Come On Over

Damian

My lunch hour sped by today while I was stuck on a phone call with a chatty client. Whoever decided “the customer is always right” is an idiot. I can assure you, they are not, as evidenced by the ninety minutes of my life I wasted discussing the health benefits of trans fats and hydrogenated oils. Spoiler alert, there are none. Try telling that to a man determined to market his brand of oil as a health food.

The rest of the day didn’t go any better, and I was disappointed I didn’t get to see if Angel was working today. She hasn’t called yet, so I just hope she’s not avoiding me. My method of letting someone down previously has been to string them along until they give up. I hate confrontation and don’t want to cause professional ripples by upsetting anyone who could impact my work life. For Angel, the options are to tell the truth or avoid me for as long as possible. But I’d rather hear the truth. Perhaps this is some karmic life lesson.

I shut down my computer at 7:00pm, grab my suit jacket and rush out the door. There’s only one way to know what she’s really thinking, and that’s to find her and ask.

The street is busy, but there’s a parking spot available thirty feet from the front door of the restaurant. I’m assuming if she started before the lunch crowd arrived, she should be getting off around now, if she hasn’t already. Not like I’m rushing home to anything; an empty forty-fourth floor condo with nothing but a TV to keep me company. It’s hardly a sacrifice to lean against my car and people watch for a while. Sure, I could go inside to see if she’s there, but I don’t want to eat anything from the Harvest menu. Especially if Angel isn’t there to warn me off of what’s awful.

No more than ten minutes after I arrive, Angel walks around the side of the building. I can’t stop a smile from forming when I spot her. I didn’t think about what I’d say to explain why I’m here, but her facial expression tells me she doesn’t mind.

“Hey.”

“Funny seeing you here, Mr. Taylor. Were you waiting for me?” She raises one eyebrow and scrunches her face. She looks beautiful even with a confused expression after a full workday.

“I was. I missed lunch today.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Her eyebrow raises even higher.

“Not since breakfast. Are you busy?”

She glances down at herself, and even in her stained server’s uniform, I’d be happy to take her out. “I have to get home to take Genie out. She’s been cooped up all day. She’s probably crossing her legs by now.”

I reach into my pocket and grab my keys. “Let me take you. You’ll put her out of her misery faster.”

“Damian.”

The way she says my name makes me forget how to think.

“Are you trying to find out where I live? You already know where my sister lives and where I work. Yet I know nothing about you.” Her tone is serious, but her lips form a smirk.

“Get in and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

The hint of playfulness she displayed a moment ago disappears, leaving her with an expression I can’t read. “One condition.”

“I’m not agreeing until I hear your condition.” I smile at her, trying to bring back playful Angel.

“You let me feed you.”

“Feed me?”

She bites her bottom lip and glances at me from the corner of her eyes as she turns her head away. “You haven’t eaten, and here you wasted however long waiting for me. It’s the least I can do… unless you have something else to get to.”

Her abrupt change in demeanour is surprising because she’s never been anything but confident. I don’t want her to shrink back.

“There’s nowhere else I have or want to be.” I open the passenger door of my SUV and gesture for her to get in. “Show me the way.”

The smile she displays hearing my acceptance makes mine grow exponentially.

We pull up to her condo building and she directs me to a numbered parking spot she swears is hers, but she doesn’t own a car. We enter the red brick building, which is well kept and clean with fake potted plants in three corners of the marble lobby with two elevators in the centre. She presses the button for the third floor and the doors on the left elevator open immediately.

“Are there no stairs?” I’m curious why she’d take the elevator up two stories, but maybe she’s tired from her shift.

“Long story, but the stairwell is closed except for emergencies. There was an issue with people using the stairs to do drugs, leaving their paraphernalia behind. Management decided to shut them down.”

I cringe, hearing her explanation. “Others who live here, or people who snuck in?” The lack of a doorman or security was something I noticed right away.

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “No idea. It’s fine now. At first when it started happening I was”—the elevator dings and opens on the third floor—“worried I’d made a mistake moving here, but it all worked out. This is me.” She gestures at unit 308. “Brace yourself for a wiggle butt.”

