The Science of Growing Apart

11- Daniel

"I feel like an idiot," I told Natalie over the phone the next day. "I screwed things up so badly."

"Honestly, I don't think you did," she said optimistically. "High school crushes are no big deal, so telling him that you had one shouldn't be a huge thing. If he overreacts, that's on him."

"I was just so sure that I could do this, Nat. Just keep things professional and civil without really getting into it. But not only did I get into it, I got so far into it that I don't even know how to get out of it. Seriously, how do I recover from this?"

"Text him, apologize for spilling the beans and just say that you want to go back to how you were," she suggested. "Because that's what you want, right? To go back to not knowing each other as much as possible."

"I think so," I mumbled indecisively. "I have no idea what to think right now."

"Driving yourself crazy for no reason is stupid. So just talk to him and set the record straight," she insisted. "We both know that I'm right, it's the only way for you to calm your nerves."

"Yes, I know that you're right. I just don't know what to say."

"Do you want me to write the text for you?"

"Yes please, that's a great idea."

"Josie, I was joking," she said with a short laugh. "You can do this on your own."

"I really don't think I can," I admitted just as I caught a blurry glimpse of dark hair walking by my desk. Kim, in her ridiculously high heels, was speed walking through the carpeted hall of the office with her shoulders square and her posture tall and poised. Her usual stance. "Nat, I gotta go. Talk soon," I rushed out before abandoning my phone on the desk to chase after my boss.

"Kim!" I jogged quickly to catch up to her. Upon hearing her name being called, she merely turned her neck to glance at me without missing one quick step. "I want to talk to you about the homicide on Lane Avenue."

"What about it?" she asked me in a low, bored voice. I felt like I was practically out of breath just from having to keep up with her impossibly quick pace. "And make it quick, I'm late for a meeting."

"I noticed that it wasn't on the board yet, hasn't been assigned," I stated the obvious.

"Boris is finishing up with the Potomac case," she said over her shoulder to me. "I just haven't put him on the board yet."

"I already scheduled a meeting with the guy who found the body," I said in a rushed voice, feeling desperate to claw my way into the big stories our paper covered. Sure, Boris was older with more experience, but he was stuck in his ways. I worked faster, I was more personable and better at interviews, better at research. It was frustrating that I had to work so hard to get just one single story, but I wouldn't stop until I was running the damn thing.

"You did," she repeated, stopping for a moment in the hall, giving my shins some much needed relief.

I nodded vehemently up and down, "I'm having coffee with him at two."

Her dark eyes narrowed at me, pondering the issue at hand and mulling it over. Did she realize that this one quick decision for her was a huge career move for me? I nervously chewed on my bottom lip, my eyes big and pleading. After a long staring match, she finally let out an exacerbated sigh and said, "Fine," before her speed picked up again down the hall and my legs began to scream at me.

"Really?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, and then quickly backtracked. "I mean, thank you. I'll have the story done by tomorrow morning."

"On my desk by nine," she demanded as I stopped walking and she continued down the hall toward her next meeting without a single glance back.

I felt accomplished, my chest warm with pride and excitement. I got my first homicide case. Not like the murdered mother where I only got to cover the court date, but I got to get in on the ground floor here and really help tell somebody's story.