“That’s okay. No need to get up. The logistical side of things is where I come in.”
“I don’t want to seem irresponsible by having someone communicate on my behalf.”
“It won’t be like that. In my position, I’m authorized to notify employers in cases like this. I can draft a formal letter that states you’re receiving confidential services due to personal safety concerns, and you’ll need a temporary leave of absence to address those matters. You can tell me where to send it, or I can give it to you to forward. No pressure. Just throwing it out there.”
“I have a remote job as a marketing manager. It’s low-key, and not labor intensive, so I shouldn’t need too much time off.”
“You cool if I offer a suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“I think you owe yourself at least a week. I know it feels indulgent, but I promise it’s not. You’re healing. Let the work sit. It’ll still be there when you’re back.”
“You’re good at this,” he said, taking a bite of his egg.
“Eh, I’m only passable in the kitchen, but I’ll accept the compliment, especially coming from someone who took culinary arts,” I said, hoping to get him to smile again, pleased when he huffed an amused breath. “Wait. You meant how skilled I am at unsolicited pep talks, didn’t you?”
“Given that you did, in fact, expressly request permission to offer a recommendation, I’m afraid I cannot, in good conscience, evaluate your unsolicited advice credentials.”
“Shame. I had grand ambitions, plans to launch an entire social media empire called ‘Unsolicited Life Advice with Luke Skylar Walker.’ My slogan would be ‘May Emotional Support Be With You Always.’ You were my beta audience.”
“If you’re posting on social media, isn’t the unsolicited part a bit redundant? Like saying ATM machine.”
“Valid point. Go figure the marketing manager would be the one to spot the fatal flaw in my branding strategy. Guess you’ll have to be in charge of the rebrand.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me, challenging. I liked seeing that expression on him. It told me he hadn’t been lost to his trauma, even if he didn’t recognize that fact right now.
“Didn’t you just finish telling me I should take the week off?”
“I most certainly did, and I don’t recall hearing your answer.”
“I’ll take the week.”
“Good, I’ll have the letter ready this afternoon. Let me know how you’d like to handle the delivery. We got email, or printed copy via fax—from you, or even a trained carrier pigeon.”
“Do you have one of those?”
“A carrier pigeon? Not yet. Though I’m confident I could hire one with the right credentials and a competitive benefits package if you preferred that method.”
Oliver bit back another smile. “Standard email method of delivery should be fine I think.”
“Done, but if you change your mind, say the word.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, it’s what I’m here for.”
We made it through breakfast in companionable quiet. He finished one whole egg, a part of the other, most of the toast, and all of the coffee. Victory, if you asked me.
“I can take your plate,” I offered, half rising.
“I got it,” he said, gathering our plates. He moved slowly, as if wading through molasses, but I didn’t step in. Sometimes dignity lived in the doing.
“Can I ask you a question now?” he said when he returned to the couch.
“Absolutely! By the sacred rules of the Housemate Agreement established in the year of now and open to renegotiation, new residents are not only allowed but encouraged to ask anything. Deep questions, ridiculous ones, whatever. It’s all part of making sure we line up on the personality, values, and overall universal weirdness scale.”
“Well, my question doesn’t reveal much weirdness, but I think I’m morally obligated to ask how old you are.”
