Shattering - 1. Chapter 1 - Invitation

“But you absolutely must come, David!”

I sighed, leaning back in my seat. “Look Vicky, I’ll ask Mike if he’s interested but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a no.”

“And you can’t come by yourself? Jeez, David, I never would have thought you were so whipped,” she pouted before taking a drink of her latte.

Victoria Collins was probably my best friend from work. Well, my former work. Maybe my future work, too, if the layoffs were in fact as temporary as they told me when I was given the pink slip. It’s been the better part of a year now, however, so I’m not holding my breath. I’d been happy to working at Globestar as a graphic designer. I mean, I’d worked there since I graduated from college so I must have liked it. I guess it’s also why I haven’t been working too hard at finding another permanent position, instead choosing to do contract work up to now. It’s not like Mike and I were hard up for money. We could easily live off his corporate lawyer’s paycheck alone. The house is paid off, his car too, a vacation fund, and we have savings tucked away in case we need some cushion. Maybe the saddest thing about all of this is that the vast majority of my contracts are coming from Globestar.

Globestar was hit pretty hard by the recession, just like a lot of other companies that weren’t as valued as essential services for large businesses. Our client base shrank and as it did the higher ups decided they needed to shed employees and ‘streamline’ things. I thought I had enough seniority to escape the cut, but my department’s new manager Steve had taken a dislike to me within two weeks of his hiring. No one ever told me if they found out exactly what it was that triggered him first, but I strongly suspect it was the day he saw the picture of Mike and I kissing at Niagara Falls on my desk. He was some sort of evangelical born-again Christian, the kind who are so convinced of their righteousness that they are blind to their hypocrisy. Being gay was definitely not okay in his world.

Maybe that in and of itself wasn’t enough, though. Maybe it was when I told him that while I respected his faith, it was against the law to so strongly encourage his subordinates to come to his church, with heavy emphasis on how the church could help us leave ‘lifestyles’ that were fraught with perilous temptations. He didn’t take that too well, as you can imagine. At least I managed to get him cited and disciplined by HR since I wasn’t the only one who was in the line of fire. Poor Santosh. Apparently the only thing worse than being a Muslim that did not follow Christ was being a Hindu that worshiped ‘more false gods than there were condoms in a whore house.’ Oh that’s right, Steve also didn’t like it when I asked him how he had learned how many condoms he could find in a place like that. My bad.

“I’m not whipped, Vicky. I just know that he’ll say that he’s going to be too tired to handle a party and a late night. He doesn’t really like costume parties, either, and it’s not even Hallowe’en. Maybe if you were holding it on the Saturday instead I could convince him, but on a Friday night? Not gonna happen.”

Vicky sighed. “Sheesh, David. When did we get so old that going to a party on a Friday night was a chore?”

“Come on, I don’t think we’re that old yet,” I replied giving her a half-smile. We were the same age, 34, while my partner Mike was few years older at 37. He likes to joke with people that I keep him young since I’m 34 going on 20. I take that bullshit in stride, but he gets a bit defensive when you point out he’s getting up towards the big four-oh.

“Right, we aren’t that old. And yet here I am listening to you sigh and reject an invitation to what’s going to be one hell of a party,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “One, I might add, that I know for a fact you want to come to.”

“Look, this isn’t about me. Mike is really stressed out with his work lately. Between his commute and the fact that he keeps having to stay late or bring work home to finish things on schedule we aren’t getting much time to spend just on us.”

“And you can make that time on any Saturday or Sunday, David!” Vicky insisted, even though she surely must have known that even the weekends were fair game in Mike’s line of work when a deadline was looming. “It’s not just me who wants you to come, David. Everyone else misses you and they will be sad if you miss this party, too. You haven’t been to a single one of the gatherings our group’s had since you were laid off. Hell, you are practically still working for the company anyway with the amount of work they contract out to you. We all know that bastard should have been the one they let go, not you. Speaking of which, did you hear that Santosh finally quit?”

“Huh? When did this happen?”

“Oh, about three weeks ago. He’s filed a major grievance with the labour board, too, and he’s going to take it to the Human Rights Commission if they don’t settle. It could cost Globestar a lot of money.”

“Well he deserves every cent he can get after the shit Steve’s put him through. Damn, I hate to be selfish right now but if they have to pay out I bet this will make it even less likely that I’m going to get my job back.”

