by Tawna Fenske
Jenna McArthur: Apparently I should switch from stemware to sippy cups.
He smiled, appreciating the wisecrack even if she hadn’t addressed the question. He hesitated a moment, then typed a reply.
Adam Thomas: Did you get the stain out of the dress? Incidentally, this is the same message Bill Clinton would have sent Monica Lewinsky if Facebook had been around in 1996.
He wondered if he’d made her laugh, and hoped he hadn’t crossed some line in the sand. Seconds later, he had her reply.
Jenna McArthur: Unlike Ms. Lewinsky, I had the good sense to visit the drycleaner on my way home. If our Facebook accounts are ever subpoenaed, this exchange will look highly incriminating.
Adam Thomas: You spies are always thinking ahead. Shall I come over with a blowtorch so we can destroy our laptops together?
Jenna McArthur: Won’t matter. Everything lives in infamy in cyberspace. Maybe you can dismantle the Internet. Was Internet hacking one of your specialized gigolo skills?
He smiled. Hesitated. Put his hands on the keyboard again.
Adam Thomas: Well, if we’re busted anyway, let’s make the most of it. What are you wearing?
The pause dragged out, and Adam kicked himself for going there. The ellipsis popped up to indicate she was typing a response, and Adam braced himself to be shut down.
Jenna McArthur: Very funny. Did you just try to sext me?
Adam Thomas: Is it still called sexting when it’s a Facebook PM?
Jenna McArthur: Does it still count when you use a phone sex pickup line in a typed message?
Adam Thomas: I’ll consult my official guide to social media sex. Please hold.
He was contemplating his next message when a reply popped up.
Jenna McArthur: Since you asked, I’m wearing your ex-wife’s dress. Because clearly, this whole thing wasn’t creepy enough.
Adam winced. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Cracking a joke about his ex-wife’s hygiene would be tasteless, not to mention making Jenna feel defensive of her friend. Playing it cool might be the right approach, but that wasn’t really Adam’s style.
He settled for honesty.
Adam Thomas: Er, sorry about that?
Jenna McArthur: Don’t be. It’s not your fault that I’m sitting here wondering if you’ve ever removed this garment from my best friend. Hey, I was wrong! This can get creepier.
She’d ended the message with a smiley, but Adam grimaced anyway. Was she upset? He didn’t think so, but it was so damn hard to read someone’s tone in writing. This is why normal people dated in person. Normal people who weren’t hiding their connection from ex-wives and professional colleagues.
Adam was still considering his reply when her next message popped up.
Jenna McArthur: Problem solved. I took off the dress.
Holy shit.
Well, that was one way to do it. Was she joking or serious? He honestly couldn’t tell.
Adam Thomas: So you’re sitting there in your underwear?
Jenna McArthur: What makes you think I’m wearing underwear?
Okay, she was definitely being flirty. She’d mentioned an empty wineglass, so maybe that was it. Or maybe the elusive aunt had given her another pep talk. Whatever the case, he couldn’t stop his brain from forming a vivid picture. Had she really taken off the dress? Was she sitting in bed like him, stripped down to nothing? Or was she parked at a desk in a home office still fully clad and laughing at her own joke?
Adam Thomas: So now we’re both in our underwear and I’m in bed. Didn’t we pledge not to end up here again?
Jenna McArthur: POIDH.
Adam Thomas: What?
Jenna McArthur: Clearly, you’re not hip to the cybersex lingo, Mr. Thomas.
Adam Thomas: Clearly, hip people don’t use words like hip and lingo.
Jenna McArthur: LOL! POIDH = Pics or It Didn’t Happen.
Adam laughed out loud. She was definitely flirting, no question about it. If he didn’t have written evidence, he might never have believed it. He thought about brushing off the request, but what the hell? Photos of average-looking thirty-something guys in boxer shorts weren’t exactly scandalous viral Internet content.
