A winter kiss, p.23
A Winter Kiss, page 23
“It’s like a dream come true. Score one for the good gals.” She winked at Aubrey then batted her eyes at me.
My mouth fell open; thank God for the mask. I knew she was just playing along, but those brown eyes, a shade or two deeper than mine, drew me in. We would make some beautiful brown-eyed babies. And that’s exactly where we could never go.
I had to remind myself that this was merely another manifestation of the grief that didn’t want to let me out of its grip. Intellectually, I knew this first Christmas without Mom was going to be tough, but I had to be tougher. There was only so much of my feminine side I was willing to tap into.
The HR director rolled her eyes. “Okay, everyone back to work. You,” she pointed to Kyra, “finish your onboarding paperwork and get out of here. I have paperwork of my own to catch up on.”
Paperwork. The mere thought of it made me itch. Give me the run-and-gun adrenaline rush of playing beat the clock any day. News demanded full attention and played out in the here and now. Once the moment was gone, it was gone forever, no paperwork required. And that suited me just fine.
But I did love that paycheck, and I was pretty sure Kyra wasn’t in this for grins, so there was at least half a tree’s worth of paper in her immediate future. “Do what you have to. I’m going to gas up the Cherry Bomb. I’ll be in our palace when you’re done.”
Kyra
Palace. Doyle had a sense of humor. Not to mention a smooth way about him that had immediately put me at ease even in the middle of a Ted moment. Considering my history with men, that was a Christmas miracle all by itself. But Christmas was still three and a half weeks away. Plenty of time for Santa’s alter ego, Krampus, to emerge to punish me for being naïve enough to believe in fairy tale endings.
Happily ever after wasn’t practical, and if there was one thing I’d learned, being practical protected me from getting hurt. It had saved me when I lost my parents. It had shielded me from the worst of Ted’s abuse, and it would keep me from being stupid enough to fall under Doyle’s spell. Abuela always said if you expected nothing, you wouldn’t be disappointed.
But that attitude was becoming a disappointment in and of itself. Had I given tacit approval to Ted’s behavior by not expecting to be treated professionally? Was I self-sabotaging relationships by accepting whatever crumbs a guy was willing to toss in my direction?
I was an intelligent, highly educated woman with an important position at an internationally respected corporation. It was time for everyone to realize that and treat me accordingly. And I might as well start right now.
I handed the HR director a stack of completed forms.
“Thank you. Close the door and it down for a minute.”
Or not.
She waited for me to comply.
“Unfortunately, the most important piece of onboarding process has a corrupt file or something which is why it wasn’t part of your video presentation, so I’ll give you the bullet points: masks must be worn properly at all times while you are on campus, and by properly I mean over your nose and mouth. No exceptions, no excuses. If you can’t handle it, leave now. No, it is not a violation of your constitutional rights, and if you want to argue that point with Ethan Webb, be my guest.”
“No thank you,” I replied.
“Good choice. Security has been instructed to escort any unmasked employee to this office immediately. If you are that unfortunate soul, you will be terminated on the spot. No references, no unemployment benefits, just gone.”
“I understand the concept, but don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. The day after the first US casualty of this virus was identified, Mrs. T personally announced the policy during an in-house podcast. Her husband, sons, and grandsons all have a rare blood allergy. Contracting the virus will likely kill them. Plus, Ethan Webb is a gigantic germophobe. Wear the mask at all times or get escorted out. Any questions?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. Not really. Moving right along, you’ve been through the official sexual harassment PowerPoint presentation that took the legal department six weeks to hammer out. I had a ringside seat, and I was convinced Mr. T and Ethan were going to kill each, which I’m told isn’t a new thing, but I digress. The official policy dots all of Brian’s we have to protect our assets I’s and crosses all of Ethan’s you have no idea what really happens in a courtroom T’s, but here is the truth of the matter; Riley was right. This place is a seething cauldron of intertangled relationships. The Tobin family is in control, and it’s a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do culture. Stephanie Kerrigan-Webb, while not Tobin by birth, has always been considered a sister by another mister. Ethan’s sister, Megan, is married to the oldest Tobin son, BJ. Mrs. Shane Tobin and Mrs. Quinn Tobin are sisters and both of them spent time in foster care with Ethan and Megan, so they all consider themselves a family. Ethan and Megan’s mother runs the daycare. Mrs. Riley Tobin, Aubrey, is the head of accounting. The only Tobin wife I don’t have to deal with is Knox’s wife, and I suspect that’s because she just gave birth. Husbands and wives, most of whom met and courted in this very building, are everywhere. Fraternity brothers and sorority sisters with torrid pasts—and presents—interact every day. I can’t even begin to tease out the brothers, sisters, cousins, children, in-laws, and ex-laws who work here.”
