THE BAD DAY

“What did you send me?” Tyler asked, standing at the opening of Stefan’s cubicle. He was angry, very angry.

Stefan had been packing up his things, but he gave his supervisor his full attention, answering, “It’s what you asked for, sir: a status report.”

“What the hell is a status report?” Tyler yelled, “We don’t do status reports! Obviously, I meant progress report.”

Sandra popped up from the next cubicle. “Wait, you actually made a status report, Stef?”

“At the last meeting, we tossed around ideas for a status or departmental report.” Stefan spoke very quietly, hoping to calm his supervisor. “It seemed—”

“You wasted half a day on a useless, made-up report!” Tyler growled.

Sandra immediately jumped on board to get in Tyler’s good graces: “Use some common sense, Stef! How dense can you be?” Stefan was always the one honored and never the one scolded—he also worked the hardest—so Sandra wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to cut him down.

Stefan believed that the report would prove useful if his coworkers gave it a chance. For now, though, he just wanted to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry about the miscommunication, sir.”

Tyler noticed Stefan’s partially packed bag. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I clocked out. I was already over time.”

“You have to put together a progress report.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes. “Sir, you asked for a ‘status report,’ and you didn’t respond to my questions. I will put the progress report together tomorrow.”

“I need it done now! I’m meeting with the client tomorrow.”

“This isn’t like you, Tyler,” Stefan said with the softness of sympathy. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. You know how demanding the client is.”

Stefan nodded, but there had to be something else, something closer to home. He suggested, “Reschedule the meeting.”

“I can’t do that.”

Rescheduling wouldn’t look good, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Stefan shrugged and continued packing his things.

Tyler stepped into the cubicle, forcing Stefan to face him. “Don’t make an enemy of me.”

“Sir, you know I always try my best. If you want to change the way you act toward me over a miscommunication, that’s your prerogative. I will continue to try my best.”

“Then help me with the progress report.”

“No.” Stefan rose, stepped past his glaring supervisor, and left. He could have mentioned that he had plans for the evening—perhaps Tyler would have been more understanding—but he wouldn’t sacrifice the privacy of his private life just because his boss was having a tantrum. He didn’t need an excuse; he was under no obligation to stay. As he pulled out of the parking lot of the office, he hoped that Tyler would reschedule the meeting. The man didn’t need a progress report; he needed time to deal with whatever was going on in his spirit.

It was a short drive to his first stop: a plaza where he would do some Christmas shopping and pick up flowers for Holly. A truck steered into the turn lane ahead of him. A sedan dove in behind Stefan, riding up on him even though his brake lights were on. The truck broke hard. Stefan followed suit and braced himself. Metal struck metal, crunching and scraping. The sedan had rear-ended him, thankfully not hard enough to set off his airbags.

The truck drove off, untouched. Stefan pulled his SUV into the parking lot, out of the way. He got out. The damage wasn’t as bad as the clangor had implied. The car’s bumper had done its job. Then the sedan came speeding into the next parking spaces. Its bumper scraped against the pavement. Its airbags had deployed. Its hood had crumpled, and its headlights had shattered. The driver was cursing Stefan out before she got her door open.

Stefan didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t so much as glance her way. She wasn’t saying anything worth listening to and wasn’t about to listen to any reply. Stefan simply reported the accident to the police and his insurance company. Several times, he had to politely ask the workers who took his calls to repeat themselves. It was hard to make out anything over the sounds of traffic and the litany of profanities being screamed in his face.

He sat in his car to wait for the cop, pulling up a document on his phone. As a tradition, he wrote a Christmas poem each year to include in the cards he sent out. This year, the poem was about a personification of the Christmas spirit.

By the time he was through with the police report, he had to head straight to the restaurant. He still got there before Holly, which was good. In his estimation, it was better for the man to wait on the woman. The restaurant had a small foyer to wait in. He went back to working on his poem, and he finished it.

Then he sent Holly a text: Are you still coming to the restaurant?

It was the right day and well past the right time. He was double-checking when the reply came through: I forgot. I’m sorry.

It wasn’t like Holly to forget anything. Stefan’s heart sank. Holly had been distant lately. She’d always had an excuse, of course, and Stefan had always given her the benefit of the doubt, but he hadn’t ruled out other possibilities. He texted back, Are you trying to break up with me?

He exited the restaurant. The foyer was for customers; he wasn’t about to eat there on his own. His phone vibrated, and he sat down on one of the benches out front to read the message: I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.

To have a healthy relationship, Stefan replied, you have to be brave enough to tell the truth. Don’t do the same thing to your new guy.

He wandered through his memories of their time together, letting tears splash on his shoes. People noticed a man weeping in public, noticed and avoided. The restaurant was busy, but no one stopped to offer a kind word. He didn’t mind, though he would have appreciated it; he wept because it helped him accept his loss.

What would have happened if he had asked her out sooner? What if he had made a better first impression on her family? Some questions could never be answered. Had he done something wrong? Had she only been using him? Some questions were useless to answer. He would never ask those questions again. Nor would he torment himself with the possibility that he would be single forever. Whatever his destiny, he would act the same now and act the same then: he would try his best.

He relabeled the memories in his mind as good times to be remembered rather than tokens of something lost. Then he dried his eyes and returned to his car. Since he was already out this way, he decided to do the Christmas shopping he hadn’t been able to do earlier. One of the shops he poked around specialized in imported goods. He picked out exotic sauces, treats, and snacks to make Christmas goodie bags for his siblings. He even found ma’amoul, Middle Eastern date-filled cookies. Holly had bemoaned not being able to find the cookies locally. Stefan picked up a pack for her. He wouldn’t pretend that she didn’t exist just because she broke up with him.

On the way home, he dropped it off at her house. She wasn’t home, but her roommate would see that the cookies got to her. Stefan also left a note: Found these at World Market. You mentioned craving some. Enjoy!

The sun set before he got back to his condo. Cream cheese, roast beef, and a fried egg on a bagel appeased his rumbling stomach. He had been ignoring his hunger. He didn’t like eating out by himself, especially on this occasion. It had been an eventful day, but, in his estimation, a good day; the truth had been laid bare, and he had done his best.