One

Audrey

"Are we doing this?" I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. The question should be, "Am I actually doing this?" My eyes move to the driver's seat and the smile-that cheeky dimpled smile- I see on his face calms me down a little.

"We are!" He laughs, pressing the car horn in excitement. Calmer, he repeats to himself. "We are." His face falls a little, with a blank expression on his face. But I know what he is thinking. I am not the only one in disbelief. He glances at me, perhaps to check if I am freaking out. If there's a time to freak out, this is the moment.

"Whop!" I yell in excitement, allaying any doubt on his side. "We are doing this!" I turn to put my head out the window, yelling at the empty road. The chilly night breeze blows my curly hair into my mouth and covers my vision.

I put my head back in the car, laughing, pushing my hair off my face. I tuck my hair behind my ears and breathe out forcefully, hoping it will release the tight hold I feel in my chest, the knot in the insides of my stomach, the lump in my throat.

It doesn't. 

"Are you okay?" He asks.

Clearing my throat, "Yeah, I am." I roll my head in his direction, "Talk to me, say anything," I urge.

I don't want everything to go quiet. Quiet is not a good place.  It's a dark place.  Quiet is where my thoughts go loud.

I am Audrey Gibson and I am often referred to as thoughtless by my parents. I do think. I think it's not a good idea to elope at eighteen with my upcoming musician boyfriend. I think pursuing a career in writing will probably leave me broke in the future. And I think thinking makes people sad.

My thoughts are not a happy place. It's like being in a dark narrow room, with no ventilation with this ticking sound-tick, tick, tick - and I don't know where it's coming from. Why go there, when I can be here with him?

I can watch strands of his blonde hair fall on his perfect face. I can watch him push it away casually like he doesn't know how attractive it makes him look. I can watch him squint his eyes trying to see -he will never admit he needs glasses -, and most importantly, I can watch him smile like he is doing right now, a deep dimpled smile showing off his perfect teeth.

Tripp is not like those guys that never want to be caught smiling. He loves to smile and I love seeing him smile. He looks so beautiful tonight,–yeah, beautiful- maybe it's the feeling of impending change that's creating this feeling in me. The feeling of wanting to capture this moment, here and now before it becomes nothing but a memory.

"I called Jim earlier. He said we can crash with his brother while we are in LA."

"Good, great," I nod.

We have a place to stay, that's a good thing, right?

My eyes move down to his hand. He is reaching for mine. I beam as I place my hand in his and give it a tight squeeze.

"We are going to be okay." Our eyes lock for a moment. Green to brown, "I am going to take care of us." He promises.

I believe him.

I met Tripp a year ago at a mutual friend's party. I was seated in the corner of the room trying to work on my college admission essay. I had my headphones and so I didn't hear him perform. Apparently, he had his eyes on me all night and was hurt that I didn't listen to the song. So as punishment –it wasn't a punishment to me-, he gave me a private concert, and we stayed up till the next morning just talking about everything and nothing. Ever since that night, we have been inseparable.

This pisses my parents off. I am supposed to be focused on getting into college and studying law, but that's not what I want. I want to be a writer. They don't know that and I know they won't be in support. 

My parents think Tripp is a bum who's derailing their daughter's future. They hate I spend so much time with a 22-year-old who is living in his friend's basement. And whenever they had the chance, they voiced their displeasure, which was every day for the past year.

My dad is African American, and he loves to remind my sister and me of how much he worked hard to attain the American dream. A duplex in the suburbs, a steady income, and being able to afford his daughters' college tuition. He says we are lucky and we should not throw it all away.

I guess this is me throwing it all away.

Earlier this week, I had a pregnancy scare. Today, Tripp proposed moments before we saw the result of the pregnancy test. I am not pregnant, but we decided to get married anyway.

My eyes catch the green signboard exiting our town from a distance. I feel my heart drop as we move closer and closer. I am scared but not scared enough to tell Tripp to drive us back. I guess my excitement outweighs my fear.

This is it.

"I love you," I say as we drive past and exit our hometown.

~~~

5 YEARS LATER.

"Fuck!" I yell, shifting my legs back a little as my cup of coffee falls on the pavement. Still the liquid splashes on my flats. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I groan, my voice getting louder at each word.

I can feel the weird looks I am getting from passers-by, but I don't care. I'm frustrated, broke, and angry. It's not a new feeling. It's been a constant for the past five years. But then my current frustration is Jody, my co-worker at Reach Media. Jody just got engaged, and why is that frustrating to me? It's because I am bitter. I am a bitter, bitter person. I have been engaged for five fucking years and I don't even have a ring to show for it.

Everyone is going to be fawning over Jody's ring at lunch today, and I am definitely going to get that look. The look is a mixture of pity and mockery. I fucking hate that look, but at least they have stopped asking insensitive questions about my relationship.

Yes, we are broke and we are waiting until we are financially stable to get married. It's that ever going to happen? I don't know.

Adding to my frustration, I just spilled the coffee, which I had to wait hours in a long line for. And I am under the blistering sun, with my annoying curls falling on my face. I feel liquid rolling down my cheeks.

Yeah, I am l crying over spilled coffee.

I need to breathe, need to rest on something. I adjust my bag on my shoulder as I walk to the nearest wall. I find myself sliding to the ground, not caring about staining my trousers and how embarrassing I look.

I really should get up and go to work, but here I am sobbing in my hands in the busy streets of New York. I can't help it.

I feel someone tap my shoulder, which makes me pause for a second. I separate my fingers on my face to look up at the person disturbing my mental breakdown. My vision is blurry, can't make a clear image of the person before me.

I blink twice, cleaning my tear-stained cheeks. I put my hand on my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun. There she is, the person who tapped me. Concern is embedded in her heart-stopping blue eyes as she studies me. I never understood the term "lost in one's eyes" but I am truly lost. Not just her eyes though but in her face, as she stands under the sun, windblown strawberry blonde hair, high cheekbones, and for some reason she is smiling down at me. Her smile is so warm that makes my shoulders less tense. It's like a weight has been lifted. s

It's crazy how a smile from a stranger can do that.

"Hey," she says in a dulcet tone. So focused on her face and its intimidating beauty, I didn't realize she was holding out a cup of coffee for me to take. "Don't know if you will like it, but you can have mine, haven't drunk out of it."

I look down at her hand then back at her face, can feel my cheeks heating. Speechless, I stretch my hand to take it. "It's- it's not just about the coffee," I confess, rubbing my right eye.

"I know, but one problem at a time, right?"

I nod, looking down at the transparent cup with a small smile creeping on my lips.

One problem at a time,

I look up to say thank you, but then she's gone.

What a minute, was that an angel?

I mean, it's believable. She's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

"Thank you," I whisper to myself.