He clicked on Photo Booth, then fired off a couple shots. One turned out blurry, but one wasn’t a half-bad image of him sitting shirtless in blue plaid boxers with his reading glasses slightly askew. He clicked the button to attach the image, then waited.
Jenna McArthur: HOLY SHIT!!!!!
Adam frowned, not sure how to read that response. He didn’t have to wait long.
Jenna McArthur: Christ, I was kidding, but oh my God. How is it possible for someone to look that hot lounging in bed on a random Saturday night?
Adam smiled. At least she wasn’t annoyed, or worse, offended. He decided to push his luck.
Adam Thomas: Your turn.
Jenna McArthur: No way. I’m a woman. I know better than to send sexy photos to strange men on the Internet. Besides, I wasn’t kidding about wearing your ex-wife’s dress, but I was kidding about taking it off. Still wearing the damn thing. Does that weird you out?
He hesitated, sensing a distinct shift from flirtation to something much more serious. He went for honesty again.
Adam Thomas: You mean does it weird me out that you swap clothing with my ex-wife, or does it weird me out that you’re still fully dressed? Yes to the first question. No to the second.
Jenna McArthur: It’s a yellow silk sheath dress with an asymmetrical hemline and contrast stitching beneath the bust. Familiar?
Adam frowned. Was she asking if she was wearing a garment he’d ever removed from his ex? He wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but it definitely wasn’t flirtation. He could understand why the whole thing might feel odd to her. It wasn’t jealousy, precisely, but something else. It was one thing to know a partner had lovers before you. It was quite another to don her clothing.
Adam Thomas: I understood “yellow,” “dress,” and “bust.” Beyond that, you’ve lost me in the fashion nuances.
Jenna McArthur: You’d make a terrible cross-dresser.
Adam Thomas: I’ll mark that off my list of professional ambitions.
He stared at the screen a moment, not sure whether to keep the conversation going in this direction or to try to shift things back to humorous flirtation. What did she want?
Jenna McArthur: I’m sorry about this afternoon. About kissing you on the roof.
Adam Thomas: You can kiss me on the veranda anytime. Though maybe the lips would be better.
Jenna McArthur: LOL. The Three Amigos, right?
Adam Thomas: Yep. And don’t worry about it. The kiss was perfectly tolerable. Maybe a little less tongue than I might have liked, but I’m not in a position to be picky.
Jenna McArthur: Thanks. I’m not sure why I keep doing that.
Adam Thomas: Kissing me or stopping?
Jenna McArthur: Yes.
Adam Thomas: Kissing me = Because I’m irresistible. Stopping = Beats me.
Jenna McArthur: Maybe because we’re working together and you used to be married to my best friend?
Adam Thomas: Oh, yeah. Details.
Jenna McArthur: She’s my best friend, Adam. I can’t betray that.
He frowned, fingers hesitating over the keys.
Adam Thomas: Understood.
That wasn’t entirely true, but this wasn’t the forum to delve into it. He hesitated with his fingers on the keys, trying to think of some way to avoid letting go of this connection with her.
Adam Thomas: Okay then, what’s a platonic topic? Baseball? Books? Pizza?
Jenna McArthur: I hate baseball, I love spy novels, and I will fight to the death if anyone challenges my assertion that Rigatelli’s makes the best pizza in Portland. Maybe in the universe.
Adam
Thomas: Rigatelli’s?
Jenna McArthur: It’s a few blocks from your hotel. You should check it out. Friday nights they have karaoke.
Adam Thomas: You do karaoke?
Jenna McArthur: No way. But it’s fun to watch.
Adam thought about making a voyeurism joke, but decided they’d moved beyond the sexy flirting. He tried not to feel sad about that.
Jenna McArthur: I’d better go check on my aunt. It’s been good chatting with you. Goodnight, Adam.
Adam Thomas: Goodnight, Jenna.
Jenna McArthur: Oh, and I’m rescinding that last friend request. Sorry for the confusion.
Adam Thomas: Probably best. See you Monday?