“I get that, but remember, I’m an aspiring lawyer. Give it to me in black and white; I’ll find the grays for myself.”
The HR director nodded. “Fair enough. The bottom-line is don’t take crap from anyone. If someone crosses the line, take a clear stand immediately. Don’t worry about hurting feelings. Document everything, which I know you excel at. If the behavior doesn’t stop, report it immediately. Once it is brought to my attention, I will be deal with immediately. If there is blow-back of any kind…”
“I get it. Report it immediately. But what if, theoretically, the attention isn’t, shall we say, unwanted?”
I held my breath again, expecting to be blasted into the middle of January. Her indulgent smile caught me off guard. “I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully. What I am about to say is totally off the record. It is not to leave this room, and I will deny it with my dying breath. If it’s mutual, be smart about it; indulge yourselves, but do so outside of the building. Riley and Aubrey admitted to a few fun and games and that turned into a real nightmare when a vindictive co-worker got passed over for the promotion Aubrey got. The entire family joined forces to intervene, but I wouldn’t count on them going to bat for you. Bottom line? I don’t want to go through that again. Once the relationship ends, if it ends, be mature about it. If it gets out of hand, request reassignment or look for another job because if I hear about it through the grapevine, we will go through the steps outlined in the policy, and I guarantee neither one of you will like the outcome.”
“Swift, brutal, and complete. Good to know.” But the real question is one I should have been asking myself. Why did I want to know the answer to my theoretical what if in the first place?
“If you have any more questions, please feel free to shoot me an email. You are temporarily assigned to QRK, and neither Knox, Riley, nor Quinn give a rat’s you-know-what about details. As a lawyer, that will most likely drive you crazy, but that doesn’t change the facts. Once you’re reassigned to legal, be it litigation or contract, that will change drastically. My advice to you is get yourself a pair of adult-sized, heavy-duty water wings and learn go with the flow. Do not make waves. I don’t like waves.”
Neither did I. But I had the sinking feeling —pun intended—that I was about to get swamped.
Doyle
I leaned slightly to the left in a vain attempt to keep the ancient chair from making me seasick, but no matter what, the damn thing was determined to wobble. Threading my fingers into a ball, I laid my hands on a worn kitchen table that must have seen close to fifty thousand meals. It struck me that I resembled Ted as he’d awaited his judgement a few hours ago. But then, I felt as if I was awaiting my own judgement, and it could go either way. Maybe a quick prayer wouldn’t hurt.
Eight pairs of arms crossed over their owners’ chests, but I had no doubt if I made one false move, those currently passive limbs would spring into action. Eight pairs of eyes bored into me. I was outnumbered, and I knew it.
“Why are you wearing your mask inside? Do you think we’re diseased?” said a guy with Mateo stitched inside the white oval on his shirt. It would have been nice if they all came with nametags.
“Are you Kyra’s brother?”
“Oldest cousin. Oldest of all.”
So this is who I have to contend with if I messed up with Kyra. Contend with first anyway. “I wear this mask everywhere but the shower and my own bed. It protects you as much as it protects me. I could have the disease and not know it. I do my best to make sure everyone stays healthy.”
He side-eyed his family. “Good answer. We've decided to let you live. For now.”
What a joker. I hoped.
