The Kids Aren’t Alright

Sophie

Work life has been miserable for the past few days. More than normal. It’s reached a point where even Andy is begging me to apply at different places and bring him along. The level of tension surrounding my office in particular is palpable. Like an invisible toxin surrounding you, but you won’t escape before it’s too late. My office is Chernobyl. It’s draining the life out of me, and learning that the toxicity is affecting Andy added a new stress to the dynamic.

So when I had the option to eat in the office or take a drive to clear my head, I chose the drive. I found myself driving to Just Add Coffee as if on autopilot, but beyond that, I don’t know why I’m here.

Andy’s words keep replaying in my head, that I should ask Boyd out. That can’t happen, though. Especially not after he declared war with my father. With Boyd across from me, nausea swirls in my stomach. Again, I don’t know if that’s because I’m anxious about what lengths Henry will go to in order to destroy Boyd’s professional life, or if it’s because I’ve realized he’s the first person Andy has suggested I date, and I didn’t hate the idea of it.

That’s some sort of cruel cosmic joke.

“I guess I just wanted to warn you. If you’re on Henry’s radar, he won’t stop until he wins. And he’s the only one who knows the rules of the game.” Somehow, I feel responsible for Boyd being in this position.

“It’s fine, Sophie.”

His blasé attitude is shocking. It’s like he learned nothing in his years of schooling. At least, not about the real world. Textbooks and essays don’t cover vindictive businessmen with fragile egos.

“It’s not fine, Boyd. Not even a little. Confronting him could derail your career before it even gets started. You have no idea how—”

He cuts me off by placing his hand overtop of mine. The weight of it feels oddly comforting, and his skin radiates a heat that travels through my hand, up my arm, and across my chest. He doesn’t look away when I make eye contact. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I can handle it. I know he’s your father, so I mean no offence, but I’m not bothered by men like him. Trust me, my mother is a much tougher adversary.”

Why am I worried? Why do I even care? It’s not like he’s a lifelong friend or someone I have a vested interest in. He’s the man who makes me coffee on occasion and inadvertently became a rival for my job. But he’s not a threat to my position now. I should just wash my hands of him and carry on with my life. It’s easier that way. A clean break and a renewed focus on my work.

So why can’t I just feed him to the wolves and walk away?

Because I’m so used to dealing with men who view me as a commodity, it’s nice to be treated like a person for once. One with skills and value and feelings. Except, Boyd Edwards can never be anything more than my favourite barista.

“I don’t want your hard work to be for nothing.”

He leans back in his seat, removing his hand from mine. My eyes track his hand as it retreats and mine is cloaked in a chilliness that makes me miss his touch.

“You don’t need to worry about me. By June, the whole thing will blow over. He’ll have a new victim to pick on by then. That’s how people like him work.”

I take a sip of my coffee, which is now a reasonable temperature, and allow the warm liquid to soothe my throat. Boyd gives me a satisfied nod when I look up from my cup. His naivety would be endearing if I wasn’t so concerned about his future.

“You’re underestimating him. He’s perfectly capable of picking a new victim and still keeping his old ones.”

Boyd leans forward, close enough to whisper across the table, “I’m not afraid of Henry McNamara.”

My evening is occupied by dinner with Celeste, where I speak little of my day at work, and don’t mention seeing Boyd. I’m still mortified she went to speak with him, but I can’t be mad at her.

My thoughts drift off during dinner, realizing Boyd has now met all of the most important people in my life, short of my grandparents.

“That young man is quite a looker. He seems like such a nice fella, too.” Celeste winks at me, making me pause to question if I said my thoughts out loud.

I’m sure I didn’t. I glance down at Wilson to avoid direct eye contact with the woman can read my mind, apparently. He’s curled up at my feet, doubling as a foot warmer and a grounding object. I focus on how he feels against my aching toes, and the comfort he gives without even trying. I wiggle my toes to give him a little tummy tickle. Then I take a deep breath to acknowledge Celeste’s observation. “He is nice. And, I’ll admit, he’s not bad to look at.”