“You sure about that? The company must have some form of indemnity insurance, or whatever it’s called, for situations like this. You can bet Steve’s going to be sent packing soon enough. HR has to finish a review first but they are for sure going to fire him this time. And, David, trust me when I say that there have been more than a few people mentioning your name when the topic of replacing Santosh has come up. Pretty much everyone at work liked you. Add to that the fact that you were one of the few people there that was reliable about getting things done on schedule and helping out others when they needed it, even for last-minute projects, and I think you will have it in the bag. You have the advantage of being the devil they know. Or rather an angel, in your case,” she finished with a wry smile.

I sighed. Reliable? An angel? More like a pushover. At least that’s what Mike always told me I was, considering how often I brought work home to complete in the evening or on weekends. Maybe he was right to an extent, but nowadays he’s probably worse than I ever was. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Whatever you say, Vicky. I mean, if they are going to fire Steve it’s still going to be a while before they get to Santosh’s position since they will no doubt want to deal with Steve’s first. Santosh’s they can supplement out with contracts to people like me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Vicky rejoined, a coy smile crossing her face.

“What are you not telling me?” I groaned.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out, my friend.” She glanced down at her watch, her smile breaking. “Look, I have to get back soon. David, you are coming to this party whether you like it or not. You have a week and a half to convince him that you are coming, and he can come too if he wants. If you don’t show up we are going to bring the party to your place instead. I’m sure Mike would love to have a couple dozen half-drunk, costumed coworkers suddenly show up on your doorstep.”

“You wouldn’t,” I retorted.

“I would.”

“God help me,” I groaned again. She would. I knew her well enough to know she was telling the truth. Vicky only lived five or six blocks walk from Mike and I, so it would be an easy enough journey for the group. Mike would be livid, too. He’d blame it on me and probably make life at home a bit tense until he calmed down. He’s can be so damned serious and private when he’s stressed out at work, and he doesn’t like things impinging on his personal fortress. I know he’d forgive me for it, especially since it really would be Vicky’s fault, but he’d still be pissed. They’ve never really taken to one another, to be honest, mostly because she seems to really like pushing his buttons. He’s usually not so thin-skinned with people, so can’t really figure out why she gets to him so badly.

“Fine, Vicky. I’ll make it happen, somehow. What should I bring, other than a costume? Some wine? Beer?”

“Oh, we’ll be set for wine and beer. Mark’s bringing a bunch of craft stuff - you know how picky he is - and a few other people will be bringing wine. How about you bring that set of bitters you have and make us some of those wonderful cocktails you whipped up at the barbecue last June? I’ve already stocked up on tonic, soda water, orange juice, tomato juice and clamato so those bases are covered, and you know there’s nothing to worry about in the spirits and liquor department.”

Vicky was a self-admitted lush outside of work hours. I wouldn’t say she was an alcoholic - she doesn’t need to drink to get up in the morning, or to relax at night. She just chooses to have wine with dinner, and maybe a cocktail with her evening entertainment. To be honest, I think she overplays that card and doesn’t even drink as much as she says. Still, she keeps a pretty killer array of alcohols in her home bar.

“Okay, I can do that. I’ll bring some heavy cream and rimming salts too. Anything you’d like for food?”

“Maybe that wrapped brie thing you do? That’s always a hit.”

“Sure, as long as I can use the oven during the party. The pastry gets kind of meh if you prep it too far in advance.”

“Oh yeah, that should be fine. Bobby has that day off so he’s going to use a smoker to make some pulled pork that afternoon. There will be some slaw to go with it, and I’ve got other people bringing a bunch of antipasto, tapas and finger foods that won’t need cooking right then and there. Maybe just a little reheating, but we can probably get away with using the microwave.”

“Great. Well, I’ll let you know what Mike says.”

“DAVID!”

“Just kidding,” I chuckled, smiling even though I really wasn’t kidding. She rolled her eyes and stood. I got up and moved around the table to give her a hug.

“Thanks for meeting up with me. We need to do this more often. I just wish I didn’t have to go back into work for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Ah, the salaried life. There are definitely ways in which I don’t miss it, to be honest.”

She swatted my arm. “Jerk. I’ll see you next Friday night. 8pm, stat.”