Abuela, as she insisted I call her, placed a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me. I’m not a huge chocolate fan. Given the choice between chocolate and caramel, caramel wins every time. But I wasn’t being given a choice.
Abuela stepped back, crossed her own arms across her chest, and stared at me hard.
Make that nine pairs of arms and eyes.
I slipped my mask to my chin and took a sip of the scalding liquid, mentally prepared to suppress a grimace, but to my surprise, it was good. The best I’d ever had. Silky smooth and sweet with a touch of vanilla and a kick that might have been cayenne pepper. I took another sip.
“Are you jodiendo my nieta?”
I spit hot chocolate all over the table. Way to go, hot shot. In this fastidiously clean kitchen, I’m sure I’d just committed a huge sin. I reached for a napkin to wipe up my mess and buy myself some time.
“I asked you a question. Are you jodiendo my nieta? Do you understand me?”
I wasn’t bilingual by any means, but I understood her question. If I was going to make it out of this kitchen alive, she’d better like my answer.
“Abuela!” eight shocked voices cried in unison, but she continued to stare at me with deadly calm. If the others decided to charge, I might have a chance, but Abuela would kill me.
“No, señora, I swear I have the utmost respect for Kyra. She’s my co-worker, not my lover.” And damn if that simple statement didn’t flood me with regret. I chalked it up to the long months of celibacy the pandemic had forced on me.
Señora was not buying it. “Then why is she upstairs packing a suitcase to go to Harrisburg with you?”
Ah, the elephant in the room. “That’s a fair question. This is a business trip, and while I fully expect to have her home at a decent hour, it’s always a good idea to have what we call a go bag in case something goes wrong. We could have a car accident, or there could be a sudden snowstorm, or any number of reasonable excuses that could require us to spend the night somewhere. It’s better for Kyra to have a few things with her than to spend money she can’t afford on new clothes and basic supplies.”
Abuela’s crossed arms flew to her hips. “How do you know my nieta is in need of supplies?”
Even if I was bilingual, it wouldn’t have helped me decipher her meaning. I was stumped, and I had unfortunately left my Rosetta Stone at home.
“Abuela, leave Doyle alone. We’ve only known each other since Saturday.” She eyed her pregnant cousin. “Even though that doesn’t matter to some people in this room. He hasn’t had time to figure out my cycle.” She turned to me. “Which, unfortunately for you, is going to be absurdly easy. I apologize in advance.” A bump traced across her mask; was she licking her lips? “Are you going to drink that?”
Apparently, she had licked her lips. What I wouldn’t give for a woman to look at me the way Kyra was eyeing my hot chocolate. Suddenly, Abuela’s meaning came into sharp focus; I felt like slapping my forehead as I pushed the cup toward her.
“Knock yourself out.” My mamma didn’t raise a fool. When we stopped for snacks, I was going to load up on chocolate because if she suffered as badly as she’d hinted, we’d both need it.
Kyra carefully transferred her precious liquid into a travel mug, practically jodiendo it with her eyes. “We’d better hit the road before mi familia hires the mariachis for the la callejoneada.
“Mariachis I know, but…” I was well aware that a mangled pronunciation could be comical, or worse, so wasn’t going to try, but no matter how you said it, it sounded painful. Like something they would do to my cajones if they caught us jodiendo.
“La callejoneada is like a parade that follows a traditional Mexican wedding mass.” Kyra explained between sips.
My eyebrows shot up so far so fast, it was like they were trying to escape my face. Wedding mass? My crude translation wasn’t too far off.
She turned to flick a finger in Abuela’s direction. “When the time comes…if the time comes, remember you promised, no donkeys.” She jerked her head toward her cousin. “I had to throw away a perfectly good pair of shoes after Mateo’s wedding.”
“I should have known that one was doomed when the lazos broke,” Mateo mumbled.
“That sounds as ominous as a broken condom.” Oh, shit. How did that slip out?
