Foreword:
Most of my favorite stories on the site to date have been the longer stories with a slow build. In that vein, I have chosen to take a similar approach to my first story. If you are just looking for a story that jumps straight to the sex with little content, then this won't be for you. If however you are interested in stories with a longer build-up and more developed characters, then I hope you will enjoy my first attempt at writing here. All constructive criticism is welcome, and thank you for your votes and comments in advance.
Note for clarity: Though not overly specific on location, the story is written as occurring in Canada with respect to observed holidays.
Special thanks to careythomas for her invaluable assistance with editing, if you're not already familiar with her work I highly recommend it - her writing is probably what most inspired me to try my hand at my own contributions. (If uncertain how to search by author, you can easily find her in my favorites!)
*****
Alexis - Friday, November 14th, 2014
It was dark by the time I got home, I'd been working late again, as I had done all too often since losing Sam almost a year ago. My friends had been supportive for a while, trying to get me to go out and socialize, but without Sam, nothing seemed worthwhile. After a while, they got the hint and stopped asking. We drifted apart. I suppose I missed them, but I didn't really notice because I missed Sam more.
Before anyone judges them for giving up, it wasn't something I blamed them for at all. First off they were mostly couples that Sam and I used to get together with, and that was itself a part of the issue: they weren't "my" friends, they were "our" friends. With Sam gone, the dynamics changed and we didn't know how to fit together anymore. Second, I didn't have the emotional energy to do what they tried to get me to do, which was to talk and talk and talk about what happened. I just wanted to shut out everything around me that reminded me of her.
Without friends, and without Sam, the only thing left for me was work. As a Financial Planner and Portfolio Manager for a respected wealth management firm, I threw myself into my work. Over the past year I had built up my portfolio quickly enough by consolidating client assets, attracting new clients, and some well-timed calls on the US markets taking advantage of the incredible spike in value resulting from their long delayed post-recession recovery. The combination of these factors had conspired to make me the highest performer in the firm, both in new client acquisitions and in growth of average assets under management per client for each of the first three fiscal quarters. With year-end numbers almost final, it was looking like fourth quarter - and by extension my year-end - would be just as strong.
My performance had always been strong, but my near obsession with my work this year had yielded significant enough results to get me noticed by some of the senior partners in the firm, and the buzz was that I was favored for a promotion. I honestly didn't care one way or another. First, I never paid attention to office gossip, or invested enough time in my coworkers to be a part of any water-cooler conversations. Sam used to say that I was the most lovable misanthrope she'd ever known. Second, work was the only thing that made me get out of bed each morning, so it was my sanctuary - they didn't need to promote me to get me to show up. All that said, I was good at my job, took care of my clients, and ultimately what mattered in this business was results. My boss Marc, the only one at the firm whom I would consider a friend, joked that I should suffer personal tragedies more often. The fact that I found the remark morbidly humorous was a credit to the friendship that we seem to have fostered, and to the fact that time had allowed room for such comments to not completely flatten me.
There was one thing about the promotion that was appealing to me - I'd get a new office instead of the four by four trading desk I currently had: more privacy and less forced socializing. I would also earn the privilege of having an Associate Portfolio Manager assigned to work with me. I hadn't yet decided if this was a good thing or a bad thing. In theory it would allow me to focus on acquisitions and more complex client concerns while my Associate managed the day to day concerns, but in practice I knew a lot of Associates were no better than glorified secretaries.
As I walked in the door, my black lab, Max, came running up to greet me, barking excitedly. He was the only thing that could get me to smile these days, and the only part of the life I shared with Sam that I felt no compulsion to push away. Maybe it was my imagination but he seemed to understand what it meant to lose Sam, we'd had Max for six years together and so she had been a part of his family too. In the post-Sam world, it was me and Max... and that was enough. My favorite part of the day was to go for a run after work, and Max was the perfect running companion. I gave Max's ears a quick scratch, "Sorry I'm late boy, why don't we get your dinner ready and then we'll go for a run?"
Barking once, as if in agreement, Max ran to his mat and waited patiently for his dinner... which he wolfed down in about five seconds flat. I chuckled as I changed, marveling at his ability to literally inhale his food, and pulled my sneakers on. Max scratched at the front door as I put my hoodie on.
The moment I took the first couple steps towards my normal route, I felt like Max and I shifted into a different world. I wasn't alone, and I didn't have to remember to breathe. The steady thuds of my footfalls and the clinking of Max's collar were my therapy, and I was able to think about Sam - cry about Sam - without prying eyes and idiotic platitudes from well-meaning witnesses.
It was after nine by the time we got home from the run. My ragged breathing and the clickety-clack of Max's paws echoed through the house, which was now almost bare. Everything sat haphazardly in various-sized boxes, the only items remaining were the bigger pieces of furniture and my office. At one time I had loved living in this house, two stories with a red brick exterior and a finished basement. The back of the house faced west and opened onto a large yard bordering on a small lake, and the master bedroom on the second floor had floor to ceiling windows looking out over the yard, providing spectacular views of sunsets over the lake. Sam had been an architect and had designed every inch of the house when we bought the land ten years earlier, and that was ultimately the problem... as much as I couldn't let her go, I'd come to realize that living in the house she had built for us was untenable. Every bit of the place spoke to me of her... and yet as much as I couldn't live here anymore, I couldn't bring myself to sell it either. Instead, I had hired a property management company to furnish it and rent it out however they felt would be best. In fact, they assured me that they'd have a tenant in by the end of the next week.
As for myself, I was moving into the city. I'd just closed on purchasing a condo close to my work, it was ground floor, had access to a small yard for Max, and I had already found several parks in easy walking distance. My thoughts were interrupted by my phone. I picked it up and noted an unusual number of missed calls from Marc.
"North American markets closed hours ago, signaling the start of the weekend where, as you usually enjoy reminding me, means no matter what happens I can't do anything about it for two days. Why are you bothering me?" I couldn't fathom what the urgency could be.
"Human interaction doesn't just have be predicated on market movements, Alexis; I almost don't want to tell you now."
"What?"
Marc sighed dramatically, "They promoted you. I tried to tell them you were a lost cause, but there were dollar signs leaking out of your portfolio, so there you go."
