our Weeks – Episode 3 – “Fourteen”
Written by J.D.Denisson.
A sequel to the movie “This is Where I Leave You”.
Characters and back story based on the novel “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper.
Copyright 2016 J.D.Denisson.
Previously…
“If it’s any consolation,” Len Brookes tells me, “Man Up is in trouble. We’re ahead of them on the ratings this quarter. They went down hard right after you left.”
I laugh again, and perhaps it’s because maybe there is a little justice in this world after all. “Really?” I say.
“We’ve got two of their sponsors over with us now, and a third thinking is hard about joining them. They’re deserting the sinking ship.”
“That’s very interesting.”
“Anyway…” he says, standing, extending his hand again, “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“Actually,” I say with a grin, taking his hand, “you’ve helped me immensely.
---
“I’ve changed, Judd. You said that you got lost, well I did too. I lost myself.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t like the person I’ve become. She’s cruel and she’s unfaithful. That’s not me. I’m not like that.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything left of the real me.”
“There is,” I tell her tenderly.
“Really?”
“I’ve caught glimpses of her from time to time. She’s there.”
“I don’t know if I can get her back.”
“You will. Give it time.”
“I don’t know if it’s possible.”
---
“I’ll work Monday to Friday,” I tell Wade, “same hours. Kenny can do the weekends if he wants.”
“Done.”
“And I want you to stay away from Quinn.”
He nods, but does not lose his smile. I want to punch him in the mouth, but that would not help my job prospects at all.
“So, you’ve patched things up with her?”
“That’s none of your business. Stay away from her, I mean it. I’ll kill you if I see you even near her.”
“Done,” he says, still smiling. I still want to punch him, but I refrain.
Instead I say: “And I’ll have a raise. You sort out a number and call me. I’ll see if it’s enough. I’ll start on Monday.”
---
I was wondering if your offer still stands for a talk.”
“It sure does. Hold on...” He goes for a moment, comes back. “Look, I’m available Saturday. If that’s not too soon...?”
“I can do that.”
“Will your wife be joining you?”
“Ah, no,” I say. “We’re only just starting to talk again. I don’t want to push things. Really all I want is some help working out what I did wrong and how to not do it again.”
“That sounds quite reasonable.”
“We have a baby coming and I want to be able to get on with her, you know?”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, I can help you with that. And if your wife wants to talk too, maybe alone, then my wife is available.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
---
She smiles, tilts her head a little. I know that look. She’s about to ask me something. She knows that I can’t resist her when she looks cute like that. But I can. I know all her tricks and I’m not obliged to fall for them anymore.
“Can I ask a favour?” she says.
“Sure,” I reply. It feels like I should have said that blandly, and I would have a year ago, but not now. I should give her a fair hearing at least.
“Jen has asked me over for dinner Wednesday night. She’s feeling sorry for me I guess. Anyway,” she continues with a sigh, “I don’t want to say no, but I can’t face a happy couple on my own. It’s too depressing.”
“And you want me to tag along?”
“Could you?” She’s doing that thing again and I’m remembering how she was and how I was and how I can’t resist her. It turns out I still can’t resist her.
“Sure,” I say.
“It’s a date then.”
I shake my head. “Let’s just say its two friends hanging out.”
She nods. Her face drops just a little. “Friends,” she says.
---
She almost loses our second child. He’s there. She’s seen what she’s done to me and she’s feeling guilty and she knows that she doesn’t have a future with him. He leaves her and she’s alone. I forgive her and she forgives me. We talk, longer and more honest than we have for years.
And I love her again.
I love her again.
I love her.
Oh, God. I love her.
Monday
I walk into the station like I’d never left. They’re all watching me. They all know what’s happened and they’re expecting some sort of drama. They may even be betting on it. I’m determined not to give them one.
Wade is already there. We’re on air in ten minutes. The early morning crew are winding down. I drag him into the office and tell him how things are going to be: “Remember how it was before?”
“Sure,” he says with a cocky smile, like he’s trying to smooth talk some new intern.
“Well, you stick to that. None of that other, whatever the hell that was that you were doing. We go back to the way things were.”
He nods and I frown at him.
“Don’t screw this up,” I tell him. “If we get back in line then we get start to get our advertisers back in the stable. You got that?”
He nods again and I send him into the booth. I sit at my old desk. The same computer sits before me, the same switch, the same controls. The only difference is that Quinn’s photos are missing. There was one of our wedding and another of her taken a few years ago. The wedding shot hurts me the most. I can still see it on my bedside table, next to them there together.
I still don’t know how she could be that cold, that callous, that insensitive.
Someone is tapping me on the shoulder. We’re on in fifteen seconds and I’ve drifted off. I look up to see Wade, grinning and ready to go. The same bastard that ruined my life is in the driver’s seat again. It’s all so tragically surreal.
Damn, I think. What am I doing here?
I follow Kenny’s game plan. I’ve always had respect for his work. The problem wasn’t in the program; it was with Wade departing from it. I let him do his introductions and then I feed him his first guest and give him some rope. Not a lot, just a little. My finger rests on the mute button for most of the interview and I almost press it several times. He looks at me, realises where he’s going and pulls back.
The board has lit up and I’m screening them, picking the best ones. They’re all crazy, screwed up people like Wade and he’s right at home among them. I don’t like this work anymore, I don’t like the way people are to each other and Wade is a cruel bastard when it comes to the pain of others. But I let familiar patterns take me through the day. I don’t egg him on like a used to, that was the only difference. He sees that and he looks a little regretful, but then he’s Wade and starts back with the jokes and the yelling and the abuse.
When we’re done he goes to leave. He’s got something on, or some girl he wants to meet. He left early on Quinn’s birthday to be with her and I let him without knowing what was ahead. Maybe I’m a little vindictive, maybe not. Maybe it’s just business. I don’t let him go early and I’m not planning on starting the trend either
.
He goes to fist-pump me like he’s some frat boy and expects me to oblige him like I’ve always done. He’s out of luck. I point to a chair in the office and he sits a little glumly.
We look over the figures; see just how far things have fallen. I call some people I know at the local sports equipment chain and talk them into meeting me later in the week. My family are in the business and I guess it’s in my blood. I know how to talk to these people. Wade is looking over lists of potential guests that Kenny gave him. We’ll have this sorted out by the end of the week, if all things fall into place.
After work I go back to my flat. I do my homework for Grant. I write some thoughts, but none of them are new. The last one I don’t dare to add. I don’t even dare to think about it. I’m thinking about dinner and what I’m going to watch while I eat it when my phone rings.
“Hi, Judd,” Quinn says.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?” she asks me.
“Watching television. Trying to decide what frozen dinner to heat up.”
“You could do that here. Well, the television anyway. I was going to order pizza.”
“I could do that.”
“Good,” she says. “Come over.”
When I get to her apartment she’s waiting for me, standing in front of the elevator doors. She’s in pyjama pants and a tight top that takes my breath away. Her hair is down and in waves, not like I’m used to seeing. She’s changed a little, like I have, trying to find her place in an altered circumstance. I remember when she was pregnant before. I remember the shape of her, of her belly. She’s not near there now, but I can see the smallest of bumps at her front. I want to go over to her and put my hand on her growing belly and feel my daughter forming in there.
The problem I have is that she knows me. She knows what I am thinking. I’m