Kyra gulped down a swallow of hot chocolate. “You almost made me lose my hot chocolate. I would have had to kill you. A lazos is like a big figure eight that the bride and groom wear during part of the ceremony to signify infinity. It literally translates to lasso. But for Big M over there, it literally meant eight. As in weeks.”
“As in hours. We didn’t even make it to the wedding night without fighting,” Mateo said.
The dam broke: everyone laughed, shared memories, and made crude jokes at Mateo’s expense. And I sat there like the proverbial rock in the middle of a fast-moving stream, not sure if I should join the party or just STFU.
Kyra tapped my shoulder. “Let’s escape while we can. You go first. I’ll shout my goodbye from the porch, and we’ll be off.”
It worked for me.
Kyra
Doyle nudged my shoulder. “Hey, are you still awake over there?”
I stifled a huge yawn and stretched. “Sorry. Are we there yet?”
“No, we’re about twenty minutes out, but I’m starting to get hungry, so I was thinking about lunch. Are you a vegan? Vegetarian? Pescatarian? Baptist?”
With his quick wit and easy-going attitude, how was it someone hadn’t slipped a ring on his finger? For all I knew, he might have a special someone to go home to. Or he could have a different partner every night, but something about him screamed monogamy.
For all I knew. That was the key phrase. I didn’t know him. Didn’t know anything about him, and we should keep it that way. Wouldn’t it be an ironic plot twist if the two people tasked with exposing …wait, loaded word…rooting out…damn it, even worse…detecting…much better…detecting improper behavior in the workplace ended up plot twisting?
I couldn’t go there because it would force me to confront my current dry spell and the losers who had twisted through my life. Losers who thought someone “like you” should be thrilled they’d been noticed in the first place and shouldn’t complain—about anything.
Not that complaining had ever worked. If I was going to survive, I needed to stay firmly planted in the here and now, which meant lunch. I should concentrate on food. Food was safe. And playing it safe was always the best way to go. Because self-soothing with food and playing it safe has worked out so well, right?
“Pick a place; they’re all about the same anyway. When it came to choices, I basically had two: yes or no, which means I didn’t have the luxury of being a picky eater. Abuela had a lot of tummies to fill, so she had to figure out how to turn a pound of meat, a few pantry staples, and whatever vegetables she could scrounge up into something that was, if not always delicious, least edible.”
“Take it or leave it is pretty much my story too, except my mom, may she rest in paradise, was a lousy cook.” He glanced over at me with sadness oozing out of his soft brown eyes.
Purely out of reflex, I crossed myself. The corners of his eyes crinkled, a sure sign there was a smile under that mask. He cleared his throat and refocused his attention on the road.
“It was illegal and unhealthy as hell, but more often than not, we ate whatever Mom could scrape off the dishes she bussed after her customers left. We called it Diner Stew. Somedays it was meatloaf-scrambled eggs-chicken-fried steak-vegetable of the day over half-eaten dinner rolls. Somedays, it was best not to try to guess. Just the thought of doing that today makes me want to drink hand sanitizer. But it didn’t kill me.”
This had suddenly become the most personal conversation I’ve had in months, maybe longer. There was a real, hurting little boy inside that big man. A little boy who wanted soothing of his own. It was all I could do not to reach over and squeeze his arm.
I cleared my throat. “Then pick your favorite place. QRK is buying, right? The only thing I’m a snob about is Mexican food. Once you’ve eaten Abuela’s tamales, you’ll never settle for anything less.”
“Is that an invitation to dinner? Because as a bachelor sharing a house with three other guys, none of whom can cook, including yours truly, that pretty much sounds like heaven to me.”
Okay, so not married. “That’s what a girlfriend is for. Or boyfriend. I don’t judge.”
A deep chuckle rumbled out of him. “Me neither, so you don’t have to hide your girlfriend if that’s your jam. But there aren’t any boyfriends in my past, and frankly, not that many girlfriends either. At least not since this pandemic hit. Everyone is kind of treading water, too afraid to go forward and desperate for things to get back to a normal that only exists in their imaginations. Someday, we will all realize that normal is nothing more than a city in Illinois.”