“Yep, see you then,” I muttered weakly as she turned and walked out of the coffee shop. I sat back down for a few minutes, staring out the window at the passing traffic and the early spring colours enlivening the mini-park and churchyard across the road. Tulips, daffodils and scillas in bloom, wind-pollinated trees releasing their great wafts of microgametophytes into the air. I’d never been to this shop before, but it was independent and had a relaxed, cozy vibe. The espresso I drank was magnificent and Vicky seemed to really enjoy her latte and the lemon drop pound cake she savoured. If the rest of the drinks and snacks here are of the same quality I’ll definitely visit again. If Mike wouldn’t be a bitch about wasting money on fancy coffee, I think it would be nice to bring my laptop and do some of my work here once in awhile. He liked having a variety of nice beans and loose leaf teas at home, maybe even more than I do, but he considered paying $5 for something that would cost a dollar or less to make at home beyond ridiculous. Timmy’s or McDonald’s was fine for him if he needed coffee on the go. Maybe I should ask him to get me an espresso machine for my birthday. It didn’t have to be anything fancy or high tech, and definitely small enough to fit somewhere on the limited counter space we have left in our kitchen, just something to give my daily caffeine intake a little more variety. He’d get to enjoy it too, which was a definite plus.

Still, even if he did buy me one, I’d love to spend time working away from home. After almost eight months of being self-employed, it’s become pretty dull and uninspiring to work in my home office, or at the kitchen table, or in the living room, or even on the back patio when the weather was good last fall. I mean, I always get my projects done and am still getting so it’s not like it’s affecting my work. Not yet, anyway. I just can’t help but feel like I’m stuck in a rut. Sometimes it’s all I can do to sit down and get started working because I’m so… stir crazy? I don’t know. Regardless, getting out of the house more would help. I do take walks in the neighbourhood here and there during the week. I’d be much more consistent if we had a dog, but I don’t like dogs. Besides, I’m getting sick of the local streets. I’ve walked them far too many times, nothing ever changes. I’m probably going to start biking more often. It’s how I got downtown to meet Vicky at this coffee shop, anyway. I just have to do a little better with my courage. It took longer than needed to get there because I was avoiding too many busy streets. You aren’t supposed to bike on the sidewalk and I’m going to follow the law.

Sighing, I pulled out my cell phone.

D: Hey hun, just finished coffee with Vicky

D: Just wondering what you wanted for dinner before I go shopping

M: How about that pork thing you were telling me about the other day?

Really? Had he forgotten already? Jeez, he’s probably forgotten that his brother and sister-in-law are coming over tomorrow, too.

D: The pork tenderloin was for dinner with Emily and Mitchell tomorrow night

D: Pork Wellington, remember?

M: Oh. Well, just make whatever.

D: Are you sure?

D: I can figure out something else for tomorrow

M: Whatever. Do what you feel like.

Too many whatevers. Ugh, I know him and I know there’s a 50/50 chance that he’s either in a really good mood and will love what I make regardless or a really bad mood and will be nothing but grunts and complaints all night.

D: What time do you think you will be home?

M: No clue.

Okay, make that 80/20 in favour of a bad mood. Damn it. I hate it when he can’t tell me when he’ll be home. It really restricts what I can make him so that it is still nice if it’s reheated, and mellow enough that he’ll eat it if he’s home after 8pm and not complain that it’s going to make his stomach upset and rumbly when he’s trying to get to sleep.

D: Okay. If you get an idea of an ETA, let me know

M: I can just eat leftovers if it’s too much trouble

D: No I’ll have a snack and make something for when you get home

M: Kk. Gotta go.

D: I love you

I put my phone back in my pocket, not waiting for a reply. He probably wouldn’t anyway if he was going into a meeting or something like that. I stood up and stretched my back briefly. Trying not to be awkward in public while stretching is a bit of a challenge, and I don’t think I managed to do either very well. I walked out and hopped onto my bicycle. Maybe a stir-fry would be good, and could be served up almost immediately when he gets home. I could have everything chopped up and marinated and ready to go, even the rice cooked ahead of time. It would only take me a few minutes in the wok to get everything cooked. I’ll make that broccoli black pepper beef dish that Mike loves. Hopefully that by the time he’s finished eating he’ll be in a good enough mood that I can bring up the party. I guess I’ll cross that hurdle one way or another. Vicky owes me big time for this.