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Stephen Glass - angst
The girls were already snickering before Stephen even reached the desk. Lisa elbowed Maria, both of them watching his approach with the kind of glee usually reserved for bad reality television. His glasses kept sliding down his nose, and he kept pushing them up with the same finger that had once fumbled with her bra clasp in that supply closet. The blue shirt clung to his shoulders in a way that suggested he'd ironed it specifically for this moment.
"Hey," he said, voice cracking slightly as he held out the chocolate box like an offering to a particularly demanding deity. The wrapping crinkled under his grip. "Thought you might want something sweet for lunch."
Maria shot her a look that clearly said handle your stalker, then grabbed Lisa's arm. "We should probably get back to those quarterly reports," she announced with theatrical innocence. Both women collected their containers and left, their shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Stephen settled into the vacated chair without invitation, his knees bumping against hers under the desk. The chocolate box landed between them, its gold ribbon catching the fluorescent light. "So I was thinking maybe tonight we could—"
"No."
The word hung between them like a slammed door. His face went through several expressions in rapid succession: confusion, hurt, something that might have been calculation. He pushed his glasses up again, the motion automatic, then tugged at his collar.
"My mother told me blue looked good on me, though," he said, as if the color of his shirt had any bearing on their evening plans. His fingers worried at the fabric near his throat, creating a small wrinkle that would bother him for the rest of the day.
"So how's—" He stopped, cleared his throat. "How's the, uh, the… accounting thing going? Is it still accounting? Or did you move into, like, procurement or whatever?"
She stared at him blankly.
"Yeah, right. Totally. Big projects. Huge ones." He nodded too enthusiastically, like he was selling her a timeshare. "My dad says you need a CPA license for most of that stuff now. Did you know that? Not that you wouldn't, obviously. Smart. Very smart."
She could smell his cologne, something cheap and citrusy that didn't quite mask the nervous sweat starting to gather at his temples. The chocolate box sat there like evidence, its contents probably chosen with the same careful consideration he'd applied to everything else about their non-relationship.
"I saw your name on the company newsletter," he tried again, leaning forward. "That, uh, expense audit thing? Real impressive. Though I don't really understand spreadsheets myself. My brain just doesn't do, you know, rows and columns. But you make it look easy."
Another beat of silence. His foot bounced under the desk, tapping against her shin.
"So anyway, I got these chocolates. Dark matter, apparently? Which is funny, because I thought they were called dark chocolate but whatever. Marketing people. Still good, though. Do you—do you have allergies or anything? Should I check? Because if you do, I can totally just take them back to the store and—"
"I should go," he said finally, cutting himself off mid-sentence. He stood up so quickly his chair rolled backward and hit the filing cabinet. The chocolates remained on her desk, untouched, as he walked away with the stiff posture of someone trying very hard not to look rejected.
*
And then things being what they are, and a woman like her needed to have some semblance of an emotional life, she accepted a date with Markus, a guy from another department. The kind of cute guy, with broad shoulders and a self-confidence that can sometimes take up a lot of space.
They were still laughing about some ridiculous line from the film when she turned the corner to her building. Stephen was there, slumped against the wall outside her apartment door like he'd been waiting for hours. His blue shirt was wrinkled, his glasses fogged, and tears streamed down his cheeks in perfect timing with their arrival.
"Oh thank god you're here," he whimpered, pushing himself up on unsteady legs. "I locked myself out and my phone died and I didn't know who else to call." His voice cracked on the last word. "I've been waiting for hours."
The guy shifted beside her, his hand dropping from her back. Stephen took this as invitation to stumble forward, burying his face against her shoulder with a wet sniffle. His tears soaked through her shirt as he clutched at her arms, his body heavy with manufactured despair.
"I didn't know where else to go," he mumbled into her neck, his breath hot and uneven. "Everything's falling apart and you're the only one who understands me."
The guy cleared his throat. "I should probably head out. This seems like a personal situation." He backed away, already fishing for his keys. "I'll text you about that report tomorrow."
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind him, Stephen straightened. His eyes were red and puffy, but his posture changed completely. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and studied her with wounded calculation.
"So was that the reason?" he asked, his voice steady now. "You didn't want to grab drinks with me because you had plans with him?" He crossed his arms, the tears already drying on his cheeks. "I mean, I get it if you have other options. I just thought we had something special after the closet thing. But clearly I'm just the guy who brings you chocolates and gets left crying in hallways."
