Chapter 20 #2
Zelda allowed me to hold her hand as we rode the elevator to the street level and settled into the car I'd ordered.
She positioned herself in the middle of the bench seat knowing she'd be pressed up against me which was the equivalent of her lowering the drawbridge and allowing me back into her good graces.
Neither of us spoke as the car inched through traffic in the Theater District and Chinatown.
I didn't know whether we both tended toward this independently or it was a product of our relationship but there were often times when we didn't need to speak.
Sometimes it was pensive, like tonight, and the silence settled around us like heavy woolen cloaks while we worked out our problems within ourselves and the worlds we knew.
Other times it was a quiet that required no words because we'd replaced them with touch and the cellular connection we'd formed.
Then there were the golden moments, the ones we often shared at work when we understood and anticipated each other without any form of language.
It was like synchronized swimming or a perfectly executed pass run.
This silence tested my limits. More than once, I nearly blurted out, "Promise me you're not actually quitting."
By force of will alone, I survived the ride without doing that but only because her coming along and all but snuggling up beside me seemed like positive signs.
When we climbed out of the car, Zelda said, "This is a diner." She stared up at the authentically retro South Street Diner. "You actually meant…pancakes?"
"Yes." I reached for her hand again. "You said you love blueberry pancakes and cheesy omelets and crispy bacon but you never have time to make that and—and I've fucked up everything so you have to let me give you the things you love."
She shot a longing look at the diner's shiny aluminum trim and the giant coffee cup perched on the roof. "What I have to do is require you to fight fair," she said. "Pancakes can't change that limit."
"They can't," I agreed. "Let's get a table. I want to talk through this and I want to hear your plan to staff up Dad's office."
After a pause that lived in my chest for an eternity, she asked, "These are good pancakes?"
"Excellent," I replied.
She folded her arms over her chest and scowled like she was posing for a reality cooking competition. "I'll be the judge of that."
And now my heart was able to beat semi-normally again.
We stepped into the diner and I steered Zelda toward a booth in the corner. If nothing else, this location offered a great vantage point for prime people watching. If I fucked this up any further, we had a city full of people to stare at instead of each other.
Zelda plucked a menu from the metal holder near the window. She read each item listed as if she was studying up for an exam and ignoring my entire existence in the process.
I probably deserved that.
No, I definitely deserved it.
I didn't know why I had to be an asshole all the time.
Once again, no. That wasn't true. I was an asshole because I couldn't cope with anyone taking control away from me. But I wasn't on a maniacal power trip. That wasn't it at all.
I didn't like offloading responsibilities on anyone and more often than not, I was the one collecting responsibilities from them.
It used to be sheepdogging my siblings, now it was sheepdogging Dad and his clients.
And I didn't trust anyone else with these tasks because I was the only one who'd care about my family the way I did.
Even when I was at war with my father, even when Lin and Magnolia didn't need me herding them anymore.
I was an asshole because no one could care about these people the way I did.
Except for Zelda.
Maybe. Possibly.
Probably.
I'd meant to open with this admission but she beat me to it, saying, "There are zero circumstances in which you are allowed to use the things you deem weaknesses as leverage against me in a disagreement. You've done it twice and I'm telling you there won't be a third time."
"I know. I should've—"
She held up a hand, tipped her head to the side, closed her eyes. "I'm not finished."
I slumped back against the booth. "I'm sorry."
She laced her fingers together on the table. "If you actually think I am incapable of doing this work—and not because you've permanently flipped your Control Freak Boss switch to yes—then we need to end things."
According to the pressure in my chest, I was now running wind sprints. "No, Zelda. That's not—"
"I'm. Not. Finished. Yet." She leveled me with a glare I'd swear was cold enough to freeze vodka.
"I can help you, Ash, and I want to help you.
But I'm not going to continue playing this game where you allow me to make some progress only to shut it all down when you see your autonomy slipping and you choke. "
I'd never had my ass handed to me with quite so much specificity before.
The waitress appeared while I was busy recovering from that blow. We rattled off our orders—an omelet for me, a little of everything for Zelda. Then we were alone again.
