Mallory’s voice trickles in through the door I left cracked open for that sole purpose. Having her out there is a godsend professionally. Sometimes I sit at my desk and listen to her make phone calls, take care of issues, deny people entry to my office in awe. Linda was good. Mallory is great.
If that’s all it is, I’d be fine. But it’s not. I know it and I can’t fix it and it drives me absolutely mad.
Hearing her a few feet away does the same thing for me that watching Vanessa teach Philosophy did in college. There’s nothing sexier than a woman with a brain, but it’s more. It’s an unraveling of my wits, a chipping away at my concentration, a veering into the dark, unchartered waters of a place in my life I’m not ready to go.
I wasn’t ready with Vanessa. I had so much to do, so many balls to juggle, but I tried. As they fell to the ground and shattered, I knew things would never look the same to me again. I’d lose the ability to see things through rose-colored glasses. My naiveté was stripped the day her truths were told.
As I sit, one leg resting on the knee of the other and feeling the warm sunlight shine on my face, I listen to Mallory and feel my walls crumble. They aren’t barriers to keep people out; I’ve let many women inside over the years, just in carefully timed, preconceived ways.
I couldn’t do that with Vanessa. It was all or nothing, just like I fear it would be with Mallory. The loss of complete control, and I can never do “all” again.
“Graham?” A knock at the door raps through the room and I glance that way. Mallory is standing there, her head resting on the doorframe, a soft smile touching her lips. “It’s five. I’m going to head out.”
“Come in here for a second.” I sit up and watch her move across my office, a feeling of warmth drifting through my core that unsettles me. “Besides your little outburst, I’m really proud of how you did today with my father and Ford. You made me look good.”
Her cheeks flush. “I just made sure all of your ideas and plans were in line. Today was all about you.” She sits on the edge of the chair across from me.
“Today was about Ford.”
“You should celebrate. Maybe with pancakes.”
“You didn’t bring me any or I would.”
“I didn’t have time,” she scoffs. “I’m not a super morning person, even though today was actually decent.”
“I love mornings. Every day is a fresh start.”
She shrugs. “I guess I’ve not always had a lot to look forward to.”
“I’d venture to say,” I tell her, leaning against my desk, “that you have a lot to look forward to. Your whole life is in front of you.”
“True.” She says it, but she doesn’t believe it.
“Yes, it’s true,” I insist. “You can get up every day and decide what you are going to accomplish, what goals you’re going to work towards. Think about that. Every morning is an opportunity to change what you aren’t happy with.”
“My head hurts,” she laughs. “Today was a long one.”
“You have yoga tonight. Is that right?”
She nods. “I do. I need it. I’m teaching an all-girls class. But if you want to come, I’ll make an exception.”
“No yoga for me,” I grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car. I know how much you hate being late.”
I gather my things, listening to her ramble about essential oils and yoga, and we walk to the elevator. I don’t listen to the words, just hear the delight in her voice. This is what I’ve found myself craving, more than anything else, late at night when I’m home alone.
The elevator is packed. We squeeze in and ride to the executive parking floor. When we exit, it’s empty.
Her shoes tap against the concrete as we make our way to a small, four-door, red compact car.
“This is it,” she says, unlocking it with a key. “Yeah, I know,” she sighs.
“I didn’t even know car doors could be opened with keys anymore.”
“This one can,” she laughs. “I had a newer car with Eric, but I couldn’t afford the payments so I left it with him. This beauty gets me where I’m going.”
“Does she?” I give the vehicle a quick once-over as discreetly as I can. It’s probably more than ten years old and looks like something a greasy-haired used car salesman would sell you, only to have it break down a week later. “How long have you had this?”
“A couple of weeks. It’s fine. Not fancy, but good.” She looks at the floor and I realize she’s embarrassed.
“Hey,” I say, lifting her chin so she’s looking at me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Get that look on your face.”
“Don’t feel pity for me,” she says, brushing my hand away. “I’m driving this hunk of metal because I choose to. That alone, that I made the choice to do this, means a lot to me.”
I look at her in disbelief. How many people do what she did? Realize they deserve more and leave behind everything they have for a life that’s harder, at least materially?
“I respect that,” I say, my tone somber.
“Yeah, well, I’ll remember how respectable it is when I’m trying to figure out how to add windshield wiper fluid.”
Tossing her bag in her car, I hear a crunch. There are a host of take-out bags and Styrofoam cups littering her passenger seat and floorboard.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” she giggles.
“I know what you’re getting as a Christmas bonus.”
“What’s that?”
“Your fucking car cleaned. Just . . .” I can’t take it. Stalking back to the elevator, I grab the plastic garbage can and haul it across the parking lot. It squeals as the bottom rips along the pavement.
“Graham!” she shouts over the ruckus. “What are you doing?”
Shaking my head, I nudge her out of the way. “My God, Mallory,” I groan. Bag after bag, cup after cup, napkin after pieces of plastic that are semi-damp, get swiped up and dumped into the can behind me.
I’m leaned across her console, the crunch of the debris muddling the sound of her objections. The carpet is a mess and there’s a weird smell that reminds me of bacon, but at least you can see the carpet now.
Making a face, I climb out of the driver’s seat and dispose of the last items in my hands. “That is a fucking disaster. Park in the front tomorrow morning and I’ll have someone shampoo it out.”
“You will not!”
“Oh, I will. I’ll consider it a gift to humanity.”
“You’re such an ass,” she says, smacking my chest. I catch her hand and pull her to me. It’s automatic, such a natural move that it catches us both off-guard. “There are probably cameras out here, Mr. Landry.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That means I know that look in your eye.”
“You’re safe,” I sigh. “I can’t throw you on the console of your car. I’m afraid your face would get stuck in syrup or something.”
She rolls her eyes and climbs inside. “I’m going to be late to class. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I close the door behind her and step away so she can pull out. She gives me a little wave and a beep of the horn as she drives, entirely too fast, out of the garage.