Jenna McArthur: xoxoxo
He stared for a moment at the cyber hugs and kisses. They seemed like a deviation from the business-formal writing he’d come to expect from her. Had she done it on a whim, or carefully counted each x and o?
He tried to remember which one stood for hugs and which represented kisses. Either way, they weren’t the same as the real thing. Not by a long shot. But they were all he was likely to get from her.
He knew why, and it all came down to the other thing he’d written that wasn’t entirely true.
Because he remembered that goddamn yellow dress. Mia had bought it the summer before they split, and she’d worn it during a weekend getaway to the Jersey Shore. A failed, last-ditch attempt to rekindle the marriage.
The vacation and the dress had been no match for the problems between them.
Adam shut down his Internet browser, trying not to picture the dress on Jenna. On the floor of his hotel room.
He closed his laptop and put it on the nightstand, a funny lump in the pit of his stomach.
“We’re going to kick off this morning’s mediation session with an icebreaker exercise.”
Adam surveyed the assembled group, noticing a few annoyed expressions and several staff members who didn’t look fully awake. He kept his eyes away from the corner of the room where Mia and Jenna had seated themselves next to the refreshment table. He had to appreciate both their resourcefulness and their position out of his immediate line of sight.
“Let’s start things off with a very basic question,” Adam continued, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the podium someone had set there like he was some sort of stuffy inspirational speaker. He moved around it to sit on the edge of an empty table in the front row, his eyes scanning the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention.
“Toilet paper.” He paused there, watching a few eyebrows raise and a few sleepy expressions flicker to alert curiosity. “Over or under? Those of you who prefer over, I’d like you to go to that side of the room.” He gestured to the right, keeping his eyes off Mia and Jenna. “Those who prefer under, please gather over there. I’ll give you a moment to get settled.”
He watched as members of the bargaining team swiveled their gazes around the room. There were a few suspicious looks, and Adam had to stifle a laugh at the notion that high-level executives might think a discussion of toilet paper could lead to a strategic gain in contract negotiations.
At least one person looked embarrassed, and several more still looked sleepy. But most looked intrigued, even a little amused.
He dared a glance at Jenna, and saw her look around, a little self-conscious at first. Then she strode to the opposite side of the room, joining the ranks of the “under” crowd.
His ex-wife stayed put on the “over” side of the room, and Adam tried not to give too much thought to the argument they’d had the first year of their marriage when she’d steadfastly insisted on the opposite configuration in their bathroom. Not particularly set in his ways at the time, Adam had been fine with giving in.
He turned his thoughts away from Mia and Jenna and focused back on the group.
“Okay then,” he said, pleased to see everyone had picked a side. “Obviously most of you have a pretty solid opinion about the proper positioning of toilet paper. Let’s take a moment to discuss why that is. Who’d like to give me a reason for your preference?”
He let the silence stretch for a few beats. He’d call on someone if no one stepped up, but someone always did. Even with something as innocuous as ass wiping, people couldn’t resist the urge to share and defend their opinions.
“It just rolls off easier,” the board president said at last, crossing her arms over her chest. “When the toilet paper comes over the top of the roll, you can see where it’s coming from and it flows better.”
“Thank you, Nancy,” Adam said, nodding in encouragement. “Great input. Now how about someone on the other side of the room?”
Brett Lombard, the president of the nurses’ union, was already shaking his head. “Actually, I find it rolls better coming from underneath. Plus it tears easier when you can press it against the wall.”
There were a couple scowls from the other camp, but most people were observing with expressions that ran the gamut from amusement to embarrassment to thoughtful intrigue.
“It’s harder for my cat to get to when it rolls from underneath,” shared the CFO. “One time when I had it rolling over the top, Maggie spun the whole roll into a giant pile on the floor and then took a nap on it.”
A few people laughed, lightening the mood a bit, and Adam said a silent thank you to Phil Gallow for bringing pets into the equation. That was always a good equalizer with a crowd like this.
