Out of Focus

LAYTON

“I really hated seeing her cry,” I told Marissa on Monday afternoon. We were eating lunch in my office, Chinese takeout that I’d ordered up from a place down the street.

Marissa’s shoes were off and her ankles were crossed on top of my sofa, where she was sitting sideways as we talked. Officially, we were in a meeting about cost estimations for a new project, but realistically, I didn’t know how many people who walked past actually believed that.

I didn’t care though. I loved her. It was bound to come out sooner or later. I had zero fucks to give about what anyone else thought about it.

Marissa smiled sympathetically. “I know. It’s the hardest part by far, seeing them sad and not knowing what to do to fix it. You did a great job, though.”

“She’s resilient though,” I said. “I don’t think there’s much she can’t bounce back from.”

“That’s true,” she said, as she took a bite of her spicy fried chicken, rocking her head from side to side as she chewed. Once she swallowed, she said,