53. Ana
CHAPTER 53
ANA
W hen we arrive back at the townhouse, Marissa comes out to meet us. She hugs Stella and tells her she has a bed ready for her and Jessie.
While we were on the road, I heard from Marissa that she got in touch with Callie, who was more than happy for Stella and Jessie to move into her seldom-used bedroom.
Jessie is still sound asleep in her carseat.
“I used to be able to carry her in without waking her, but she’s gotten too big,” Stella tells us.
“I can get her … if that’s okay?” Derek asks. He followed us all the way to my place, and he and Jansen have been standing by, ready to carry in what little luggage Stella has.
I’m not prepared for what seeing him with a child in his arms does to me. It’s as if my ovaries have turned into birds, flapping their wings as they try to take flight.
The image of this stern, powerful man cradling a soft, sleeping child in his arms is completely incongruent and yet somehow also perfectly right.
All of us go inside to get Jessie settled, then leave Stella alone with her to tuck her in.
“Thank you for your help,” I tell Derek and Jansen when we’re back in the living room.
“We’ll send some food over tomorrow morning,” Derek says, “and you can take Stella and her daughter to the store and shop under our account. Get them what they need.”
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I have money saved.”
Derek cocks his head at me. “Don’t be stubborn, Ana. Just accept the help.”
“You’re calling me stubborn?” I was feeling tired, but I’m quickly rousing.
“Just let us help you,” Jansen says, but Derek puts a hand on his arm, as if to stop him.
“We’ll let you all get some rest. We’ll talk soon.” Then Derek leans down and gently presses his lips to my forehead.
As I’m still reeling from that, Jansen takes my hand and gives it a soft squeeze. “Goodnight, Ana.”
Despite my long and stressful day, it takes quite a while for me to fall asleep.
In the morning, before Marissa leaves for work, and before Jessie’s even awake, a food delivery arrives from a local grocery store. Among other things, there’s milk, three types of boxed cereal, chicken nuggets, and ingredients to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
They clearly ordered items they thought Jessie would like, and it warms my heart. These men, who didn’t seem to know how to interact with pets, appear to have a soft spot for children.
When I send a text to thank them, they respond with information on a department store account, so that I can take Stella and Jessie shopping for clothing and whatever else they need.
I reply to tell them they don’t need to do that, and my phone rings a moment later with a call from Derek.
“We do need to do this. We have a lot of making up to do, but our fuckups aside, we would do this anyway. Stella shouldn’t have to struggle, and since you don’t currently have a job, you shouldn’t be spending your money either.”
Then Jansen’s voice is on the line. “Come back to work with us, Ana.”
Is that what he’s concerned about? Me working for their company? “I can’t. I need to go. Jessie’s waking up. Thanks again for your help and your generosity.”
“We’ll talk to you again soon, Ana.”
And they do. As the days go by, and we get Stella and Jessie settled in, Derek and Jansen check in daily, usually with just a text message.
They ask if Stella will be looking for work, and offer to hire her either at the corporate office or at the nearest coffee shop, with hours that will be flexible to work with Jessie’s school schedule.
“I’m not sure yet what her plans are for that, but I’ll let her know. Thank you.”
“No rush,” Derek writes. “I know they need time to adjust.”
I continue to be touched by their concern and kindness, but I have trouble matching these actions with them firing Owen and telling me what to do.
Without any prompting from me, they broach the subject of Owen the next time they call. Jansen tells me, “We met with Owen today. I apologized, and we gave him a pay raise to keep him on staff.”
“That’s good to hear.”
There’s a pause, and then in a more solemn tone, Jansen asks, “Do you want to date him, Ana?”
“No.”
On the other end of the line, there’s a sigh—of relief?—and then a muttered, “Good.”
“I’m glad you did the right thing, but I’m not coming back to work for you. I will help you search for a replacement, if you want.”
“We’re not worried about finding a new HR manager. It’s you we can’t replace.”
I don’t know how to respond, and these words are still ringing in my head when I notice the box of items I brought home from Community Bean on my last day there. Among my potted plants and dolphin figurines, there’s the mystery gift box I received and never opened, since all hell broke loose before I had a chance.
I slide my finger under the tape that holds the side of the gift box closed. It’s definitely not a figurine, because, along with the shape, the weight of the box is also different from the others.
There’s tissue paper inside, and beneath that, white fabric. It’s a … t-shirt? I unfold the cotton to reveal a design on the front titled, “Coffee.” Beneath it are rows and columns of little drink illustrations, including latte, cappuccino, macchiato, and a few I’ve never heard of before.
Instantly, I’m back on Derek’s couch, expecting him to put a movie on, and instead being treated to a video about these same drinks—a video I never really watched because I had better things to do at the time.
No one else would have given me this shirt except Derek and Jansen. And if they gave me this shirt in this white box, left in the same spot on my desk as the other gifts …
I reach down into the hastily packed box of my office belongings and find the first dolphin I received, the porcelain figure with gold accents.
I don’t recall ever talking to either of them about my dolphin collection. Were they observant enough to notice and select such personal gifts? It shifts so much of what I’ve thought of them and our so-called relationship.
You don’t send thoughtful, meaningful gifts like this to someone you’re just casually hooking up with. If they felt the need to send gifts because we were having sex, flowers and chocolates would be the typical go-to items.
The dolphins imply a level of caring that I never imagined was there, at least not so early on, and it makes me look at everything through a different lens.
“What’re you doing?” It’s Marissa at my door, giving me a tentative smile. Among all the new activity in our lives, I’ve only told her the basics of what happened between me and my bosses.
“I’m just—” I hold up the coffee shirt, as if it’s any kind of explanation, and then I burst into tears.