“Scottie,” Ellison says, grabbing my attention. “May I please speak with you in private?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up as I feel Ellison’s gaze zero in on me. She, uh, she wants to see me in private?
Well, that’s unsettling, because this can go two ways.
One: she can see right through my lies like the hawk that she is.
Or two: she’s about to lay down an apology tour for the adolescent behavior of my coworkers.
One will terrify me. Two…now two I could get on board with.
Two could possibly lead to a long road of HR meetings for Chad, which I should probably feel bad about, but I absolutely do not. He tried to fight with fire, and he’s about to get burned.
“See me out in the hallway?” I clear my throat. “Of course.”
Ellison stands and gestures to the door. I stand as well, gathering my items and hoping this creates a half day for me, because I have a half tub of cookie dough in my fridge and the rest of the Menendez brothers documentary to consume, and itwould be amazing if this guaranteed me some more time to rot on my couch.
As I walk past Chad, I have the distinct urge to stick my tongue out at him but realize just how immature that would be. Let’s keep the childish games to Chad and lead with respect and dignity just in case this doesn’t go my way.
When I exit the conference room, Ellison pulls me off to the side and presses her hand to my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry to hear about you and your husband.”
Whew, bullet averted. I’m here to file all of the reports. HR, here I come.
I nod solemnly. “Thank you. It’s been tough, but, you know, we’re trying.”
“That’s commendable. It can’t be easy working in an environment where everyone is happily married.”
“It’s had its strains,” I admit, because that is the truth.
“Well, I am proud to say with confidence why everyone is so happily married here.”
Huh?
I look up at her as she continues, “My husband is Sanders Martin.”
Err, am I supposed to know who the hell that is?
“Word on the street is, he’s the most prestigious marriage counselor in the Northeast, and he has made it his mission to work with all the people in the office who are willing and ready.” She squeezes my arm and says, “And please know, I’ve received consent to discuss because everyone has been so happy.”
Uh-oh.
I fear that I know where this is going.
“Oh, that’s really cool,” I say, wanting to slowly back into a bush, maybe go watch an after-school special about lying and why it’s a bad thing.
“I would really love for you to talk with him; I know he can help.”
And there it is, my grave, the one I’ve been digging this entire time, just waiting for me to rest in it.
“And I know this is coming out of the blue, and I don’t want to pressure you, but I can sense that you’re trying to reconcile. Am I wrong about that? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”
Uh, yeah, Ellison, you should mind your own business.You should be leading a company meeting right now, not trying to help me with my fake marriage woes.
But alas, it’s not like I can say that to her.
“I can sense that you’re not comfortable talking about it,” she says. “That’s okay?—”
