“Make this charming.”
The words come out quieter than I intend.
He goes still.
Not offended.
Listening.
“I’m not trying to make it charming,” he says.
“No?”
“No.” A pause. “Possibly warm. But not charming.”
This time, I do laugh.
Barely.
A cracked little sound that hurts on the way out.
It is gone almost immediately, and the space it leaves behind is worse.
My fingers press into the desk.
“I’m fine.”
He does not answer immediately.
That is his first sensible move.
Eventually he says, “Okay.”
I look at him over my shoulder.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you can get through the next hour.”
That reaches a place in me I’m not ready to name.
I face the desk again.
The honesty of it isunbearable.
I am used to people accepting fine because they need it to be true. I am used to giving them the version of me that lets them move on. It works. It has worked for years.
AJ does not argue with the lie.
He simply stands there and lets us both know it is one.
“I can’t do this in front of them,” I say.
“I know.”
“I mean it. I can’t. They need me steady.”
“They had that.”