~~~

"No, seriously, this ring is everything." Zoe takes out Jody's hand again, and the gushing continues.

Have you know, this has been going on for 30 minutes now. The ring is over-hyped at this point. It's just a tacky pear cut ring.

It is beautiful.

"I know, Ben outdid himself," Jody smiles proudly, flipping her blond hair. If she's not careful, her hands will permanently be stuck like that.

I am seated two seats away from them, eating my salad quietly. No sudden moves or they might remember I am right here, the girl in the stagnant relationship.

"Here, a picture of her sleeping." Malik turns his phone in my direction. "Isn't she cute?"

I am sitting across from him, and I am regretting it. Malik and his wife just had a kid two months ago and he won't stop showing people pictures of his kid. That baby was only cute when I first saw him. Now, I care little about him.

Naturally, I won't be sitting with him, but then I can't seat with little Miss. Mylifeisperfect and her friend.

"She's the cutest," I say with the fakest smile possible.

"I know," she says, taking his phone out of my face. "I am going to text Aisha to send more pictures."

Kill me now.

"You should," I say through gritted teeth, stabbing my salad with a fork.

"So have you and Ben discussed the wedding?" I hear Zoe's high-pitched voice.

"Yes, we are getting married this summer."

"That fast?"

"Well, some people know what they want." She says smugly.

Wait a minute, was that shade thrown at me? What a fucking bitch.

The room goes silent suddenly. I look up and near the entrance stands our co-worker Gavin, a tall lanky man. He walks into the break room, "Hey everyone," He greets.

Only Malik mumbles back a greeting. My eyes just follow him to the refrigerator, where he takes out a bottle of juice.

They are only this quiet when they see someone they are going to gossip about when the person leaves. He stands there for a minute before he walks out of the break room.

Wait for it, wait for it...

"This is the second week since he has stopped eating lunch here." Zoe combs her red hair with her fingers.

"The same pattern with her old assistant, she is totally sleeping with him," Jody says.

Mrs. Abrams -the Chief Financial Officer of Reach Media- has had over three male assistants over two years and she is rumored to have slept with all of them.

Gavin is her latest conquest.

"Her poor husband," Malik interjects in their conversation.

"Oh please, I heard her husband also fucks his secretary at his real estate firm. They are in some kind of open marriage." Zoe continues. "I heard that sometimes they do threesomes with their conquests."

"Nasty, can't imagine those old people doing it. She's like over 50, right?" Jody shivers.

"Don't be an ageist." Zoe laughs.

"Guys," Linda runs into the break room, grabbing everyone's attention. "Something huge just happened." She starts, before taking time to catch her breath.

Speak already, woman.

She tucks her brown hair behind her ears before she continues. "Mr. Briggs is out, new chick in."

"What?!" I hear a loud voice, didn't realize it was coming from me. In fact, I am already standing.

I am Mr. Briggs' assistant, have been for three years now. So, if they fired him, what about me?

How did I not hear a thing about this? Well, I understand why no one tells me anything, considering I am not exactly friendly. When I get to work, all I can think of is leaving.

9 to 5, if I stay a minute longer, I could die.

"What would happen to me?" I voiced out loud, even though it's more of a question to myself.

"I don't know, Audrey. You should probably check in with Mr. Briggs. I saw him walking out of the company."

Leaving my salad, I raced out of the break room to catch up with Mr. Briggs.

~~~

I couldn't catch up with him. So I walked back to my office, went back to my desk, and continued working as if nothing happened.

What does my boss getting fired have to do with me, right?

At this point in my life, I cannot afford to get fired. Tripp and I can barely get by as it is.

I look at my computer, but I do not know what I'm supposed to be doing. I was to type the minutes from the meeting yesterday for Mr. Briggs, but will that be necessary now?

I'm freaking out.

My hands are shaking on the keypads, I am sweating in my white shirt. My eyes keep moving to the door, and then back to my laptop screen.

Should I text Tripp and inform him about what's going on?

My heart jumps out of my chest when I hear the door open. My eyes slowly shift to the glassed door. I set my eyes on a familiar face.

"Hey,"

~~~~