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Authors: Brad Parks
Tags: Fiction
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pants I had been wearing the night before, it told me I missed a call from her 510 area code number. She didn’t leave a message, so I decided—in keeping with my hard-to-get tactic—I wouldn’t call her back.
Instead, I shook off a minor hangover, quickly ran through my shave-shower-breakfast routine, and caught a bus into downtown Newark. In addition to retrieving my car, I had to go into the newsroom and make an appearance in Tina’s office. I was entered in an event at the Awkward Olympics: the About-last-night-athalon.
Tina was obviously gearing up for the competition as well because I was still on the bus when I received an e-mail from Thompson, Tina. The subject: “Good Morning.” The body: “Come see me when you get in.—TT.”
I considered dawdling but then decided to get it over with. As soon as I arrived at the nest, I forced myself toward her office.
“Hey,” I said, tapping on the glass but not wanting to enter without being asked.
“Come on in,” she said.
I complied. Figuring we had parted ways around midnight, and it was now ten A.M. , it had given us both ten hours to sober up and start feeling abashed about the evening’s events. Tina was wearing a subdued light blue blouse, a chagrined expression, and puffy dark smudges under her eyes. Plus, the woman who never drank coffee—she told me caffeine wasn’t good for developing fetuses and she didn’t want any coffee in her system when she conceived—had an extra large Dunkin’ Donuts cup in front of her.
“I’m sorry I just ran off without thinking of how you were going to get home,” she said. “That was awful of me. I—”
“It’s okay, Tina. I took a cab, too.”
“Still,” she said. “I was halfway back to Hoboken by the time I realized what I did. I almost told the cab to turn around, but then I thought you’d probably rather walk than see more of me.”
“It’s okay, really.”
Tina smiled weakly, then took a long pull on her coffee. I glanced at the side wall of her office, which contained a dry erase board filled with story ideas we would probably never get around to doing. Then I stared at the small stack of newspapers behind her. Tina, meanwhile, was straightening paper clips on her desk.
“So you, uh, made it home okay?” I said, just to say something. Obviously, she did make it home okay, because otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting in her office, making pointless small talk while an eight-hundred-pound gorilla was doing jumping jacks in the corner.
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“Yeah.”
I coughed gently into my hand and stretched out my legs. Tina twisted to her right until two of her vertebrae made a popping sound, then twisted back to her left. The gorilla switched from jumping jacks to mountain climbers. I guess he was working on his core strength.
“See?” Tina said, finally breaking the silence. “This is why we can’t sleep together.”
“I meant what I said last night,” I blurted. “I think we should give our relationship a chance.”
“We’re not having that conversation right now.”
“Tina, that kiss—”
“We’re definitely not having that conversation right now.”
“Okay, when are we having that conversation?”
“I don’t know. Maybe never.”
“Tina…”
“No,” she said sharply. “We’re not doing this. Please .”
She punctuated the “please” with an emphatic jerk of the head, like she wanted to create a page break between that conversation and a new one.
“So how do we move forward from here?” I asked.
“The same way we did yesterday. I’m your editor. You’re my reporter. That’s the real reason I called you in here. I have a story I need you to work on.”
“Oh,” I said, a little taken aback. It was the last thing I expected to hear. Tina plowed forward:
“We’re getting word there’s a bear in Newark.”
“A what?”
“A bear. As in the furry, forest-dwelling creature. Except this one isn’t in a forest. It wandered
Instead, I shook off a minor hangover, quickly ran through my shave-shower-breakfast routine, and caught a bus into downtown Newark. In addition to retrieving my car, I had to go into the newsroom and make an appearance in Tina’s office. I was entered in an event at the Awkward Olympics: the About-last-night-athalon.
Tina was obviously gearing up for the competition as well because I was still on the bus when I received an e-mail from Thompson, Tina. The subject: “Good Morning.” The body: “Come see me when you get in.—TT.”
I considered dawdling but then decided to get it over with. As soon as I arrived at the nest, I forced myself toward her office.
“Hey,” I said, tapping on the glass but not wanting to enter without being asked.
“Come on in,” she said.
I complied. Figuring we had parted ways around midnight, and it was now ten A.M. , it had given us both ten hours to sober up and start feeling abashed about the evening’s events. Tina was wearing a subdued light blue blouse, a chagrined expression, and puffy dark smudges under her eyes. Plus, the woman who never drank coffee—she told me caffeine wasn’t good for developing fetuses and she didn’t want any coffee in her system when she conceived—had an extra large Dunkin’ Donuts cup in front of her.
“I’m sorry I just ran off without thinking of how you were going to get home,” she said. “That was awful of me. I—”
“It’s okay, Tina. I took a cab, too.”
“Still,” she said. “I was halfway back to Hoboken by the time I realized what I did. I almost told the cab to turn around, but then I thought you’d probably rather walk than see more of me.”
“It’s okay, really.”
Tina smiled weakly, then took a long pull on her coffee. I glanced at the side wall of her office, which contained a dry erase board filled with story ideas we would probably never get around to doing. Then I stared at the small stack of newspapers behind her. Tina, meanwhile, was straightening paper clips on her desk.
“So you, uh, made it home okay?” I said, just to say something. Obviously, she did make it home okay, because otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting in her office, making pointless small talk while an eight-hundred-pound gorilla was doing jumping jacks in the corner.
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“Yeah.”
I coughed gently into my hand and stretched out my legs. Tina twisted to her right until two of her vertebrae made a popping sound, then twisted back to her left. The gorilla switched from jumping jacks to mountain climbers. I guess he was working on his core strength.
“See?” Tina said, finally breaking the silence. “This is why we can’t sleep together.”
“I meant what I said last night,” I blurted. “I think we should give our relationship a chance.”
“We’re not having that conversation right now.”
“Tina, that kiss—”
“We’re definitely not having that conversation right now.”
“Okay, when are we having that conversation?”
“I don’t know. Maybe never.”
“Tina…”
“No,” she said sharply. “We’re not doing this. Please .”
She punctuated the “please” with an emphatic jerk of the head, like she wanted to create a page break between that conversation and a new one.
“So how do we move forward from here?” I asked.
“The same way we did yesterday. I’m your editor. You’re my reporter. That’s the real reason I called you in here. I have a story I need you to work on.”
“Oh,” I said, a little taken aback. It was the last thing I expected to hear. Tina plowed forward:
“We’re getting word there’s a bear in Newark.”
“A what?”
“A bear. As in the furry, forest-dwelling creature. Except this one isn’t in a forest. It wandered
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