT THE BOAT.

I made a little squealing sound and texted: So this is working?!

Max: Apparently so. We might have to go HAM on the pics later.

I grinned as I texted: I don’t think people say HAM anymore.

Max: What are you, the fucking language police? We should get drinks tonight.

Me: Where and why?

Max: Upstream patio. To celebrate your Forgetting Stu milestone and my dad’s pontoon.

Me: Six?

Max: See you there.

I glanced up, and Edie was walking into the department with Richard beside her. I got major butterflies as they glanced in my direction and Edie gestured for me to join them, even though it was still only 7:40 a.m.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my laptop and notebook, and went into the meeting.