Quitting For The Weekend

“I quit!” he beamed through the phone. 

Cheers sounded in the background. That must be the rest of the bachelor party. Surely they already had enough to celebrate this weekend, but Brian’s newly found freedom would call for additional rounds at the bar.

After a beat I realized I was still silent. 

“Wait, what?” I asked, as if I didn’t actually hear him the first time.

“I quit!” he repeated. More cheers. 

“WHEN?” I found myself shouting to overcome the growing echoes of joy roaring through the phone. I was acutely aware that while Brian was most likely encircled by a band of merry men, I was in turn disrupting the serene hums of a quiet airport lounge. I started to suspect that we would have to finish the conversation later. 

“Two days ago. I know this is earlier than we talked about, but it’s weirdly perfect timing for the wedding and the holidays. Plus now you’re home and I don’t have to work!” 

He was right. Our best friend’s wedding was this weekend and he wouldn’t have to sneak away to answer a call or send off an email. The holidays were coming up and we could actually enjoy them. And I was dodging between planes, trains, and automobiles on my way back to the States from deployment so that I could make the wedding, with a well-needed break looming and a boyfriend who finally had some free time. 

But he was also right that it was earlier than we had planned - on the order of six months or so. After a continuous grind in investment banking, he was going to quit his job in the spring. And I, well, I can’t exactly quit. But soon I would be separating from a long military career with too many days spent out at sea. This was my seventh (and last) deployment, and I was finally looking at some resemblance of a normal life come next year. Not to mention that we had been apart for nearly four years. After we graduated business school, where Brian and I met, I had been working on a submarine to serve out a military obligation that existed prior to the intermission I took to complete my MBA. We had been swallowed whole by our jobs ever since. Even when I was on land, most of our communication occurred via text message circa 4 a.m., when I was getting up for work and he was on his way to bed, and usually just consisted of something along the lines of “I’m tired and everything sucks”. 

I drew myself back to the call, my first upon re-entering civilization. Brian’s opening line, “I have news”, was interrupted by an unknown British accent whose owner just had to hop on the phone to report that he had the tallest glass of whiskey had had ever seen currently in his hand. I congratulated the British man, and soon thereafter Brian, each for the specific feats. 

“No, that’s great! Wow. I’m so pumped for you.” After a few repeated similar sentiments on my end and amounting chaos on his end, which included guest appearances from his fellow groomsmen, who took over the phone to tell me some combination of “welcome home!” and “Brian’s about to get schooled on the golf course”, we hung up.

Later, when I would inevitably look back on the moment, I would take comfort in knowing that my true initial reaction was one of happiness for him. But there was undeniably a slight pang of jealousy. I still had a few months left on my service contract. And while Brian could choose his freedom, I didn’t have that luxury. Granted I’d be home during that time and my replacement was arriving in a matter of weeks. Plus, we could still keep our plan: take the spring off, maybe do some traveling, then I would move to Charlotte where Brian, our family, and our friends were all located so that I could officially transition into civilian life. The only difference was that Brian now had an extended fun-employment. I relaxed, happy to be breathing fresh air and experiencing weather again, and counted the hours (18) and different types of transportation (3) I had left to make it to what felt like the wedding of the century. 

Our deployment schedule had luckily held so that we returned to port in Crete the day before my best friend’s wedding in Virginia. As soon as we hit the pier, I checked out on leave and began a two-hour long taxi ride to the airport with a Greek-man who ran a bee-keeping business on the side and consequently sent me back to the States with three sample jars of Cretan honey. 

A whirlwind journey later and I arrived at the hotel just as the ceremony was ending. Prior to deployment, I made a contingency plan and instructed Brian to bring a grab-bag of clothes plus shoes and jewelry with him in case I was able to make it to the wedding. He dutifully followed through, and I waltzed into the hotel room to find a selection of four formal dresses hanging in the closet ready for me. I selected one and quick-changed into my not-so-best-effort black-tie outfit (to be fair, I had just stepped off the submarine 36 hours before the commencement of the dinner reception), and soon found myself hugging all my friends in the floral-draped ballroom. Well, that was after my entrance was cemented with a round of shots, a photo op with the bride and groom, and a hand-off of an espresso martini that I was ordered to drink immediately. “It has coffee AND liquor in it,” stated the gift-giver matter-factually. Additionally, Brian had solicited advice from every girl he knew (both at the wedding and not) to help him assemble the grab-bag of dresses, and everyone was curious which one I would choose. I felt like a queen as they clapped for Brian’s chivalrous preparation and my haphazard ensemble of a black-tie look. 

As the night progressed through ceremonial toasts and the dance floor collected more and more glow sticks, I could see that this was the happiest Brian had been in years. Quitting his job was the best thing for him. Returning from deployment was the best thing for me. We were both resurfacing (one of us literally) from the depths of a work-life balance that had seesawed in one direction and never shifted back. Celebrating with all our friends at the reception was the icing on the wedding cake. 

The hangover the next morning held off mostly because we were still basking in the glow that only a wedding can bestow. And because the newlyweds hosted a brunch which served warm chicken-biscuit sandwiches and Bloody Mary’s. We sprawled out, sunglasses on, along the laced-linen tablecloths and recounted the night. 