“My mom taught me to always roll it over the top.” Adam turned to look at Susan Schrader, the other union rep who’d ended up on the same side of the room as the CEO. The fact that neither had thrown a punch yet seemed like progress.
Susan rubbed her hands together and continued. “She and my dad used to fight about it, actually, and he said she should be thankful that he changed the roll at all.”
“My parents were the same way,” the CEO said, looking surprised to be bonding with his sworn enemy over bath tissue. “My mom liked to fold the end of the paper into a little fan when we had company coming.”
“I just think it looks tidier.”
Adam recognized Jenna’s voice without having to turn, but his eyes slid to the “under” side of the room anyway. Jenna shrugged, her cheeks faintly pink as she touched the pendant at the center of her throat. “When it rolls from underneath, it’s more hidden. It looks neater that way.”
He nodded, trying not to read too much into Jenna’s fondness for keeping things tidy and hidden. He heard his ex-wife laugh across the room, and he forced himself to turn to her with the same impassive expression he’d given everyone else.
“In my house, we count our blessings if the toilet paper makes it onto the dispenser at all,” Mia said. “Preteen girls don’t always have the best recall when it comes to household chores. Honestly, do they think there’s a magical fountain of toilet paper that just appears on the roll?”
“I hear you, sister,” called a woman Adam recognized as a physician who’d been asked to join the bargaining team on the medical side. “Try living with three teenage boys.”
There were some titters of agreement from other parents in the room, and Adam nodded along with them. He’d forgotten Mark had a daughter from a previous marriage, which would make Mia a stepmother now. The uncharitable side of his brain flashed on an image of the wicked stepmother from Cinderella, but most of him hoped the kid was doing okay. That Mia was doing okay.
A movement on the “under” side of the room caught his eye as the Chief Clinical Officer stood and made his way to the other side of the room. Adam watched him go, pleased at the unexpected acknowledgment of the validity of arguments from the opposite side.
“Changing your mind about your preferences, Doug?” Adam called. “That’s not an uncommon response to hearing the thought processes from the opposite side of an issue, no matter how small it may seem. Great to see you illustrating tha
t so clearly.”
“Nah, I misunderstood the question when you asked,” he said, looking a little sheepish as he tugged his necktie and took a spot on the “over” side of the room. “Thought you were talking about wiping methods, not how the roll should spin.”
A few people snort-laughed at that, and Adam saw Jenna cover her mouth to hide a smile. Adam grinned and gave the CCO a mock salute. “Doug, in three years of doing this exercise, I can’t say I’ve ever had someone say that.”
“I fancy myself a trendsetter,” the man said, grinning back as he tugged off his tie. Another good sign, Adam thought, glancing around the room again to see a number of others loosening up.
“We can always use more outside-the-box thinkers when it comes to negotiations,” Adam agreed.
He cleared his throat and went back to addressing the whole room. “Okay, so obviously everyone has reasons for feeling the way they do about toilet paper distribution. Can we all agree on that?”
There were a few nods around the room. A board member whose name slipped Adam’s memory raised her hand a little timidly. “I never really thought about why I did it that way. I just always have.”
“I might have to try that trick going under.” Adam turned to see Susan Schrader looking at the other side of the room with an odd mix of surprise and respect. “My cat does the same thing with the toilet paper.”
“Works great,” the CFO said, looking a whole lot friendlier than he’d been ten minutes ago. “We also got one of those scratching posts to put in the corner of the bathroom and that seems to help.”
“I’ll give that a try. Thanks for the tip.”
Adam smiled, always pleased when someone created the perfect segue. “That’s the way it is with a lot of opinions we hold,” he said. “Sometimes there’s a lot of thought and research that goes into them, and sometimes it’s just the way we’ve always done things. Either way, we all have valid reasons for making the choices we make.”
He picked up the glass of water he’d nabbed at the start of the session and took a drink, holding the pause until he set the glass down again. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this isn’t just about toilet paper.”
