Chapter Ten
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I hate unexpected change.
Liam
Friday, Amber ate my Taco Bell offering, let me lay my head in her lap, and ran her fingers through my hair.
Saturday, she closed and locked her door so I could not see her play with any of her new clothes.
Sunday, she wore beige . Top to bottom. Even her socks. Just to make a point about how I do not control her, I know. But she was smiling, so I didn’t mind.
Sunday night, she stabbed me in my dreams, like she does, but as the pain consumed me and my consciousness flagged, she did not guide my failing body to the snow-covered ground.
No.
She kissed me. Warm, soft cherry-red lips against mine as they grew stiff and cold.
Needless to say, I had an amazing weekend. To brighten my work week, today begins Brian’s Operation Countdown to Valentine with more red. It’s the red day. Everyone in the office is in red. I love it. Whirlwind Branding is filled with little blood cells, going about their day, completing their tasks.
I know one thing for certain. My morale is up by three hundred percent.
Until, of course, the moment I catch up to an email that was sent Friday, after I left early.
Dear Mr. Warrick:
I hope this email finds you well. I, unfortunately, am finding myself unwell on several counts.
The first being Brian’s Valentine team-building exercise and the mandatory nature of it. Some of us, specifically with disabilities, must put in more effort each day to maintain what I would consider to be adequate results in a professional field. The addition of many of these mandatory activities on top of my regular duties is not only daunting and distracting, but somewhat caters to privileges I do not possess, even with temporary workers taking on some of the workload, as those workers are not able to do tasks at my level in the company.
The second count involves your assistant, who I fear lacks the brainpower that one in your standing surely requires of someone working so closely with you. When I stopped by your office to secure a meeting with you today, she implied that I was incapable of sending an email on my own. Since joining your staff, I am sure you’ve noticed that I have been hesitant when it comes to special trainings in regards to me and my disability. I am no longer feeling hesitant. I would like to formally and fully encourage education for staff on inclusivity, kindness, and regular old common sense. Please.
Thank you for your time. Please don’t fire me for calling your assistant stupid.
Completely capable of sending an email, thank you very much,
Ruby Vann
Finance Director
Whirlwind Branding
My mood blackens.
Reaching for my intercom, I press the call button. “Teresa. Friday, did Ruby try to come see me?”
A moment passes. She responds, “Yes. Poor dear. I tried to get her an appointment as soon as you were available. She said she’d have her assistant email you. Seemed urgent. Is everything all right?”
My eyes close. “Have I not made it explicitly clear that my employees may have access to me during any of my lunch breaks? Did you not deign to disclose that information immediately and tell her when she could talk to me today?”
The ending sound of Teresa clearing her throat comes through the line. “Well, yes, you have told me that, but I’m not here during lunch hour to screen employees on their requests. You’re a busy man, Mr. Warrick. You can’t be expected to listen to squabbles all the time, and certainly not during your single free hour a day.” Her voice lowers, mumbly, “Knowing Ms. Vann, it was probably just another thing Mr. Hart did that upset her. This is a professional work environment, and while I do feel sorry for her, you know how disabled people can be sometimes.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
She sighs, then whispers, “ Entitled. They’ve had the world pitying them all their lives. They expect it. They expect people to cater to them. I’m trying to look out for you and spare you minor annoyances. That’s my job.”
They expect people to not take handicapped parking. Or to have doors accessible for wheelchairs. Or for parents to stop their children from petting service dogs. Or for basic respect of their independence .
They do not expect people to cater to them; they expect the same human decency as everyone else.
“Teresa.”
“Yes, Mr. Warrick?”
“Pack your things. You’re fired.”
Before she can reply, I pull the cord on my intercom and turn to respond to Ruby’s email. I really like Ruby. She uses colons in professional correspondence. And Teresa? Teresa makes me grayscale schedules of doom and gloom sadness.
Ruby:
I apologize for the behavior of my former assistant. Rest assured I will locate a better one who does not possess an IQ below four.
Where the Valentine activities are concerned, I cannot make any exceptions to their mandatory requirements. You may, however, enlist the help of Will for any tasks that lean more heavily on sight. I know he’ll be happy to assist.
If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to reach out in any manner that is most convenient for you (I am adding my personal phone number to the bottom of this email in case you need it). Should an in-person meeting be required, I am always available for my employees during my lunch hour.
Come “see” (haha) me then anytime.
Sincerely,
William Warrick
Whirlwind Branding CEO
(xxx) xxx-xxxx
Okay.
Good.
Done.
Now, I need an assistant…
Bambi,
Have you gotten out of bed yet?
Thinking about you,
Your Doting Husband
It’s just after eight. There is no way Amber’s out of bed. I should check my schedule, then clear it. Send emails to anyone I have meetings with, reschedule them. Go home to Amber with another Taco Bell offering, maybe a treat from that bakery she mentioned the other day. I know she didn’t order anything from it. I asked my gate guard if anyone had come through on my way home that day.
Amber is hardwired to not pay extra for things like delivery. She’s hardwired for justice. And even though I told her that she could get any food she wants on the essentials card, since treats aren’t essential, she’d only think about getting them with her allowance.
And I already know she’s saving that up, like a chipmunk, stowing all her money away for the winter.
So very cute of her.
My phone rings, and my heart skips a beat the moment I think it might be my adorable wife. It is, unfortunately, not a recognized number, so I huff and grab it.
“Warrick.” I’m definitely canceling today. Today is terrible. Pulling up my ugly monochrome schedule, I glare at the blocks for today. Meetings with investors. Emails. Stock reviews. New client requests.
I remember I’m on the phone.
And that whoever else is on the phone with me has been majestically silent.
So I ask, “Hello?”
A throat clears. “Sorry! I— Sorry!”
Is that… “Ruby?” I ask.
“I’m so sorry!” she says, “I didn’t think it would actually be your number!”
She’s so cute. Not as cute as my Amber, because who could be? But, still, very cute. According to my tie and Brian’s Countdown to Valentine schedule, today we wear red. There’s no way she’s had trouble finding and putting on red clothes. There are apps for color picking and a dozen other ways she could figure this one out. Maybe she’s squabbling with Will again—cute—or someone else is being an ableist scumbag under my roof—less cute. “Is there something you need?” I ask.
“I… I can’t remember.”
She sounds terrified.
I also do not like phone calls.
I’m mostly desensitized to them these days since I need to make them so often, but she works in finance, with numbers, all day. Maybe she doesn’t have to deal with phone calls as much. Or maybe she’s worried that she’s bothered me, while I’m very busy contemplating bailing on my entire business, selling, and starting an early retirement with my cute wife.
The only thing stopping me from doing that is the knowledge that even with millions in the bank, Amber would not feel secure knowing nothing is coming in.
I’ve forgotten I’m on the phone again. I need to say something concluding and kind. Ruby can’t remember why she called. I’d prefer she not have to call again. “Perhaps…you can email me when you remember.” Because you can email. All by yourself. Validation king, me.
“Email. Yes. Of course, sir. So sorry. I’ll just, um, let you get back to work!”
Yeah, she sounds validated. I’m a good boss. A good boss shouldn’t throw his business into the sun. Even if he wants to.
I say, “Goodbye, Ruby,” hang up, and brace myself for the rest of the day.