We Had the Right Kind of Love // L.S.

Chapter 18. Barriers

(TW: slight mention of an abusive relationship. No graphic details or scenes but it's mentioned)

The clock on the wall seemed to tick slower and slower by the minute as I let my foot tap impatiently under my desk.

The article I'm editing (A New Yorker's Guide To A Positive Lifestyle) is starting to blur as my eyes flit from my screen to the top of Diana's head and then back to the article. Her hair, soft and shiny as always, is fastened up with a chunky olive-colored clip and pulls the wisps of hair away from her face making her features more visible today. I can't find it in myself to look away.

We planned a nice evening at Europa, a moderately fancy restaurant down in Soho after work, and to say I'm excited (not to mention nervous) would be an understatement.

I see a notification pop up on my screen and click on my email portal. One email from Dianamason@Noonmag.org glows unread at the top of my screen. I look over at her before clicking on the email and read:

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

Keep staring at my hair like that and I'll get a restraining order put on you.

Love,

The-Person-Who-Sits-Across-From-You-And-Can-See-You-Staring-Like-A-Creep

Glad for an excuse to stop working I quickly close the article, open a new email tab, and start type:

Dear Ms. Mason,

Stop having such pretty hair and I'll stop staring.

Love,

Your-Not-So-Secret-Hair-Admirer

**

"Goodnight Crystal," Diana calls as I usher her out the big glass doorway and into the hall. After a full day of work that seemed to never end, it was finally time to leave the office.

She gives us a knowing look on our way out, "Enjoy your evening you two."

Diana rolls her eyes, letting me guide her down the hall and into the elevator. Since Noon Magazine occupies the penthouse, we engage in light conversation as people swarm around us as they enter and exit until we reach the ground floor.

Mostly we talk about work; how my article is going (bad), how this month's layout is looking (good), and how Crystal had used up all the milk for her cup of coffee yesterday and made Andy (the new intern) run for more, thus holding this week's progress.

"Honesty, how hard was it to go down to Whole Foods and grab a carton of oat milk?" Diana asks, running her hands through her hair and sighing, "It's only a thirty-minute trip there and back if you take the subway."

"Pretty sure he stopped on the way to visit her mysterious girlfriend who works at the salon on 13th street," I say as the doors open, "He's always taking a shit long amount of time when running errands."

The street buzzed with its typical Friday evening crowd as people scurried from here to there. Diana and I stand there for a moment taking in the yelling cab drivers, the stands that smell of fried foods and roasted chestnuts. The families attempting to keep their children in line and the teenagers practicing their skateboarding tricks on the curbs. We both just stand there, admiring the beauty of the city until she reaches down and takes my hand in hers.

"Do you want to go back to your place to change or should we just go?" I ask, tracing over her thin wrist with my thumb.

"Let's go," she says, turning towards the subway, "I've been hungry since we finished lunch and I don't want to ride the subway after dark."