By September, everyday felt just like any other day. I remember when I first started at the coffee shop I was terrified I was never going to get the hang of it, but I did. When I decided to go into administrative work, I was terrified of the change. It felt like starting all over, like I had spent years learning how to ride a bike and I was suddenly forced to drive a car. None of it was forced, though, and none of it was truly that scary. Going from Carla's temporary assistant to Mr. Jett's assistant was more nerve-wracking than anything. And yet, I persisted enough to the point that many things felt routine and second nature.
My favorite routine was getting lunch on Wednesdays with Mr. Jett. He was still quiet and reserved, but it was when he was most talkative out of any other moment during the week. Usually, I was doing most of the talking, or blabbering. Mr. Jett entertained me. It felt like he was listening genuinely, but sometimes I shared too much or was borderline incomprehensible. I had been told I was annoying when I talked, but Mr. Jett didn't seem annoyed. Of course, he was impossible to read.
"Anyway," I said over my black bean burger. "I don't really talk to my dad's side of the family anymore. When Granny divorced her husband - my dad's dad - it seemed like my dad's brother took their dad's side, even though my grandfather wasn't really a good guy. Thus, Granny and Dad moved to New York and found their own family with my mom's family."
I was a slow eater because I talked too much, but this was fine because Lafayette always ordered more food that we tended to finish eating at the same time. He'd nod as he scarfed down whatever was on his plate. Sometimes he even took leftovers off of my plate, with my permission.
"Granny is actually besties with my other grandma and my great aunt," I said. I paused, pushing the cantaloupe to the edge of my plate. I didn't like cantaloupe. "Sorry, I've said that before. I repeat myself a lot. Anyway, I-"
"Wait a minute," he said. He took a drink of water, washing down his fried pickles. "Why are you apologizing for that?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, because I already forgot what I had just said.
"Don't apologize for repeating yourself," he said.
"Oh...it's fine, I mean, I do repeat myself a lot and it can be annoying. It-"
"It's not annoying," he said. "Who told you that?"
I paused, caught severely off guard. "Well, just...some guy," I said. I had been dating a guy for about three months when he told me how annoying it was that I repeated myself. We didn't last that long after that.
"Well that guy can fuck off," he said. "Obviously you're repeating yourself because whatever you're repeating is important to you. Even if it's not, who cares? Who says that to someone? A fucking idiot, that's who." Mr. Jett had a slight, classic New York accent. He did not cuss often, but when he did I could really hear it come through. Also, when he said "coffee."
"Yeah, he kind of was an idiot," I said, smiling.
"There you go," he said. "Go ahead, finish your story."
"It's not much of a story," I said. "I mean, what about your grandparents? I never hear about them really." I didn't hear much about his family, to be honest. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him.
"My grandparents are dead, sadly. Funny enough, my father has a similar story to yours, but his parents were never married. He had a bad relationship with his father. His mother died a little over a decade ago, so I did know her. She was a magnificent woman. My mother's parents died before I was born. My poor mother, parentless by the time she was eighteen."
"That's so sad," I said, to which he nodded, not realizing that I genuinely did find it sad. Death freaked me out, mostly the idea of my family dying. This is why, as he kept telling me the sad story of his mother's upbringing, having to take care of her younger siblings without her parents, I got choked up.
"Oh, Em," he said. "You don't have to cry."
"It's just sad," I said. "And I cry at everything, so it's fine. I probably cry every single day. Don't you cry?"
Mr. Jett pulled his head back in surprise. "No, I don't really cry," he said.
"You should. There's nothing like a good cry. But if you don't want to cry that's fine. I'll just cry for you," I said, feeling better.
He nodded, smiling softly. "That is your choice to make," he said. "Are you going to eat your cantaloupe?"
"No, go ahead. Cantaloupe is gross. Oddly enough, I know how to make this really cool cantaloupe parfait from when we had brunch at the coffee shop on Sundays. I sliced a whole cantaloupe in half but also kind of like a diamond or lotus flower type of thing. It was really cool but I just never ate it. Melons aren't my favorite fruit. I like any fruit in a smoothie but a lot of them the texture is actually kind of gross, you know?"
"Not really. I love all fruit, but I get it," he said, chewing a chunk of cantaloupe.
"I like peaches, bananas, apples, but I think oranges are my favorite." I rambled on about fruit and then vegetables until we went over our lunchtime.
Other than the lunches, I also liked Wednesdays because Mr. Jett seemed to like Wednesdays most too. Mondays were Mondays. Tuesdays were his busiest day. Thursdays weren't as busy but probably the second most busy. Fridays were the end of the week so there was the pressure to get everything finished and also the lack of motivation because the weekend was approaching. Wednesdays, though, were quieter. There weren't as many meetings. Mr. Jett was in his office more so I actually got to see him. All of the other executives seemed to be busier on Wednesdays, so they rarely came over to talk with him. Also, Richard didn't seem to call on Wednesdays.