“He makes a great cup of tea, too,” Celeste adds with wide, smiling eyes.

“His coffee skills are beyond reproach. I’ve never had tea there, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, feel free to invite him over. That boy can make me tea any time. If you know what I mean.” She winks again before abruptly standing to clear our dishes.

No, I don’t know what she means. Is “make me tea” a euphemism the elderly are using these days? Did she learn about this on Jeopardy!? I’m afraid to ask. But she’s rushed off to the kitchen and dropped our dishes in the sink. Wilson is hot on her tail, leaving my feet cold and questions unanswered.

No answers come to light between the end of our meal and when I prepare to leave. I give Celeste a hug and make my exit, confused by these flip-flopping feelings. Like why I’ve spent my life catering to my father’s every whim, and now I want to defy him.

Wilson still needs a walk, so, when we return home, I trade my skirt suit for joggers and my heels for sneakers, then we set off down a walkway through Craigleigh Gardens.

Midway through one of my favourite tunes, my music pauses for a phone call. I glance down at the screen, but the annoyance I felt over the interruption quickly disappears.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hello, gorgeous,” Ashlyn says in a deep voice. Her goofiness draws a laugh out of me that feels good to release.

“How did your competition go?”

“Meh. Eighth place. I need to work on handstand push-ups, but I killed DT.”

I rack my brain for any mention of what DT is, but come up short. “Speak English for me. What’s DT?”

“Deadlifts, hang power cleans, and push jerks.”

I could go for some jerk pushing right about now. “Gotcha. Eighth is still amazing for your first competition. So you’re back in town?”

“Yeah. Jim and I got back last night, but I didn’t get a chance to call. I was exhausted and had to work today.”

Wilson and I approach the off-leash dog area, so I decide I’ll let him go in there and tire himself out so I can talk to Ashlyn uninterrupted. Win-win.

“Don’t worry about it. The past few days have been crazy for me, too.”

“Did the barista ever call you?”

The mention of Boyd brings all the uncertainty and embarrassment I’ve felt in his presence back to the surface. “No, he hasn’t. But I’m not impressed you left him my number.”

Ashlyn laughs, but stops abruptly. “Wait. If he hasn’t called, how did you know I left your number?”

Oops.

“I’ve seen him a few times. He just hasn’t called. One of those encounters, he said he wanted to call you and he was happy you left him your number. Imagine my surprise when he showed me a photo of a coffee cup with your handwriting and my number. If you had any thoughts that he was interested in me, you were mistaken.”

I find a large stick along the perimeter of the park and get Wilson’s attention with it. Then I do my best to toss it, but I’m so terrible at throwing, he arrives to the stick’s destination before it does, snatches it out of mid-air, then flops on the ground to chew it.

“Lies. I saw the way you two looked at each other. And he seemed to like your slobbery beast, so that’s got to count for something.”

“You and my father are the only two people on Earth who don’t like Wilson. That’s not a selling point.” I pat my thigh, trying to get Wilson to return the stick, but he’s determined to demolish it.

“Please don’t group me in any category with that man. I beg you. How is the ol’ Scrooge, anyway?”

“Worse than ever.” The words spill out automatically, but I wasn’t planning to say them. My brain took over to share the words I needed to disclose to my best friend.

“What’s he done now?”

“Besides telling me I need to unbutton my blouse to win over clients, he said the only reason he hasn’t married me off is so I appear ‘available’.”

Ashlyn sucks in a sharp breath. “Please, can you leave that place now? He’s an abusive megalomaniac. Enough is enough. I hate seeing you waste your life there.”

The same sense of despair I was feeling at Celeste’s falls over me like a weighted cloak again. “He’s not always abus—”

“A relationship that is ninety-eight percent fine and two percent abusive is still abusive. And I know he’s more than two percent. Don’t do this to yourself. It will never be worth it.”

Wilson walks up beside me, carrying his mangled stick, and sits at my feet. He’s either bored of being the lone dog in the park, or he notices I could use some emotional support. I lean down to scratch the top of his head and thank him for his thoughtfulness.

“If I don’t have that, I don’t know who I am anymore.”