The day after

“What the fuck happened?” Her eyes are red and puffy, probably from crying herself to sleep last night.

I lean back in the chair, taking my time. The truth is I don’t know and I don’t know if I care, but she deserves at least a half-baked answer.

The room is empty, except from the two of us. The seven little round tables we eat lunch at are seemingly in a random and unusual order. There isn’t much on them; a couple of pens, a few coffee rings, a pack of smokes and a lighter. The light blue, comfy dining chairs are pulled out, as if everyone left in a hurry.

How strange.

The chair I am sitting in is placed between the coffee machine and the door to the office area. Liza pulls up a chair from across the room. Then she sits down next to me, waiting for me to think things through. I have no idea if she is patient about it or not, she seems mostly defeated. Her straight, brown, somewhat greasy hair curtains her face as she stares down at her lap. 

You might be wondering what brought her to this state. I will be blunt; Donald Trump did. Yesterday, about twenty of us, all journalists, gathered in the lunch area to follow the circus that is election night. We started on a high note, but the mood quickly declined. Many were live-tweeting, some were writing on their articles for today, describing the tenseness as it rose with the passing hours. Some were simply staring at the TV in disbelief. I think a couple left early. No one was smoking.

When most was said and done, we collectively tidied up the room, filled the dishwasher, wiped and organized the tables and pushed the chairs in. No one said a word, we just made the room spotless, as if we were never there. Quietly, solemnly. The only sounds came from clinking dishes, moving furniture, and sniffing from a few people trying to hold back their anxiety and grief. Somehow none of us were prepared for this result, even though we have warned ourselves and everyone for weeks and months now, that this shameful moment might very well happen. We were stunned, discouraged, utterly disgusted, and we had no words to express it. So we cleaned. 

I was the last to leave the office. Liza was crying quietly as she left, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit annoyed and sad that she didn’t ask me to walk with her. We aren’t a couple (she is straight as a pencil), and she owes me nothing, but still. I wanted her to distract me by letting me be there for her. To not impose on her, I made up an excuse to stay behind for a bit. I checked all the rooms, closed all the doors, switched off all the lights and activated the alarm. At least I think I did; I might have forgotten about the alarm. Anyway, there was no one here. I swear.

And yet, when I arrived early this morning, just after Liza, the lunch room looked like everyone had left in a hurry. Did someone come back during the night? I guess so, but no one in the office smokes. I doubt someone would throw a party during the night, and there is no evidence of alcohol either. Still, the party theory seems to be the most plausible, and even though I know Liza will not accept it, I am about to open my mouth to paint that picture, as Robert, our office manager, barges in.

“Yahoo! What a night, am I right?!” He is grinning like a child that just tore down their sibling’s block tower. 

Liza looks up at him, red eyed. I look at him, puzzled.

“What the heck, Liza - have you been crying? What happened? You were so giddy last night!” He doesn’t look at me, just gazes at Liza’s swollen face. “Did someone die? Oh no, is it your cat?”

“Did you lose your marbles?” I ask, but he keeps staring at Liza while his grin slowly dissipates as she starts sobbing again.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

“I know it’s been years, but I just, I just... m-miss her. She should h-have been here! It’s not fair!”

Robert kneels down beside her and grabs her hand. The look in his eyes makes me clench my teeth as acidic jealousy spreads through me. I know she isn’t for me, and I really want her to be happy, but I can’t help it. How did I not know that they are seeing each other? Why hasn’t she told me? Why is this day so weird?

“Of course,” he says. “We all miss her. She would have been so very happy.”

My confusion is now complete, and I force myself out of the spiraling thoughts.. “Who are you talking about, Liza? I thought this was about yesterday? What happened? Did someone actually die?”

Liza jumps out of the chair, ignoring me, waving her arms, pacing, shouting. “I should have stayed back! Why the fuck did I leave?! I just wanted to be alone, but that was so fucking selfish! Fuck!”

“There was no way for you to know what would happen, Liza. It wasn’t your fault,” Robert says calmly. “She got eaten up by the campaign and the lies and the hate, and we didn’t understand how deep it went. When Trump won she just couldn’t handle it. We talked about this. It wasn’t your fault.”

“And now he will go to jail and never win again, and she will never know,” Liza sobs as she plonks back down on the chair, hiding her face in her hands.

And I finally understand. And I remember. And I never went home last night. And this isn’t the next day. And somebody did actually die. 

And I do know. And it does make me very happy.

And I still love her.