I didn’t say anything. I kept putting my things away. I figured I’d let her sit there all day if she wanted to. I even considered running out of my office and locking her inside for the night.

“Are you going to address me?” she asked. “Hello?”

Beta team’s files in the red folder...The notes for Mr. Barnes in the yellow folder...I need to re-organize last Thursday’s markups for the art department...Where are my—

“Claire?” She cleared her throat. “I want you to know that none of what I’ve said to you over the past few weeks is personal. It’s simply me trying to be the best mother I can be.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think? He needed you when he was nine—not twenty nine.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the monster he makes me out to be. And you don’t know a damn thing about what was happening when he was nine—except the fact that you were twenty years old back then so—”

“Get the fuck out of my office or I’ll call security.”

“Touchy today, are we?”

I picked up my phone and hit seven.

She stood up and stepped back towards the door. “I was just coming by to drop off that gift. You can think of it as an early dinner present. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight... This should be fun.” She gave me an evil smile and it took everything I had not to jump over my desk and beat her into the ground.

The door slammed shut and I sank down in my chair. I didn’t even bother opening the box. I tossed it into the trash and hit nine to cancel the security call.

I couldn’t believe I’d actually talked Jonathan out of canceling dinner tonight. I’d told him that he and his mom needed to keep trying to work things out, that I would be there for him the entire time.

What the hell was I thinking?

“Claire?” Jonathan burst into my office with two security guards. “What’s the problem?”

“Huh?”

“You called security...”

“Oh, right...” I watched as his guards walked around my office, opening and closing the connecting doors and closets. “It was a mistake...I’m sorry. I hit nine to cancel.”

“Thank you very much, gentlemen. False alarm.” He waited for them to leave the room. “You look pale. You sure you’re alright?”

No...“I’m fine. Are you tracking my phone calls?”

“I get notifications about all emergency calls—text messages for regular employees, a phone call if it’s coming from you.”

“Oh...” I leaned back. “Are any of my coworkers out there? Did they see you come up?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes and walked over to me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What are you talking about?”

He cupped my face in his hands. “You’ve been on edge lately...”

Your mother’s been harassing me. Say it. Say it! “I’m just overwhelmed with a lot of assignments. That’s all.”

“Hmmm. I’m sure I can fix that for you. Do you want to cancel dinner tonight? We don’t have to go.”

“But your therapist said that—”

“My mom is still acting like she doesn’t remember any of the things she did when I was younger...She was just here for a session and I walked out. I don’t think our relationship is reparable.”

I sighed. I thought about saying, “It’s not. And you know what? I hate her too. Let’s cancel dinner and I’ll tell you all about it,” but my motherly instincts won out. The two of them could fix this, they needed to fix this.

“It just takes time. Don’t cancel...She may have a strange way of showing it, but I think she’s willing to do whatever it takes to be a mainstay in your life now.”

“Based on what I just told you?”

Based on what she’s been doing...“Just trust me. Keep the dinner reservation... I’ll be there.”

Last Friday night

I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows of the ocean view restaurant and watched the waves hit the bay rocks over and over. I was dreading this dinner so much that I was tempted to run out on the patio and dive into the sea.

When Jonathan dropped me off at home hours ago, I’d found another “gift” from Denise. I tossed it towards the trashcan, but it fell short a few feet and the contents of the box tumbled out onto the floor: They were pictures, and not just any pictures. Recent pictures of Ryan and Amanda enjoying their amazing life together—walking along the river with their two young children, kissing one another as they strolled through the park hand in hand, laughing at nothing at all. They were sitting on a rock at me and Ryan’s old spot—our favorite downtown park. They were running down a cobblestoned street at Disneyworld, with Ashley and Caroline not too far behind them.

How did she get these?

I stopped looking through the pictures and felt myself shaking, feeling angry and hurt all over again. I told myself that I wasn’t going to cry, that I wasn’t going to read the little notes she’d written on the back of every picture, but I slumped down to the floor and read them all.

I read every single word as tears fell down my face: “Fourteen years down the drain...” “You think Ashley and Caroline will actually respect a stepfather that’s only thirteen years older than them?” “You don’t think he’ll ever want kids of his own? Really? Ryan clearly did, and Jonathan will too...Maybe not until he’s in his thirties, but he will. You know that.” “Look at how Amanda and Ryan are aging together. She has a streak of gray and so does he...Are you going to be able to dye your hair every week? Isn’t the Age-Away regimen time consuming enough?” “I’m only trying to help you...I can help you find someone more suitable in no time...”

My phone started vibrating and I snapped out of my memory. It was a text from Jonathan: “On my way. Can’t wait until dinner’s over :-).”

I smiled and noticed another text. From Denise:  “I know you have no reason to believe me right now, but I am so very sorry about the way I’ve treated you over the past few weeks...Jonathan and I are on our way to the restaurant now and I...I didn’t realize how much you meant to him. I thought you were a cougar that was after his money—I’m sorry for ever thinking that and calling you out of your name. Can we please be civil with one another at dinner tonight? I really am sorry.”

I didn’t respond. It was too late for an apology—much too late.

My phone vibrated again, and I saw another text from her. “I know you don’t owe me anything and you have every right to be angry with me, but can we PLEASE get through this dinner without incident? He won’t talk to me anymore if you tell him what’s been going on or make a scene...I’ll do whatever it takes to repair what I’ve messed up. I take everything I said back...Can we please start over? I think we could be good friends if we tried.”

No response.

I kept watching the waves roll over one another, trying to prepare myself for this terrible dinner.

By the time Jonathan and his mother finally arrived, I’d had enough time to think things through, to make up my mind about this impossible relationship: I decided that I would get through dinner without incident. I would be polite to Denise and make sure that Jonathan never left my side, but after tonight, he and I would be over.

August 15, 2013

Dear Journal,

There are two ways to write a Two Weeks’ Notice.

If you want the traditional going away party with stale cake, cheap punch, and terribly recited poetry, you need to include the following lines in your letter: “I’ve learned so much from working with this company and I hope to apply my knowledge to my new position. Thank you for having me on your team throughout the years and I hope my contributions have been as meaningful to you as yours have been to me.”

If you don’t give a damn about the company you’re leaving and the thought of a going away party with your co-workers makes you want to jump out the window before you can officially quit, you can simply sum up your letter in two short sentences: “As of [insert date] I will no longer be working for this company. Effective immediately.”