“I’m fairly certain, I’m the only person you know. Period. Now spill it, Flowers.”
I wasn’t going to say it. What Kenny said.
“You know, you talk about your boss so much, maybe you should date him.”
Kenny had said it was a joke, but of course I got defensive.
It was a ridiculous statement and didn’t deserve repeating. But it got into my head because it made me wonder how I sounded when I talked about E.G.
My childhood was extremely normal in many ways people wouldn’t consider, being a product of a foster home. I was housed, fed, schooled. I had friends and jobs. Goals and aspirations. I didn’t date, not because it was forbidden or anything like that. Hookups and relationships happened all the time in the home.
I didn’t date because personal connections were difficult.
My childhood was as abnormal as it was normal, because I didn’t love anyone.
“Is this normal?” I asked him, pointing my finger back and forth between us. “I mean, this is a normal working relationship, right? Because this is also my first serious job, and maybe, I don’t know, I’m doing this wrong.”
“Doing what wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I said, throwing my hands up. “Caring too much about my job?”
“You’re not doing it wrong, Flowers,” he said, as if I’d insulted him. “You’re a competent assistant. You work for a demanding sonofabitch and you do it effortlessly. If Kenny couldn’t handle you being focused on your work, then he wasn’t a serious person and you should always avoid non-serious people. What does he do for a living?”
I thought back to what he told me. “He works for a landscaper part-time, but he’s trying to get his band off the ground. He’s a bass player.”
“A band.” The word dripped out of his mouth. “The epitome of non-serious. You didn’t do anything wrong on your date. There is nothing abnormal about what you do here. If he made you feel insecure about either, he’s an ass.”
“I appreciate that. Especially the part about being competent.”
“Fishing for compliments, Flowers?” he chided me.
Which made me laugh. E.G. didn’t do effusiveness or compliments. Besides, I didn’t need someone to tell me how I was doing. “No. I think I’m good at this.”
“Oh my God, you are so needy,” he groaned, then turned back to his monitors. “I’ve heard this about your generation.”
“Slow your roll, Grandpa. I’m not needy. But I do think I can do more.”
That caught his attention. “More?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m limited,” I confessed. “Because I didn’t go to college, that is. If you need me to learn something or do something you think might be out of my reach-”
“Why would I give you something I know is out of your reach?”
“That’s my point. I can at least try. For the unreachable…thing.”
His expression turned suspicious. “We went from talking about your awful date to you wanting more responsibility. Why do I feel like this has been a trap all along?”
“I’m not saying I want or need more,” I told him. I didn’t know exactly where these feelings were coming from. Just some sense that if I was going to go all in, I should goallin. “I don’t want you to think I turned into one of those candidates who wanted to use you to teach them things or get to the next level. Nothing like that. I guess I’m saying I want you to know how important this job is to me. If you need me to push myself, I can. If you need me to be something besides the person who gets your coffee and manages your schedule…I can do that. I can at least try to do that.”
“Remind me how old you are again,” he said.
I winced. “Why does that matter?”
“It does. Tell me.”
“Twenty-three as of last Wednesday. But I’m not young in here,” I said, putting a fist on my chest. Then I realized how cheesy that must have looked and sounded and put my hand down at my side. “What I mean is…”
“I know what you mean.”
