Wrong for Me

21|rabid raccoon

DANTE MANCINI—AUGUST

STEPPING OFF OF THE elevator and into the office, I had one thing on my mind and I was determined to fix it. My situation with Naomi.

After the disaster that Saturday night turned into, Naomi and I had completely ignored each other—for good reason. We both needed time to digest our feelings and think about how we wanted to approach this situation. Or at least I felt that way.

I didn't have any remorse for getting irked about the drinking she had done on Saturday because she had been completely immature in my eyes. While the rest of us could control ourselves and focus on the golfing, she could barely function by the end of the night.

Wrapped in the privacy of my office, I felt the freedom and stillness to finally focus on something other than the situation between the two of us. I was the type of person to ruminate about a situation, conversation, or problem until I solved it, which left me both drained and stuck in my thoughts until I felt it was handled with.

At my desk, I began to do some work as I waited for Naomi to come to my office so that we could finally get over this obstacle. But when an hour had passed and she still hadn't shown up, I called down to the front desk who let me know that she had checked in on perfect time. She was simply ignoring me.

I didn't hesitate to leave my office and head over to her cubicle where she was organizing notes from a meeting we had last week. Feeling my presence, she glanced at me only to scoff and turn back to her work as if I wasn't even standing there. It was almost humorous that she was so serious about communication being an important foundation of a relationship, only to act as if she doesn't want to follow through with that communication.

"Can we speak in my office, Naomi?"

Without even looking my way, she replied blandly with, "I'm busy. Can it wait?"

My fists clenched at my sides, her stubbornness pushing me to anger. As much as I tried not to impose my old thoughts about past relationships on her, stubbornness was absolutely something I couldn't stand. Many of the women I had dated in the past understood this and often were not stubborn, but I understood that Naomi was not them.

"Naomi," I repeated, this time my voice much lower and more serious. "We need to speak."

With a roll of the eyes, she stood from her seat and agreed to follow me to my office. I checked behind myself just to make sure she was there, holding the door open for her. I walked over to lean against my desk while she stood feet away from me, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as she seemingly waited for me to begin.

"Did you bring me here to breathalyze me or something? Do you want to make sure I haven't been drinking again?" She spoke crassly, her hands moving to her hips instead.

Annoyed by her words—because frankly I found what she said quite stupid—I replied with, "Seriously, Naomi? Can we have an actual conversation and talk through this?"

"Fine. I feel like you don't even want to continue this with me sometimes. You can act like you want to be around me one moment just to act like I don't even exist the next. The whole time we golfed I had to wonder if you even wanted me there and I shouldn't have to feel that way all the time, Dante. That's why I drank that day because I wasn't having fun any other way."

Hearing how she felt instantly gave me clarity to her side of the situation and how she felt in a way I hadn't thought of. I obviously knew that she was the one to show more affection, but I definitely couldn't accept the fact that I acted as if I didn't like her. It just wasn't true.