wonder what’s up with that? Oddly enough, Missy Tompkins and I are friends on Facebook, so I know she and Brandon didn’t last into adulthood. Missy’s married to a man who’s as beautiful as she is, based on the pictures, and has three daughters who all look exactly like her.
Accept and find out.
Well, that’s logical. I laugh out loud again. Planning to. I’ll keep u posted. I take a deep breath and move the cursor to the Accept icon on Brandon’s friend request. And then I hesitate, deciding to make a quick scan of my wall first to make sure nothing embarrassing shows up in the first few posts, knowing he’ll be ogling my life as soon as he has access to it.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve scanned my wall as far back as nine months, taking particular care to make sure all evidence of my recent humiliation is deleted from my history and untagging myself from a couple of less-than-flattering photos. Then, feeling exceedingly neurotic, I click Accept .
For the next thirty or forty-five minutes, I check my Facebook notifications compulsively, but nothing changes. I don’t know what I expect—a personal greeting? A private message? Some explanation of why Brandon has chosen to reconnect with me, someone he dicked over and never even apologized to, at this particular moment in time?
I get up after a while to take a shower, shutting down my laptop and turning off the TV. After I’m showered and ready for bed, I check Facebook on my phone, but still nothing. Chances are, I just popped up in Brandon’s “People You Might Know” list since we probably have a bunch of mutual friends. Maybe he’s one of those “friend collector” types—he always was exceedingly social, the life of every party. I click back to his profile and check—and sure enough, he has eight hundred and thirty-three Facebook friends, more than twice my number. I also notice that the years have treated him well. Brandon was cute in high school, but now he’s a bona fide hottie.
“Eh. Whatever,” I say out loud, closing the app and switching over to set my alarm clock. I suddenly remember that I’ll be seeing Todd again tomorrow morning. Who needs cute guys from the past when there are cute guys in the present?
* * *
“This is breathtaking,” says my client, whose name is Sandra Preston-Jonas. I’ve just finished adjusting accessories, removing packing materials, and making sure all the details are just right, and now I’m (finally) doing the big reveal of the finished office suite. “It’s, like, two hundred times more than I expected,” she says, while I stand there with a small, embarrassed smile on my face. “Although I knew you’d make it awesome.”
My smile widens, and I glance around the room, which really does look great, if I say so myself. Sandra’s style is sleek and modern but not minimal, and the custom desk and hutch I ordered have crisp lines and a bright white finish. Along with Sandra’s collection of books and her necessary desktop items, I accessorized her shelves with fun things I found at local antiques stores and a couple of catalog items. A desk chair upholstered in a custom light blue leather pops against the neutral background, and so do the guest chairs, which are covered in a subtle pattern in the same shade, with pale lemon yellow accents. A large, framed abstract painting hung by Todd and a tall plant in one corner provide other patches of color. In the other corner is a game-size table and two chairs, designed for the one-on-one testing Sandra conducts with children. She specializes in emotional and learning disabilities and tests for conditions like ADHD, dyslexia, and autism.
The large room is serene and pretty and pleasant but also functional and customized to her needs. As my eyes roam the room, they finally land on Todd, who’s still here, hanging around in the background and leaning against the door jamb as Sandra completes her walk-through. She tests out her new chair and
Accept and find out.
Well, that’s logical. I laugh out loud again. Planning to. I’ll keep u posted. I take a deep breath and move the cursor to the Accept icon on Brandon’s friend request. And then I hesitate, deciding to make a quick scan of my wall first to make sure nothing embarrassing shows up in the first few posts, knowing he’ll be ogling my life as soon as he has access to it.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve scanned my wall as far back as nine months, taking particular care to make sure all evidence of my recent humiliation is deleted from my history and untagging myself from a couple of less-than-flattering photos. Then, feeling exceedingly neurotic, I click Accept .
For the next thirty or forty-five minutes, I check my Facebook notifications compulsively, but nothing changes. I don’t know what I expect—a personal greeting? A private message? Some explanation of why Brandon has chosen to reconnect with me, someone he dicked over and never even apologized to, at this particular moment in time?
I get up after a while to take a shower, shutting down my laptop and turning off the TV. After I’m showered and ready for bed, I check Facebook on my phone, but still nothing. Chances are, I just popped up in Brandon’s “People You Might Know” list since we probably have a bunch of mutual friends. Maybe he’s one of those “friend collector” types—he always was exceedingly social, the life of every party. I click back to his profile and check—and sure enough, he has eight hundred and thirty-three Facebook friends, more than twice my number. I also notice that the years have treated him well. Brandon was cute in high school, but now he’s a bona fide hottie.
“Eh. Whatever,” I say out loud, closing the app and switching over to set my alarm clock. I suddenly remember that I’ll be seeing Todd again tomorrow morning. Who needs cute guys from the past when there are cute guys in the present?
* * *
“This is breathtaking,” says my client, whose name is Sandra Preston-Jonas. I’ve just finished adjusting accessories, removing packing materials, and making sure all the details are just right, and now I’m (finally) doing the big reveal of the finished office suite. “It’s, like, two hundred times more than I expected,” she says, while I stand there with a small, embarrassed smile on my face. “Although I knew you’d make it awesome.”
My smile widens, and I glance around the room, which really does look great, if I say so myself. Sandra’s style is sleek and modern but not minimal, and the custom desk and hutch I ordered have crisp lines and a bright white finish. Along with Sandra’s collection of books and her necessary desktop items, I accessorized her shelves with fun things I found at local antiques stores and a couple of catalog items. A desk chair upholstered in a custom light blue leather pops against the neutral background, and so do the guest chairs, which are covered in a subtle pattern in the same shade, with pale lemon yellow accents. A large, framed abstract painting hung by Todd and a tall plant in one corner provide other patches of color. In the other corner is a game-size table and two chairs, designed for the one-on-one testing Sandra conducts with children. She specializes in emotional and learning disabilities and tests for conditions like ADHD, dyslexia, and autism.
The large room is serene and pretty and pleasant but also functional and customized to her needs. As my eyes roam the room, they finally land on Todd, who’s still here, hanging around in the background and leaning against the door jamb as Sandra completes her walk-through. She tests out her new chair and
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