"You're thinking a lot of thoughts right now.
" She gathered the menus, tapped them on the table.
"It's okay if you don't know which order to put them in or how to use them.
You don't have to do any of that tonight.
You have two weeks until anything really changes and by then, I'll have a worthy replacement on hand to smooth the transition.
" She returned the menus to their holder. "Now I'm finished."
I had to work at keeping myself seated in the booth and not snatching those words from the air and shoving them away. All I could do was rub a hand over my forehead. "I'm not accepting your resignation."
It was the wrong tack to take first but I did anyway. Why start helping myself now?
"I'll find you someone who knows a bit more about your line of work," she offered.
"I don't want someone else," I replied with all the asshole arrogance I had in me. Which was a lot. "I want to hear about this plan of yours. The great caper you tried to pull off while I was out of the office today."
That brought an inkling of a smile to her beautiful face. "You can't handle my plan."
"I can't handle the plan?" I shot back in my best Jack Nicholson voice. "You can't handle the plan. This whole plan is out of order."
Laughter shook through Zelda as she buried her face in her hands. "I'm trying very hard to set limits with you but then you decide to be cute and funny and adorable, and now my very serious conversation is shot to hell."
I pried her hands away and held them in mine. "I fucked up today, Zelda. Fucked it all up."
She shrugged. "Pretty much."
"Whether right or wrong, it was like the rug was pulled out from under me when I walked in this afternoon.
I was flat on my ass." I squeezed her hands.
"I'm not good at handing over the reins.
I want to trust you. I want to let you work your magic.
Give me another chance to get it right, Zelda. Let me do better."
"All you need to do is less," she said with a laugh. "You're doing too much. That's why I'm trying to get some extra hands to pick up the excess from your dad's office."
"Walk me through the proposal," I said, still holding her hands like they were my only lifeline. "While I was having my tantrum, you mentioned something about a few candidates who could be based in New Bedford, right? Or did I fuck up my recollection of the conversation too?"
"No, you heard that through your asshole earmuffs just fine," Zelda replied.
"The way I see it, you and your father are looking at this from an either-or perspective when it should be both-and.
Not Boston or New Bedford but Boston and New Bedford, remote and New Bedford, and any other combination.
People are open to these flexible arrangements, more than you might assume.
That's the part I want to capitalize on because it eliminates your father's issue of his clients seeing their accounts shipped out of town.
I have to imagine there's some big city resentment, even if it's misplaced.
Right?" I nodded while I pressed my lips to her palm.
"Right, okay. So, instead of leaning into the big city accountant who doesn't care about your smaller city meat market drama, we embed staff in New Bedford and train them to use your systems."
"I've attempted that move," I said gently. "It was interpreted as a criticism of his methods and management."
"Then adapt the move, don't abandon it."
I kissed her palm again as I considered this. All I knew was my father and I couldn't get on the same page. I didn't see how I'd be able to change that with the same dance set to a different song.
"I hear you though I've tried all the adaptations I can think up. I have actually tried to solve this on my own, Zelda. I haven't been ramming it through."
"That's right because you reserve ramming for the evenings I visit bridal boutiques."
I groaned into her hand. "Don't bring that up. Not unless you're asking for a repeat."
Pleasure danced in her eyes as she asked, "Would you like that, Ashville?"
More than anything in the world.
The waitress returned at that moment with our plates, forcing me to release Zelda's hands and withhold the response burning on my tongue. But I didn't take my eyes off her.
When we were left with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and everything else she'd ordered, I said, "I am not accepting your resignation."
She lifted both hands as if weighing my words. "Is it up to you?"
I inclined my head. "I'd like to think so."
"What about me? Don't I get a say?"
I snagged a piece of bacon from her plate, chewed it thoughtfully. "Of course you do. I'd send you on your way with a glowing recommendation if you actually wanted to go but you don't. You want me to be better. You want me to get my shit together and you want to stay."
She doused her pancakes in syrup and licked a drop off her finger, effectively converting my blood to lava. "There you go, Ash. That's how you fight fair."