Dating My Boss in My Dreams

Arthur was reading on the sofa in my apartment. I moved closer and rested my chin on his shoulder. "Darling," I asked, "can I have a kiss?" He closed his book and glanced at me. "Where?" I pointed to my lips. Instead of obliging at once, Arthur asked unhurriedly, "Feeling bold today, are we?" The sky outside was already turning pale. Anxious, I tugged at his sleeve. "Hurry. I'm about to wake up." At last, he bent his head. His breath had barely touched the tip of my nose when my alarm went off. I opened my eyes to the yellowing ceiling of my rented apartment. Later that morning, I saw him at the office. Arthur emerged from the glass-walled conference room in a charcoal-gray coat, two project managers following behind him. He passed my desk without pausing or looking my way, as if the man who had almost kissed me that morning had never existed. Arthur and I had been together for 6 months—only in my dreams. Before that, I'd been pining for him since the year before. I interviewed three times for a place at his architectural firm and finally became the most forgettable junior designer in his department. In real life he was the design director. I was the one at the far end of the table who had to swallow twice before I could get a word out in a meeting. His whole read on me probably came down to one thing: "Miss Bennett, your scale's off on this model." That night a storm came down hard on Westbridge. When I fell asleep, I woke up back in my own apartment. Arthur was slumped against the living room couch, his shirt soaked through, the smell of liquor coming off him. I put my hand to his forehead and pulled it back. He was burning up. He caught my wrist and pressed his face into my palm. "Cold," he said, barely above a whisper. He was always needier in my dreams. I wrapped a blanket around him, but he still refused to let go. His cold fingers locked around my waist as though he feared I might suddenly disappear. "Where do you live?" I asked. Eyes closed, Arthur mumbled a street name and house number. I repeated the address three times in my head, then forced myself awake. At 2:00 a.m., rain was hammering against my windows in the real world. I sat on the edge of my bed for 5 minutes before finally getting dressed and heading to the pharmacy. By the time I reached the address, the hems of my pants were soaked. The house number was exactly the one from my dream. I didn't dare ring the bell. Instead, I left the medicine on the doorstep and used my spare number to call him, pretending to be a courier. He answered on the third ring. I lowered my voice and told him his delivery was outside. On the other end, he sounded badly congested. All he said was, "Okay." I hid around the corner for more than 20 minutes before the door finally opened. Arthur stepped out in a robe, damp hair falling over his forehead. He bent to pick up the medicine, then looked out into the rain. I ducked behind the wall, my heart pounding as if I'd just committed a crime. The following morning, someone from admin asked in the department chat who had sent the medicine. I stared at the message box, still trying to work out how I could possibly explain knowing the director was ill, when Evelyn replied first. Evelyn: I heard Mr. Lauren wasn't feeling well, so I had something delivered. A moment later, Arthur wrote back. Arthur: Thank you. I deleted the message I hadn't sent, Actually, that was me, one letter at a time. A few days later I wore the pale blue dress Arthur had once said he liked, in one of my dreams. A guy from another team smiled on his way past and told me it suited me. I thanked him, but my eyes kept going to the man at the other end of the hall. Arthur came toward me with a folder under his arm. His steps almost broke stride. His hand tightened on the folder, just barely. Then he walked right past me without a look. Evelyn came over carrying a thermos. "Feeling any better? I wasn't sure whether the medicine helped, so I made you some herbal tea as well." "Much better." Arthur looked at the thermos in her hand. "Good. I was worried it hadn't worked." After a brief silence, Arthur took the thermos. "Thank you." Evelyn smiled and fell into step beside him, talking about the afternoon project meeting. They turned the corner together and disappeared from view. I looked down and smoothed my skirt, suddenly feeling utterly ridiculous. How could a dream possibly be real? I simply liked him so much that I had invented every detail for myself—his illness, his embrace, the kiss that had nearly happened. That night, after getting ready for bed, I still climbed under the covers 30 minutes early. It didn't matter if none of it was real. I just wanted to see him one more time.