Among the excitement, we had forgotten that two of our other friends, who were presently at the table and graciously pouring us all coffee, were also soon-to-be married in the spring. 

“You guys won’t be working, will you?” Liam, the future groom, asked. 

“For once, not likely.” Brian answered, already sipping on his second cup of coffee. 

“Actually, your wedding date is the same weekend as my detachment from the Navy. So I definitely won’t be working.” I chimed in. 

“Cheers to that!” Liam grinned. 

A similarly sunglass-clad man approached the table and joined the merriment. 

“Pardon me, but I see that you all have commandeered your own personal coffee pot and I’ve decided you’re the brightest people in the room. May I join you?” His accent gave him away as the record whiskey-glass holder from the day before, aka Richard, as I soon learned. He sat down next to Brian and they started chatting. The rest of us lounged through the morning, occasionally getting up to say goodbyes once the departures began. 

Brian and I were staying another day at the hotel, so with the luxury of time on our side, we were among the last to leave. Eventually we said our final farewells, promised Liam that his wedding would be just as fun, and strolled back to the room.

“I have news.” Brian informed me. 

“You already told me. Remember, lots of groomsmen, lots of shots, lots of quitting.” 

“No, of course, not that. Well, sort of that. Actually, exactly that.” 

“I’m confused. Groomsmen, shots, or quitting?” 

“All of the above.” Brian then launched into the conversation he had at brunch with Richard, who was, it turns out, not just a groomsman but good friends with many of Brian’s old classmates and business contacts. Not only that, but Richard was a search fund executive. Following the wedding, he was off to set up a new company that his firm recently activated. 

“They’re looking to hire a VP of Strategy.” The follow-on information relayed to me was everything Brian had learned that morning about the company and the job. 

“It seems like the perfect opportunity.” He concluded. Based on his descriptions, I agreed, minus the fact that just twelve hours ago he was thrilled to be shackle-less. “What do you think?” His eyes searched mine, testing my reception to it all. 

“I think it’s an awesome opportunity. You should look into it.” I said, sincerely. And that was that. Over the course of the day, Brian researched the job while I busied myself by the pool. I’ll still never get over the heavenly sense of feeling the sun’s warmth after missing it for so many months at a time. Or, quite oppositely, the nuisance of having to check my phone now that it was reconnected to the real world. When I finally remembered to do just that, I had several messages from the boat and my command. I sifted through them as a satisfied Brian sat up and looked over at me. 

“I seriously think I’m gonna apply for this job. I might have to start right away, but I also may be able to swing a new year start date given the timing. There’s just one caveat. How do you feel about New York?” 

New York. Not Charlotte? 

“Wow. I mean, would you want to do that?” I asked in turn. 

“It would only be for a couple of years, and I’d be up for an adventure.” 

I would too, actually. I had secretly been hoping that maybe we would move abroad for a year or two and try out a big city with lots of high fashion that didn’t in any way involve camouflage uniforms on a daily basis. And while New York wasn’t exactly the “Emily in Paris” scene setter I had imagined, it still met those conditions with the added bonus that we wouldn’t feel guilty for skipping all of our Duo Lingo lessons we swore we’d complete as part of our New Year’s resolutions. 

“I’m in.” I firmly resolved. Brian jumped up from his lounge chair and stated he would be back after he made a call, but would return with french fries. I started to imagine a move to New York and all the job opportunities in the city, which reminded me to finish checking the messages I had from my current employer. I didn’t think that calls to and from a submarine in Greece were that easy to make, or common, but there were three voicemails left for me to listen to and prove me wrong. 

Not long after, Brian sashayed back, basket of fries in hand, just as I finished the last message. Now it was my turn for news. 

“There was a schedule change, and my relief is delayed. I need to call them tomorrow when the time change works, but it sounds like I may need to go back out at the end of my leave.” This wasn’t as surprising as it would seem. Schedule changes were regular, we had lost track of how many times dates changed, and reliefs weren’t guaranteed until they were standing in front of you. In fact, the only surprising thing of late was that the return to port date actually held and I got to leave from deployment in time for the wedding. 

“How long do you think you’ll be out for?” He asked as a formality. We both knew that I didn’t know and even when I got in touch with the boat, they wouldn’t know either.

“Well, in the very worst case, I have to be back by spring. My detachment date is still my detachment date. So no matter what, I’ll be home by then.” This was true. Even if I flew back out and spent the remainder of my service obligation on deployment at sea, I had an expiration date and it was only a handful of months away. 

“If I take the job in New York, it may work out okay. I could get settled and moved while you’re gone. Then you finish the deployment and meet me whenever you’re done.” Pang of jealousy again. But, replaced by that true feeling of happiness. The end was in sight and the contingency plans had already begun. We were pros by now. 

“Actually, if I have to stay all the way through my separation date, I’ll just fly back and probably meet you at Liam’swedding.” 

“Cheers to that.” Brian smiled. 

We started on the basket of french fries. Less than 24 hours ago Brian was relishing in quitting and I was home for what I thought was good. Now he was already considering his next career move and I was going to have to decide if I should buy more jars of Cretan honey on my probable return trip to Greece. As we finished off our afternoon snack, we talked at length about jobs, the merits (him) and envy (me) of quitting them, and about what dresses should go in a grab-bag for a spring wedding.