Margo’s face goes a little red, barely perceptible, but I know every expression on her face like a second language, and I can tell she’s rattled.
But Brad’s dumb, and about as far from empathetic as you can get. He doesn’t notice he’s got Margo squirming, and shows his hand like the greenest cowboy in the west.
“What were you doing hiding out in the parking lot for the last hour, Margie?” Brad says, Cheshire Cat grin so big it makes his face look small. “It’s way too early for your lunch break.”
“What business is it of yours?” I interject, hoping to throw him off a little.
Brad glares at me, taking an inch off his smile. “I just want to know what an employee of the company is doing spending an entire hour sitting in her car. Shopping online? Taking a nap? Sneaking a drink? All of the above, perhaps, and while you’re on the clock? Tsk, tsk. I’m sure Melissa would love to hear all about—”
“Were you spying on me?” Margo says, but under the indignant tone I can hear a bit of shrill desperation.
Brad grins. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“It sounds like you were,” I add. “Which would qualify as harassment.”
“It wasn’t harassment.” He reddens a bit, and his voice gets louder. “I just noticed her hiding in her car when I went to get something from my own car, and then when I went to put it back just now she was still there. Wasting company time.”
Margo hesitates and I decide to end this before it gets even uglier, before the other half of the office starts listening in on Brad’s ridiculous one-man show.
“Look, Brad—I know we have fun when you come to visit us at our desk. Throwing jibes and remarks around like we’re actors in a third-rate Tennessee Williams knock-off, but this is a little too petty—even for you. What’s next? You gonna follow Margo to the bathroom and comment on her hand-washing technique? Gonna get her file from HR and scour her resume for formatting errors?” I give Brad just enough time to struggle for an answer, but not enough to give one. “Here’s what we’ll do—for you, because I kind of feel sorry for you—we’ll let you walk away, forget about it, and start over again when you come back with something else. Just—please—try and make it a little better next time. And not just something that makes you look like a creep.”
This time I let the silence run, Brad filling it with a few ‘you know whats’ and ‘never minds’ until he turns around and stomps off.
Margo sighs deeply when he’s gone and doesn’t even turn to face me.
“Something wrong?” I say, scooting my chair a little towards her.
Finally she turns and as soon as our eyes meet she smiles guiltily. “No. Just embarrassed. And kinda freaked out…”
“About Brad spying on you out in your car?”
“Um. Yeah.”
“Well he is a freak.”
Margo laughs and says, “A freak who wants to get me fired.”
“Pfft. He’s hanging on a thread himself. Have you read his sports columns? They read like a high schooler trying to translate ancient Sumerian. I used to find it funny, now I just get depressed when I accidentally see them.”
Margo sighs and smiles, but I can tell she’s still upset about something.
“Seriously though,” I say, in a tone that gets her attention back, “I was kinda worried. You don’t usually go off like that—for that long. Is everything ok?”
“Yeah…” Margo says distractedly. “I think so. I guess I just zoned out, or…”
There’s a heavy pause, the kind that precedes somebody letting something off their chest, so of course my phone vibrates loudly once again on my desk.
“Fuck,” I say, grabbing the phone and seeing that it’s my dad again.
“Your dad again?”
“Yeah.”
“Answer it!” she says, making a shooing motion with her hand. “You can’t avoid him forever.”
“And hear about how he laid some twenty year old stripper last night in horrifying detail? No thanks.”
Margo tilts her head. “At least he’s trying to reach out. When was the last time you two spoke?”
I look at Margo guiltily, genuinely having forgotten. I don’t even need to say it, and she doesn’t need to hear it. Too long.
I roll my eyes and finally answer my phone. “Hey Dad.”
The voice that greets me is smooth as whiskey, deep and melodic, a voice that seems to have almost hypnotic powers over women. I’m told we sound similar, though I’ve never found the comparison flattering. “Owen! Is that damned phone of yours still broken? I must have called you fifty times, son.”
“Did you? Damn. It’s been sitting in front of me all day and hasn’t rung once.”
I only glance at Margo enough to see that she’s shaking her head at me. I shrug my shoulders and then get up and move to the office window out of earshot.
“I’ll get you a new one, then. You can pick it up when you come by the house. How about this weekend?”
“Dad, I’m kinda busy these days—”
“Bullshit—I’ll get Nancy to order you one through Prime so it’ll already be here when you come over. She knows all about phones and gizmos and such.”
He wants me to ask. It’s part of the routine. Drop the name first, then tell me all about her like they’ve been going out forever. But I’m not in the mood to play the game.
“Is Sunday good for you?” he says. Another part of the routine. Don’t even ask if I can come—just jump straight to the assumption. “Nancy’s thinking of cooking up a leg of lamb. Just let me know if you’re bringing someone. I know half the girls out there these days are gluten-free vegans or whatever.”
“Dad…no day is good right now, actually. I’m totally swamped with work and I’m in the middle of a big—”
“Nonsense! What kind of life are you living that you can’t even spare time for a Sunday dinner with me and Nancy?”
“Dad, listen—”
“You haven’t even met her yet, have you? I just realized, you haven’t even met Nancy yet! God, it really has been awhile. We need to remedy this, son.”
“For Christ’s sake, Dad! Would you just listen?” I let the tension percolate for a second, my dad’s silence agreement enough. “I’m not coming for a Sunday dinner. Look: if you want to see me then let’s meet somewhere for a beer—just you and me. But I’m not—”
“When are you going to meet Nancy then?”
“I don’t need to meet Nancy—”
“Of course you do. She’s—”
“No, Dad, I don’t.” There’s another second of silence, but I can’t hold myself back from putting words to something that’s been a weight on my mind for as long as I can remember. “Nancy is probably going to go the same way as Lisa, and Angelica, and Rosanna—or maybe even she’ll be like Jenni and won’t even be with you by the time I’m supposed to meet her. You’ve been doing this my whole life. I already know how it’s going to end.”
The silence lasts a little too long now, my anger fading into discomfort, then regret.
“Look, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”
“No, no. I get it, Owen.”
“Dad…”