The empty feeling was inevitable. The hollow, desolate, miserable feeling was inevitable. But the overwhelming guilt that has swamped me was not so expected. I fought off twinges here and there, when she was in front of me, looking so defeated, but now I'm consumed by it. And I'm furious for feeling like this. The lack of urgency to chase my scan appointment is also screwing with my mind.
It's Friday. It's day number four without Lisa. My week has been a steady torture, and I know it's never going to get better. My heart is slowly splitting, each day widening the crack until I know I'll probably cease functioning. I'm close already. What hurts the most is the lack of contact, leaving me wondering if Lisa is drowning in vodka, which also means she's probably drowning in women. I jump up from my desk and run to the toilets, throwing up immediately, but I don't think this is morning sickness, or anytime of the day sickness. This is grief.
'Roseanne, you really should go home. You've not been right all week.' Wendy's concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.
'Stupid bug hanging around.' I mutter. I glance at Wen and admire her grey pencil skirt and black blouse. She really has transformed. The dowdy A-line skirts and high necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven't asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. 'Are you still seeing that internet guy?' I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he's called.
'Mick?' She giggles. 'Yes, I am. '
'And it's going well?' I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.
'Yes!' she squeals, making me jump. 'He really is perfect, Roseanne. '
I smile. 'What does he do?'
'Oh, some sort of professional nonsense. I don't pretend to understand. '
I laugh. 'Good.' I was just about to say be yourself, but I think it's a little too late for that. She certainly isn't the old Wendy anymore. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. 'Excuse me, Wen. ' I leave her in the mirror, re-applying her red lipstick.
Approaching my new, L-shaped, hardwood desk, I ignore the deep seated disappointment because I'm not hearing Angel, but I can't ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Suzy Bae, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client, whom I have spent way too much time on this week.
'Hi, Suzy. '
'Roseanne, you still sound terrible. '
I know, and I probably look terrible, too. 'I'm feeling much better, Suzy.' That's because I've just emptied my stomach again.
'Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?' She doesn't sound so concerned for me anymore.
'Is there a problem?' I ask, hoping to God there isn't. I'm trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Suzy seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don't go her way.
'No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.'
'We can do that over the phone.' I prompt.
'I would prefer to see you.' she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She'll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. 'Today.' she adds.
I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Suzy Bae. I practically started it with Suzy on Tuesday, and I've had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it's three in the afternoon. Does she think she's my only client? I wouldn't mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.
