by Scott, S. L.
Yeah, that didn’t go over well. Pretending to look for a certain email, I keep my eyes on my monitor as my inbox lights up the screen. “Good morning, Mary.”
Juni is almost through the doorway when I say, “I’ll approve the plant expenditure, Ms. Jacobs.”
She turns back with less anger in her eyes. “Anything I want?”
“You can get anything you want.”
Pushing her shoulders back, she raises her chin. “Thank you, Mr. Christiansen.”
Mary shifts to the side, including both of us. “Are we getting plants for the office? There’s a pretty one in the break room.”
“It’s fake,” Juni and I both respond.
Looking between us, she clears her throat. “Right then. I have your schedule.”
Juni adds, “Have a great day, Mary.” I receive a narrowed glare instead of warm wishes. I thought the approval for plants would make her happy, but I think she’s thrown the first gauntlet. Or maybe I did when I told her to call me by my formal name but allowed Mary the opposite. Either way, a battle has begun, and I know one thing for certain—she’s not going to let me live it down.
“You too, Juni.”
The door is left open behind her when she leaves. Mary moves into action, setting the printed paper on my desk and sitting so we can confirm each meeting. My mind is elsewhere, though.
We work through the schedule, putting a game plan into place. I scrub over my face to wake up since I’m struggling to concentrate. It’s only eight fifteen. I knew I should have gone to the gym. After being out late with Juni, I slept in and now look at me. It didn’t do me any favors.
Mary stands with her pad in hand. “Any questions, or do you need anything?” Her eyes spy the two coffee cups, and she adds, “Looks like you’re set for coffee today.”
I’m quickly reminded of one thing that bugged me all night. “Did Justin get fired?”
Surprise filters across her face. Mary’s not one to gossip, but she looks over her shoulder to check that we’re alone. “I believe so, but I don’t have any details.”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
I probably sit for thirty minutes before I send my chair rolling backward and stalk down the hall to Laurie’s office. I hear Juni answering the phone when I pass the corner that leads to the elevators. I keep going, getting madder with every step I take closer to that asshole’s cubicle . . . former cubicle.
After I knock twice, I hear, “Come in.” Laurie stands when she sees me. “Yes, Andrew?”
Although she gestures for me to sit, I close the door and remain standing. “I heard Justin was fired.”
“Ah.” She sits back down and tucks her legs under the desk. “He was. He’d been warned twice prior. That was his third—”
“Why are we waiting for someone to commit three offenses against one of our other employees before it’s handled?” I like Laurie, so I put my hands in my pockets, hoping it makes me appear less intimidating. Not that she ever has been, but by how she’s exhaling so slowly, she appears to be trying to settle her nerves.
“That’s standard practice, sir.”
It was a simple answer and a great reminder. “We don’t want to be standard. We want to be exceptional. I understand policy and procedure, but we also owe our employees a safe environment. Look into updating the policies and get with legal. Modern times call for change. Please have something on my desk by the end of the day.”
“I’ll get with Joseph right now.”
“One more thing.”
She asks, “Yes?”
“What exactly did Justin say to Ms. Jacobs?”
16
Juni
Two days later . . .
Oh crap!
I drop to my knees, which is something I think I’m getting a little too good at lately. Shoving the chair out of the way, I scurry under the desk and attempt to tuck my limbs under, hiding from view. Sitting as still as I can, I try to eavesdrop.
The squeaky door Gil said he would oil last week is now my saving grace. I have a marker and steady my breath as I wait to hear the muffled footsteps of those familiar Italian leather shoes.
“Good evening, Mr. Christiansen.”
“Good evening, Gil,” Andrew says as soon as his shoes hit the marble floor of the lobby. “Do you ever take a day off?”
“Usually two days a week, but since Mike broke his leg last month, Pete and I are working overtime.”
From the distance of his voice, I’m guessing he’s a good ten feet from the desk, but I’m nervous that he’s stopped to talk. And don’t think I don’t notice that Gil isn’t moving him along in a hurry.
Andrew asks, “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you ever make it out to the games?”
Oh God, no! Andrew’s found Gil’s sweet spot. I’ll be stuck under here all night if he gets Gil going.
Gil chuckles, and I know it’s not because the conversation is so amusing. He finally says, “Ju—one of my residents gave me season tickets once. I felt bad for missing so many games because of work, but it was the best gift I ever received.”
I’ll just be here wishing I could hug him right now. Gil’s the best. I’ve been fortunate to have him in my life all these years. I have a lifetime of memories in this building. As an only child, if I got bored upstairs with my grandparents, I would come down here and watch cartoons with Gil, or old sitcoms after school on the black and white screen TV. The Yankees playing were the soundtrack while I anxiously paced, waiting for my parents to pick me up after one of their research trips.
I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until I hear Andrew speak. “I grew up going to a few Dodgers games. My dad worked a lot, so my mom would take my brother and me sometimes.”
The sunlight slips back into my life, and I loosen the hold on my knees. He continues, “We were rambunctious boys, so she had us playing all kinds of sports to help burn through our energy.”
Gil says, “I bet it didn’t help.”
