“It keeps me busy,” I say.
She glances at me without turning her head. “Do you want me to dial some of it back?” she asks. “Some of the casino weight.”
“Why would I want that?” I ask carefully.
“Because I have the room for it,” she says, equally as carefully. “I can absorb more of the work if you need me to.”
“I don’t need you to,” I say, still choosing my words.
“I’m offering,” she says. “Don’t slap my hand away.”
“I’m not slapping your hand away, Cat,” I say. “I just don’t need tooffload anything to you.”
We walk a few steps in quiet. The elevator lobby appears ahead. The same one. My chest does a neat little clench and release that I ignore like it’s a muscle twitch.
I’ve avoided it in the weeks since, but I can’t exactly explain to Caterina why I don’t want to go in there.
Caterina hits the button, and we wait in silence. The doors open with a soft sigh. We step in. My hand moves on its own, pressing the floor for her office. I focus my mind on the conversation again, effectively shutting out the memories of the elevator.
My eyes drift to the floor, and I see Olivia spread out on the new carpet, a feast for my tongue.
The car starts up. My breath stays even.
“Tio Roberto,” Caterina starts. “I want to say something to you, and I’m going to try to say it without sounding like I’m telling you how to do your job.”
“Try,” I say drily.
“You’ve seemed… off,” she says. “For a little while. Not in a major way. In the small way that only someone who loves you would see.”
“Off how?” I ask stiffly.
“See, and now you’re upset,” Caterina says, exasperated. “I’m just trying to be honest.”
The doors open onto the administrative floor. We step out into the quieter carpet, the softer hallway lights, the officeswith their glass fronts and their blinds at varying angles. Caterina doesn’t turn toward her office yet. She takes the long curve past Operations. She’s buying herself time. Or me.
“Define ‘off,’” I say, trying to dial back the sharpness in my voice.
“Distracted,” she says. “Like your mind is somewhere else.”
“I’ve done my job just fine,” I say. this time, my tone bites.
“You haven’t dropped a ball,” she says quickly, like she’s waving a flag. “You haven’t missed a meeting you shouldn’t miss. You haven’t been late. Nothing like that.”
“Has someone complained?” I ask. “If they did, tell me the name and the room. I’ll make it right.”
“No one complained,” she says. “You’re not in trouble. Jesus, Tio.”
“Then what did I do,” I ask, holding onto my patience, “to trip your alarms?”
She sighs. “You do this thing with your face sometimes. You set your jaw, and your eyes go far. I don’t know how to describe it. I just know it.”
I swallow around a laugh that isn’t funny. “That’s specific.”
“I know you,” she says. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know your face.”
We take another turn. Her office is up ahead,door ajar.
“You haven’t done anything unsatisfactory,” she says. She pulls a face at her own formality. “That’s not what I meant.”
