Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
That just left one thing to do.
I knew I was making a quick decision. A split second one, you might say. But I also knew that this was the right thing to do. If I saw Michael again, I would cave and I’d lose my courage. I’d cry to him and beg for him to take me back and to be in a proper relationship with me, even though I knew that wasn’t what he wanted.
What I was doing was best for both of our sakes.
This did mean that I was going to have to say goodbye in a way that I normally wouldn’t condone but… what other choice did I have?
I needed to stay strong and not be dramatic and not force myself into his life when all I’d done so far was ruin it and he didn’t even want me that way.
So I wrote him a letter.
Normally I would write a letter of resignation and hand it to my boss in person, and say something in person as well, something personal and heartfelt. Unless my boss was an asshole in which case I would just be professional, to hell with the heartfelt.
But not this time.
God, it hurt to write that letter. It hurt so fucking much. It was like drawing blood from my heart, from my chest, right in the center of me. But I needed to do it. He needed to know everything. Well, not quite everything. But he needed to know enough.
And then I would walk away.
Chapter Nineteen: Michael
I was dealing with the host stand, as I usually was, so I didn’t see it happen. She planned it that way, of course. She was always clever like that.
But when I walked back into my office, there was a letter on my desk that hadn’t been there before, addressed simply with my name on the envelope.
I opened it, wondering what the hell it could be.
It was a letter addressed to me, from Stevie.
The moment that I saw that, my heart plummeted. I knew, somehow, before I even read the rest of it, that this was a Dear John letter.
Of course, I mean, yeah, fucking hell a Dear John letter implied a relationship and we weren’t in one, not officially, but still—that was what it felt like. She was saying goodbye and handing in her resignation.
Dear Michael,
Please accept this as my letter of resignation. I apologize for the lack of professionalism in giving it to you without a two weeks’ notice, but I knew that if I gave you any time you would feel badly and want to keep me on. I know that we have worked well together and we’ve known each other for so long. You’d probably feel like you had to give me a second chance and I wouldn’t want to force that on you.
I wish you the best. I want to apologize for screwing up things so badly here for you. That bad review is all my fault, not yours. And while some of the things that I said in our argument were true, I was too harsh in how I said them. I respect you deeply and always have. I hope that things turn around at the restaurant. You deserve to catch a break.
It’s clear to me that I can’t give your restaurant what it needs. I promised you that I would turn things around and I haven’t. So I’m moving on professionally. I should have followed your advice before, but I was too caught up in my dreams of making the restaurant a success. I’m sorry about that.
And I know - this probably isn’t my place. But even though I know that you said you don’t want a relationship with anyone, I hope that you’ll reconsider that, and will find someone. You have a lot of love to give and you deserve a lot of love in return. Maybe once things calm down in the restaurant, and I know they will. You’ll figure it out.
I’m sorry that I made things worse and I hope that you can forgive me. Both for screwing up with the restaurant, I know how much it means to you, and for just leaving without a proper notice.
Sincerely,
Stevie
It was very professional of her, I had to say. Even if it was without the two weeks’ notice. But I didn’t care about that.
What I cared about was Stevie being gone.
I hadn’t expected that last bit, about opening myself up to the possibility of… of relationships. Of love. It seemed that Stevie knew me… better than I knew myself.
The whole letter was like a punch to the gut. I would actually rather be punched in the gut, actually. I sat down heavily in my desk chair, the floor tilting.
I felt like an absolute asshole. Had the things I said in my argument with her really convinced her so deeply that she was a failure? Even as I’d been convinced earlier that neither of us knew what we were doing with the restaurant, the moment I read it in Stevie’s words it sounded so ridiculous.