Just Clumsy, Sincere Me

1 Growing up, my two closest friends gave me endless nicknames. Idiot. Space cadet. Socially inept loser. They swore it was affection, the teasing reserved for those closest to you.

During a crucial quarterly presentation, Justin called me an "idiot" in front of my coworkers. The office erupted in laughter while the marketing director frowned.

My face burned crimson as I stumbled through the rest of the slides. Afterward, Taylor patted my shoulder. "He didn't mean it, Lucas.

Admit it, you are a little slow." At a company retreat, Justin mimicked my nervous stutter to entertain the crowd.

Taylor laughed the loudest, then saved the video of his impression so Justin could post it later. Last week, I closed a milliondollar deal solo.

At the client dinner, Justin raised his glass. "Our resident loser actually closed a deal?" The client's smile faltered.

The next day, they pulled me aside to reconsider the partnership. In my car, Taylor tapped the window and handed me a tissue. "Stop crying.

Just make sure he doesn't drink before clients next time." Eight years—from high school—I had wanted us to walk this path together.

I wiped my eyes, submitted my resignation, and tossed the tissue into her lap. Rolling up the window, I started the engine.

Congratulations, "resident loser." You've finally learned how to walk away alone. "Who approved your resignation?" Taylor's voice came through the receiver, calm and measured, as if she were simply asking what I wanted for lunch.

I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, continuing to pack my clothes into a battered suitcase. "HR did.

It went through the standard channel." "I told you not to make any rash decisions," she said. After a brief pause, her tone softened slightly. "I can talk to the client for you.

I still have a few connections with Mr. Harrison." I zipped up the suitcase and looked at the oneway ticket lying on the desk. London.

Single fare. "Don't bother, Taylor." "What are you playing at this time?" Her voice flared with a sudden edge of impatience. "You've known Justin long enough to know he talks before he thinks.

Is it really worth all this drama?" Was it worth it? A milliondollar deal. Three months of endless followups. Fortyseven emails. Eleven draft proposals.

And she was asking if it was worth the drama. "I'm not playing games," I said, sliding the ticket into the side pocket of my backpack. "I just need a change of scenery." "A change of scenery?

Lucas, you barely squeaked by your basic language exams. Where on earth are you going to go?" I didn't answer.

She let out a heavy sigh, that familiar, patronizing sigh she always reserved for my shortcomings. "Fine. Take a couple of days to cool off.

Justin and I will take you out for dinner this weekend so we can talk things through." "I won't be around this weekend." The line went dead silent for a few seconds. "What do you mean?" "My flight is the day after tomorrow." This time, the silence stretched even longer.

I could hear her rustling through her purse on the other end, probably looking for a pack of cigarettes. "Where?" "London. A friend's firm has an opening.

I'm going to give it a shot." "You..." She sounded choked up, caught completely off guard. "Are you serious?" I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror.

My eyes were still slightly puffy, my lips dry and chapped, my overall appearance dull and exhausted. "Entirely serious." "Lucas," she said, using my full name for once, her voice dropping into a low, intense register. "Are you just doing this to spite me?" A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat.

For eight years, she had always viewed my decisions as nothing more than childish emotional tantrums. "It's not about spite." "Then explain it to me.

Why are you suddenly packing up and leaving?" Why? Because you and Justin turned my life into a running joke, and you didn't even realize you were tearing me apart.

Because every single step I took to better myself was instantly belittled by his careless words, while you stood by his side, telling me "he didn't mean any harm." Because I am finally, utterly exhausted.

But I didn't say any of that. "I just want to see the world." "By yourself?

Lucas, you barely know how to navigate the city on your own." "I have to go," I cut her off. "I still have packing to do." "Lucas..." I pressed the red button, ending the call.

The moment my screen went dark, a text from Justin popped up. "Hey man, I heard you quit? What kind of joke is this lol. What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me?

Stop throwing a fit. Let's hang out this weekend, my treat to make it up to you, cool?" I stared at his words, "What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me?", for a long time.

I didn't reply. I tossed my phone onto the bed and dragged my suitcase into the living room. Then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Justin standing on the welcome mat.

He was wearing an expensive creamcolored knit sweater, his hair perfectly styled, holding a bag of gourmet fruit. "You're actually packing?" He craned his neck to peer into my apartment, his eyes widening in exaggerated shock. "My god, Lucas.

You're really leaving?" I stepped aside to let him in.

He set the fruit down on the coffee table, turned to face me, and to my surprise, his eyes wellled with tears. "Is this because of what happened at the dinner?

I told you, I had one too many drinks. You wouldn't really leave over that, would you..." His voice trailed off into a whisper.

He looked down, his fingers anxiously plucking at the hem of his sweater. "What am I supposed to do if you leave?" That was Justin. He always knew exactly when to look fragile.

He always knew how to make everyone else believe that I was the bully, that I was the one hurting him. "It has nothing to do with you," I said. "I wanted this." He looked up at me, his eyes wet and pleading. "Really?

You're not mad at me?" "No." "Then... can you stay?" He reached out and grabbed my hand, his manicured nails digging lightly into my skin. "Or at least wait until Taylor gets back?

She can help you find another—" "Justin," I said, pulling my hand away. "My flight leaves at six in the morning, the day after tomorrow." He froze.

A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his beautiful eyes. It was gone so quickly I almost missed it.

Then he smiled, reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "Then I'm definitely driving you to the airport." "No need." "I have to," he insisted, looking straight into my eyes. "You're my best friend." My best friend.

When he said those words, I remembered him calling me a loser in front of the client. I remembered the video of him mocking my stutter, shared and liked hundreds of times.

I remembered the sound of Taylor's laughter echoing in that retreat hall. My best friend. "Whatever," I muttered.

He gave my shoulder a playful punch. "Don't go forgetting about me over there, okay?" I remained silent. As he pulled away, my phone buzzed on the counter.

It was a text from Taylor. "I don't approve." Four words. No punctuation. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then locked the phone.