“Not much, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She had us take cooking lessons, we joined a painting club, learned to mow the grass. Anything and everything. She believed it was good for the soul.”
“Sounds like she kept you busy and minds open to new things.”
“She sure did.” There’s a pause, and then he chuckles lightly. “But we have a two-acre lot. Mowing was a full-time job when I was thirteen.”
They share a good laugh, but their footsteps aren’t moving away from me. Instead, they’re coming closer. Ugh!
Gil has one job . . . fine, he has two—open the door for residents and don’t let Andrew in on my secret. Coming around to the backside of the desk, Gil stands in front of me. I hear patting, and I know what it is instantly. He loves his tablet.
I gave it to him five years ago along with a stand and Wi-Fi, so he didn’t have to suffer with this small box of a TV he had on his desk probably since before I moved here. “These days, I go to one or two of the afternoon games each season. But if the Yankees are playing, I’m watching.”
“Do you have kids?”
“A daughter.” When the sound of the metal frame nicks the counter, I know he’s pulled out the photo he keeps next to the tablet. His daughter is like a cousin to me. I don’t see her often, but when I do, it’s like visiting family again. “Her name is Isabella.” He pauses, and then adds, “I have another daughter. She’s not mine by blood, but we’re family.”
Gil is my family in all sense of the word. Hearing him say it, though, which is something we rarely do, has me feeling loved. It’s been a while since the emotion has filled my chest, and I realize now how much I miss it.
Andrew’s words don’t come fast. I can imagine him taking in the information. He may get distracted easily when I’m around, but he’s an observer.
He finally says, “My family means everything to me. I bet she appreciates having you in her life.”
The toe of his shoe touches the side of mine. “Some days more than others.”<
br />
Andrew laughs again. “You win some, you lose some.”
“If that isn’t the truth. Tell me, Mr. Christiansen—”
“You can call me Andrew.” Oh sure, he gets to. I roll my eyes.
“You’ve been hanging around outside lately.” Gil doesn’t have to ask the question. We all know what he’s doing, so I poke his leg. He’s quick to shift around the desk away from me. “Are you—?”
“We’re friends. Just friends.” I’m not sure why that’s a blow to my ego when he’s only saying what I admittedly pushed for. Andrew and I are friends. And maybe if I say it a hundred more times, it will actually sink in. I just wish he didn’t have to be so appealing or funny when he’s off the clock. And how is he even better looking at the end of the day when most of us look like hell? No matter the hour, he’s a walking GQ billboard.
Closing my eyes just for a moment, I can still feel his arm wrapped around my waist as he pulled me closer for safety. He doesn’t say anything or make a production, but he always positions himself between me and the street. His acts of chivalry make my heart beat a little faster in a good way.
Gil’s lucky I like him because if I didn’t, I’d be furious that he’s making me use my imagination, which is going wild with theories. The silence between the two men is killing me. I’m begging for a clue as to what’s going on since neither is much of a talker.
“She’s a nice girl,” Gil says, causing me to halt on the spot.
“Oh, do you know her?”
Suddenly, Gil’s very busy clicking a pen over again and picking up the receiver from the base and setting it back down. “I bet you have big plans for the weekend.” He walks out from around the counter again.
“I’ll probably work. Speaking of, I should probably get upstairs.” Sounding a little disgruntled, Andrew adds, “I’ve been distracted all week and have a few hours of financials to go through before tomorrow morning.”
“There will be storms tonight, but it should be beautiful by the end of business tomorrow, just in time for the weekend. There’s nothing like springtime in Manhattan. Unless you’re into fall, and it’s pretty spectacular as well. My point is, it will be nice. I hope you get to enjoy it.”
“Me too.” Andrew’s voice is distant, and that clues me in that he’s finally at the elevators.
And then it dings. Thank God. My legs may not be as long as his, but they’re cramped in this small space. A few quiet seconds later, Gil’s head angles into my view. “Coast is clear.”
I wrangle my way out from under the counter, my legs aching as I stretch them again. “Next time, can you send him on his way a little sooner?”
“Can’t blame me that he decided today was the day to get to know each other.” He sits on the chair and glides forward. “They eventually all come around for a visit. As for you, maybe the better decision would have been to face the truth, literally, and tell him you live in the building.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Silly me,” he says through deep laughter. The last of the light from the day disappears, but the fluorescents from the lobby shine in Gil’s tired eyes. “I can tell you one thing, Junibug.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s crazy about you.”
I want to argue, to deny that such a man might think more of me than he’s let on, but I can’t. Andrew doesn’t let his guard down often, but there have been two or three times when I’ve seen raw emotion written on his face. Maybe that’s how I know there’s more to him than he lets on as well. I don’t just see it in his eyes. I hear it in his laughter. I watch how he moves with such ease around me. Seeing him at work gives me a comparison.
But the topic causes my hands to shake as a reminder of past pain takes over, and I shuffle backward toward the elevator. “You read the situation all wrong, Gil. You heard the man. We’re just friends.”
“My only advice is to be honest with him. A relationship built on lies doesn’t stand a chance.” He holds up my favorite pink box, bribing me closer. As soon as I take a donut and a bite, he looks right at me, all joking aside. “You’re better than you believe yourself to be, and you deserve more than you allow yourself to receive. Remember that, kiddo.”