I chuckle, but can’t stop myself from glancing down. “Yours or Genie’s?”

She flashes a playful grin back at me as she slides the key in her door. “Not me. I don’t shake my tail for anyone.”

Shame.

The door swings open and sure enough, Genie comes tearing toward us, her paws skittering across the smooth flooring. She jumps up at my legs and Angel scolds her, just as she did the first time.

“I’m so sorry. She never does this to anyone else.”

How could anyone be upset with this face?

“Genie, I’m flattered.” It might seem stupid, but I think dogs are excellent judges of character, so if she approves of me, that feels good.

“Let me take her for a short walk, then I’ll come back to make you something.” Angel’s timid smile makes me want to reach in and pull her confidence back out.

“I’ll come with you. We can even order something. My treat. You had a long day and don’t need to cook.”

“Are you afraid my cooking will taste like the restaurant’s food?” She chuckles.

“Yes.” I join in the laughter, noting how easy it is to say the truth with her. “That, and you must be tired.”

“I’m fine, Damian. This is my everyday routine. Work, walk Genie, make dinner. I’ll just be making extra.”

For the first time since I stepped through her door, I lift my head up to take in her space. All I can see from my spot in the foyer is an open door to an office and a bathroom. Being in her home is surreal and I’m happy she invited me, but I still feel bad she’s going to the trouble of cooking after a long day on her feet.

“Why don’t I take Genie for her walk while you get started on dinner?”

She stares at me, not blinking for several seconds. “No offence, but I don’t know you well enough to trust you with my baby.”

“Offence taken.” I snicker again, and don’t overlook the fact I laugh and smile more in her presence than with anyone else. “Well, let’s get a move on, then. I’m hungry.”

A quick walk around the block has Genie satisfied and me starving. My stomach is grumbling with a ferocity I can’t remember it ever having before.

When we return inside, I get to see most of her space, aside from her bedroom. Just like most condos in the downtown core, it’s tiny, but has all the essentials. Her kitchen is a small U-shape with a stove at the bottom of the U, flanked by a fridge and sink on either of the long sides. The living space is open, and her patio doors look out at a defunct church, which I know now operates as a real estate office and a few other white-collar businesses. When I was a junior executive, I handled their advertising campaign.

Behind her dark grey sofa is an amazing piece of artwork and I stare at it, trying to take in all the layers. As far as abstract art goes, it’s really captivating. It has a signature in the corner that looks like it says Angel, but it’s hard to tell from the tiny, scrolling letters.

“Make yourself at home. What can I get you to drink?” Angel calls from the kitchen.

“Whatever you’re having, thanks.”

“You sure you want my eight-dollar bottle of wine I picked up from the grocery store?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She tilts while standing at the counter. “Really?”

“Why not?” I ask, confused by her surprise.

“How do I say this?” Her eyes flick upwards, and she purses her lips. “You just don’t strike me as the type to drink eight-dollar wine, is all. You seem more like a Château Margaux person.”

“Ouch. Have I given you that impression?”

She blushes, and again I’m surprised by how fleeting her confidence has been tonight. “Kind of. Not that you come off snobby, but you’ve given me the impression you like to have things your way, and that way is usually expensive.”

Her words cut to me like the knife she’s wielding. That’s the complete opposite of how I want people to perceive me. I don’t know how to respond, so I do what I’ve been waiting close to two weeks to do. “I’m sorry about how I came across that day I dropped you by your sister’s. My intentions were good, but I was out of line.”

She continues chopping an onion silently for a moment. “I believe you had good intentions and I’m sorry for getting so angry.”

With that issue settled, not feeling the need to dive into it any deeper, I stand beside a stool on the opposite side of the counter. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Do you want to handle the wine? It’ll take me a few minutes to get to it.”

I walk into her kitchen, and in the small space, I brush up against Angel’s back as I reach for the wine. Her breath catches and I worry she cut herself. “Are you okay?” I ask, not moving from my position behind her.

She nods. “Corkscrew is in that drawer.”

“Angel?”

“Mm?”

I inhale her floral scent, then whisper, “Thank you.”