I didn't really know who Richard was, but he called late in the evenings. When he did call, Mr. Jett changed. He was most lively on Wednesdays. He was so much more animated and talkative (talkative for him at least). But then, after a phone call with Richard, he was a shell of the man he had been. It's like the color drained from him and the light evaporated from his face. He was never in a good mood after. When I stayed later, I would see what he turned into after the phone calls. I didn't know who Richard was, but I did not like him. If he called, I usually left before the phone call was over. On Wednesdays, I tended to stay later than any other day of the week.
At around five-thirty, my sister Alicia called. "Hiiii," she said.
"Heeeey," I replied back. "I'm still at work, by the way."
"Why? Aren't you supposed to be off?" she asked.
"Well, I stay late sometimes, especially Wednesdays. I don't mind it. That way I am ahead on stuff and then don't have to go home so early."
"Okay, weirdo," she said. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to get dinner tonight."
"Yeah! I can do that."
"Cool, what time are you getting off?"
"Maybe at around six?" I said.
"Jesus Christ, why are you staying that late? What is so important?"
I glanced at Mr. Jett's office. His light was still on. In the slight sliver of the window in his office, I could see his hands holding the notebook he was always scribbling in. "Nothing," I just like to see if there is anything Mr. Jett needs help with."
"Does he ask you to stay?" she asked.
"No...I volunteer," I said quietly.
"You are so weird. Are you sleeping with him or something?"
"Alicia!" I exclaimed. "God, of course not. He's my boss. Plus, he is so straight."
"No way. He is so gay," she said. "I can tell. I could tell about you."
"Well we're twins, so of course you could tell, but you cannot tell about a man you have literally never met," I said.
"Maybe I will come by the office since you're going to take so long and then I can meet him for myself," she said.
I rolled my eyes. "No. Fine, I will leave now."
"Good. I'm hungry. I'll start heading your way."
When we hung up, I wrapped up what I was doing and then sent Mr. Jett a chat message to let him know I was going to head out. This is how I usually let him know I was leaving. Typically, he just replied with a goodnight. This time, though, as I was gathering my things, I heard him walk across the room and open his door.
"Any fun plans tonight?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.
"I'm getting dinner with my sister," I said.
"Alicia, right?"
I smiled, nodding. "Yep. We try to hang out when we can and she's not busy. Sometimes she just needs to decompress."
He nodded his head once. "Understandable," he said. "It's kind of funny that you two don't have similar names, for being twins, you know. Emma, Emily...Emilia."
"Her middle name is Emerald actually, which is fitting because it's our birthstone."
"Does your middle name start with an A then?" he asked.
"No, it's actually my dad's name, Dean," I said, shrugging. "Not as cool as Emerald, but my sister always gets her name mispronounced or misspelled so it evens out." I glanced at him as I put my laptop in my bag. "What's your middle name?"
"Carson," he said, with a shrug as well. "Lafayette and Jett are French-derived. Both my parents are half Irish, and Carson is my mom's surname so they went with that."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but a part of me always wondered if your name was real. Lafayette Jett. It sounds too cool to be real."
He smirked. "Well, it is real. Lafayette was my grandmother's maiden name."
I smiled softly. "Funny how names get passed down a lot," I said. "I guess it helps prevent anyone from falling into oblivion."
"Guess so." He sighed. "Well, I won't keep you. Goodnight, Emerson."
"Goodnight, Mr. Jett."
On the elevator ride down I smiled to myself. I really enjoyed my job. Sometimes, I had a bit of a crisis because I realized how much I enjoyed my job that I questioned being a writer. I still loved writing and still wrote often, but sometimes I wondered if I just wanted it as a hobby instead of a career. I had debated going back to school to take some writing classes, but could I do that while working full time? Did I want to do that? I wasn't sure. I felt so old at twenty-five, and yet I still had so much time left. Mr. Jett was thirty-two. It seemed like he had his life so figured out at such a young age. He seemed older than he actually was. Maybe this was just how he appeared, but deep down he was just as confused as me.
I met Alicia at a restaurant down the street. We talked over food and drinks for a few hours. She was telling me about the fun she was having but also her critical thesis and how mind numbing it was. I let her talk and vent until she told me it was my turn to talk and vent, but I didn't have much to vent about at work. I told her how it was more than just answering his calls and making a schedule, but I got to attend meetings on decisions about the company. I knew what a new collection already looked like even though it wouldn't be released for months. I got to tell her how excited I was about my job, and it was nice because I knew she wouldn't pester me about my writing. She was just happy for me.
After we departed, I went back to my apartment all smiles. I felt better than I had felt in a long time, the traumas of the past and the anxieties of the future were not eating away at me. I was notoriously bad at dwelling on the past and worrying about the future. For once, it felt like I was living in the moment.
It was great, but then I arrived home and ended up having one of the worst nights of my life.