I’ve sort of lost my appetite. Not because I’m upset, but because the truth can sometimes do that to you—sneak up when you least expect it. “Thank you,” I say, conflicted about what to feel. Should I feel shame for accepting less in my life to keep me safe or sad that the walls I built to protect my heart are so high that no one is tall enough to see the real me?
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“The truth will come out. It always does. You have a small window of opportunity to present it in the best light. It’s up to you, though, if you take it.”
“I know you’re right. I’m just a little lost on what to do. I need some time to think this through.”
“Life is happening whether you’re ready or not. You’re great at living each day as it comes, but what if . . .” He raises his hands in surrender. “Hear me out.”
He’s misreading my fear for impatience, so I take a quick breath and try not to let everything I’m thinking play out on my face. Softly, I reply, “I’m listening.”
“You started making plans.”
“There’s a saying.”
“No. I don’t want to hear about life moving on while you’re making plans or whatever it is. It’s bull-cocky, Juni. Make the plans. Give yourself something to look forward to as well as living in the moment. Life is made up of many moments, but it’s the memories that matter. I know you love Rascal, but you’re not going to remember the time you took him to the grass patch on the roof. You might remember the time you took him to Brooklyn to get his portrait painted, though.”
“I’ve never seen my boy look more handsome. Mr. Clark has that painting hanging near the front window. He only puts his most prized possessions by that window.” I grab the watering can I had set down in the corner and head for the snake plants on the far side of the room.
“Don’t push this conversation away, Juni. You’re about to be twenty-six—”
I start watering, content in my focus being on the first plant. “Don’t rush it, man. I have two months.”
“Two months. Maybe that needs to be your deadline.”
Turning back, I raise an eyebrow. “For?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that you have enough money to hide from life for as long as you want. But what kind of life would that be?”
“I’m happy, Gil.”
“And that makes me happy.” Tilting back in the chair, his body language backs his beliefs. “Maybe I’m talking nonsense, but for all the joy you’ve created in your bubble, I just wonder what would happen if it were popped.” Sitting forward again, he rests his arms on the lower desktop. Unable to settle, I relate. This conversation makes me just as uncomfortable. “I have a bucket list. Some things are big, like visiting Naples, where my family comes from, and others are small, like eating a hot dog down at Coney Island once a year.”
“You can do that anytime, though.”
“But sometimes, we need the reminder.” Reminiscing cracks his normal steady and fatherly tone. “I don’t get out there much, but when I do, I enjoy eating a dog in the salty air.” How can I not smile? He’s right. It’s simple, but sometimes, we need to leave the safety of our little habitats. “Reminds me of my childhood and then later taking Bellabug.” Why does it always make me chuckle when I see this wonderful man misty-eyed when thinking about Isabella?
Why does it also make me sad knowing my father never gave me a nickname? Or rarely called me at all. I’d always hear the same thing from my parents. “There are no phones in the jungle.”
Listening to Gil, Coney Island must be the most magical place ever. I’ve seen photos and know what it is, but maybe experiencing it is different from watching videos. I’ve lived so close. I could have gone anytime as well. “I’ve never been.”
&
nbsp; “This isn’t easy to say, but I’m going to anyway. You were abandoned by your parents. I understand that commitment scares you, but you had great examples from the people who stuck around. Your grandma, Marion, and your grandpa, Thad. You have me. The good outweighs the bad. But one day, I’ll be gone, and I need to know that you’re living the life you were meant to. Whether that is with someone or alone, I want it to be your choice. Not made from fear but from love.”
He stands, and that has me looking outside. Mrs. Hendricks is approaching. He asks, “Do me a favor, okay, kid?”
He knows I won’t say no, but to amuse him, I say, “Okay.”
The door swings open, and he helps her with her bags. “Good evening, Mrs. Hendricks.”
She stamps her cane down as if she just claimed the moon. “Hello, Gil. I needed a few things.”
“Let me know next time, and I can help arrange a delivery service,” he offers, charming her knee-high L’eggs pantyhose right off her. And yes, I know what brand she wears because my grandmother made me run an errand for Mrs. Hendricks when I was fourteen. The memory stuck.
She waves him off and keeps walking. “Stop pawing my bags. I needed some personal things and don’t need some youngster knowing my business.”
“Point made,” he placates to settle her down because she’s always been on the feisty side.
Noticing me in the corner, she says, “Why are you always hiding, Juni Jacobs?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m watering the plants.”
“You’re wasting time.”
Moving to the third large pot, I reply, “The plants don’t think so.”
“Your life. You should be married and have a family by now.”
Soooo tempting to roll my eyes. I don’t. I don’t even bother arguing with her either. It’s not worth the sacrifice of my happiness just to feel justified. Gil puts her on the elevator, and I call, “Have a good night, Mrs. Hendricks.” When she grumbles in return, she confirms I made the right decision not to waste my time.
As soon as we’re alone again, Gil doesn’t let up. “Make a list. Big things. Small things. Live, love, laugh things. Anything. I just want you to break your routine.”
