“I’ll have a glass of red wine,” Thomas tells her. Turning to me, he asks, “Unless you’d like to share a bottle?”
My ability to pretend I’m normal ceases to exist when I drink alcohol. I’m not sure Thomas is ready for the real me yet. So, I tell him, “No thanks, I’m good.”
When the waitress walks away, I inadvertently make eye contact with Constance.Shoot.She’s glaring at me like she wants to rip all the hair off my head, one excruciating clump at a time. Forcing myself to turn away, I tell Thomas, “Your boss looks like she’s ready to commit murder.”
“You or me?” he wants to know.
“I think she’ll start with me. But you might be next if you don’t let her have her wicked way with you.”
“Her behavior is very unprofessional,” he grumbles.
I don’t know why, but that comment rubs me the wrong way. “I’m sorry she’s making you uneasy, but you are aware this is how men have treated women in the workplace since women were allowed to work outside of the home.”
Thomas doesn’t look the least bit offended by my comment. In fact, he agrees. “Every one of those men should have been reprimanded or fired, depending on the extent of his behavior.”
My hackles retreat. “That’s a very refreshing attitude.”
“Have you ever been on the receiving end of workplace misconduct?” he wants to know.
“I work for myself so, not really. I’m a pretty great boss.”
“You must have had a boss somewhere along the line …” he prompts.
An irritatingly cocky face pops into my head. “The problem with Dillion wasn’t sexual harassment,” I tell him. “He was intoguys. His problem was that he didn’t like me, and he made sure to let me know it as often as he could.”
“Where did you and Dillion work?” he wants to know.
“At the faculty gym at our university. We handed out locks and towels, did laundry, that kind of thing.”
Thomas gazes into my eyes with laser-like intent. “How did he treat you that made you think he didn’t like you?”
“He used to throw the sweaty towels at me.” I make a face like I’m going to throw up.
Thomas looks appropriately horrified. “Did you ever complain?”
“I complained to him, but that seemed to make things worse.”
“Why didn’t you go to his superior?” he wants to know.
“I would have, but I didn’t know who that was. Don’t worry, though. I got even the day I quit.”
My dinner companion shoots me such an adorably expectant look, I’m tempted to go ahead and crawl onto his lap. “I brought a fudge brownie into work with me,” I tell him. I love this memory so much, I take a deep breath to savor the recollection before sharing, “I rubbed it into a towel and then I screamed and threw it at Dillion. It looked like,you know.” I don’t bother spelling it out because the brain only conjures one thing when it sees ground-in brown stuff on a towel.
Thomas’s face lights up in such a way I can tell he appreciates this story as much as I do. “What did he do?”
“He yelled and threw the towel right back at me. Then he fired me. But I told him it was too late to fire me because I quit. Then I opened the towel and licked the brownie remains. I thought Dillion was going to faint.”
Thomas laughs out loud. “Licking the brownie was very childish.” He says the last like it’s the highest compliment.
“Thank you,” I say proudly.
The waitress drops our drinks. I take the wrapper off my straw before inserting it into the soda at the perfect forty-five-degree angle. Only then do I squeeze in two of the lemon slices before taking a sip.
“Are you ready to order?” she asks.
I get the patty melt and Thomas orders the tacos. “Do you need a second entrée?” Thomas challenges me like he doesn’t believe I’ll get one.
Smiling up at the waitress, I tell her, “I’d like the meatloaf, too, please. What does that come with?”
