It’s Going to be Awkward
NATHAN
My lunch meeting with Corin—okay, call it a ‘date’—immediately starts off on the wrong foot.
I’m not a man who likes to decide what other people will eat and order for them. Let them pick what they want and, preferably, speak up for themselves, though I’ll take them picking and telling me and then having me actually give the order as a baseline. That way, if they don’t like what they get, it’s their own fault. I’m happy to advise on options, so long as no one expects me to make the final call for them.
Same deal with gifts. I’m the kind of person for whom birthday wish lists, wedding registries, and gift cards were invented—they make it easy to buy for the hordes of family and friends who seem to think that gifting is simple.
Don’t ask me to make these kind of little-decisions-that-aren’t-really-so-little-after-all because, get them wrong, and people sulk or pout or all manner of unpleasant things that could have been avoided if they’d bought what they wanted in the first place instead of expecting me to guess.
When I give a gift, I want it to show that I care, that I know them, that I’ve not just heard butlistenedwhen they expressed preferences for colors, fabrics, ideas.
Sending Johanna roses after Max’s memorial was easy. They’d handed me all the info I needed, telling me that he loved red and she pink, and he ordered her a dozen every now and then, and especially before the start of any heat, as a reminder of their love. Adding white to represent myself also ranked as easy, not because I love white roses—I don’t have any strong feelings about roses either way, love or hate—but to demonstrate that I don’t seek to replace Max.
The book, now—thattook time and effort, remembering the kinds of words and phrases that meant something to me in the wake of my loss. I’d teeter-tottered back and forth over whether to write it and whether to send it once I had and, in the end, lost my guts just enough that to make the whole thing anonymous as a hedge in case she hated it.
None of which Corin knows, except the sending flowers and book of grief quotes anonymously.
He doesn’t know me. That’s the whole point.
Therefore, it isn’t fair of me to hold a grudge against him for asking me to bring food for the one-on-one lunch we’ll share while Dan, the lucky coin toss winner, spends time with Johanna.
I resent Corin anyway. He doesn’t know me, but I also don’t knowhim, and ordering food for someone I’m mostly unfamiliar with ranks up there as one of the most irritating tortures ever invented.
Under the pressure, I broke down and texted him this morning asking what he likes.
He had the gall to reply that, although Johanna doesn’t eat flesh, he’s fine with most food and isn’t picky. Right. Most picky people don’tthinkthey are. That wasn’t much help.
His nose wrinkles when I walk into his office carrying a sack from my favorite restaurant: one container of pad Thai and one of pad khi mao—aka drunken noodles—in case he doesn’t like nuts and forgot to tell me.
Corin stands as I walk in. “Nice to see you.” He’s got the usual CEO accoutrements: big L-shaped computer desk with multiple monitors on the shorter side; big comfy chair for him, and not-quite-as-big-but-still-comfy chairs on the guest side; a round table surrounded by four armchairs over to one side for more casual discussions; soft carpet and ample padding underfoot.
Artwork decorates the walls, though, upon closer inspection, it turns out to be mostly photos of his family or firm employees gathered to celebrate one occasion or another. A nice touch, that, and in keeping with the general ambiance of the place: focused, yet casual.
Corin himself is more on the casual side today: no tie, and though he’s still in slacks, shirt, and jacket, they’re all a step or two down from the bespoke suit he wore yesterday.
I paired a different navy suit with a gray tie bearing a pattern of kittens chasing each other’s tails, which makes me the more formally dressed, no matter that the tie is loosely looped around my neck due to my habit of yanking on it when I’m out of sorts.
The room reeks of apple cider. If I hadn’t known it was his office, I’d have guessed from that alone. No hint of cedar, though I can’t tell if that’s good or bad, because I still can’t figure out his weird back-and-forth scent.
At least cider mixes okay with food.
The tip of his nose twitches again. “Thanks for bringing lunch. Smells good.”
A polite, empty compliment. He still could have spared me the stress of fretting over what to order by offering a few more words of guidance. Even as little as a protein preference would’ve been nice.
Especially since, when I set out the containers, he waves at me to pick.
Maybe he’s a casual man at heart, but he’s also a CEO, and I don’t know a single executive who isn’t a control freak in some way or other. They’re often the worst kind of clients, and I tend to groan when they appear on my meeting calendar. I can be optimistic, but I tend not to apply that to work situations. Better to prepare for the worst.
So Corin could either be the type of CEO who wants to make all the decisions, or the type who paints the big picture and makes others work out the details so he can critique them.
Or maybe, just maybe, he’s the rare sort who understands collaboration, cooperation, and sharing decision-making to play to everyone’s strength. He took the lead yesterday, but acknowledged good ideas from other sources.
I take a seat, though he hasn’t actually invited me to do so, and wait for him to choose.
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there. I can practically smell the steam pouring from your ears.” He grabs a container and fork. Real steam emerges as he opens the top and he digs into the pad Thai with a grin that doesn’t match the calculation in his eyes. After the first bite, he lifts the fork in a toast to me with a cheery “Good choice.”
