Chapter 14 #2
Effie is a grouch in the morning, but we have to get up.
When I slide her Weetabix on the table, she shakes her head.
She’s eaten the same thing every morning for over a year and yet now it won’t do.
I run through a list of everything we have that might be acceptable, but she remains mute, rejecting all options.
My own patience is thin on the ground this morning, but I scrape it together, sip my tea and wait.
Finally, she asks, “When can I see Smaug’ette? ”
This is a minefield. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
She’s clearly getting attached to Anders and his pet in a way that could be dangerous.
Effie can fixate on things and people and get hurt when stuff doesn’t work out.
So, I fob her off. “I don’t know, sweetheart.
Anders is a very busy man. It may be some time before he’s free. ”
Her little face falls. But better a small hurt now than a heart-wrench later.
Although maybe I can use this fascination to resolve our current dilemma. “So, you better eat something now. It would be a shame if you were too faint from lack of food to meet the dragon.”
Eventually she agrees to plain toast with butter spread only when cold and all the way to the edges. Someone once told me I shouldn’t pander to her, but Rob explained why I should ignore that.
“Your daughter finds life far more stressful than other children. Why would you want to add to that load? Save intervening for things that may cause harm.”
“Pick your battles?” I asked.
“Exactly!” he’d said.
And how much does it cost me to cut her toast into fingers, not triangles?
Nothing. So now I just do it and damn those who disapprove.
The important thing is to get food into her.
Those who say she’ll eat when hungry have never met a child like Effie.
It’s not that she won’t eat triangles, it’s that she can’t.
The same way I can’t eat a spider. There’s nothing physically stopping me and it wouldn’t cause me harm if I did, but I can’t do it.
Why should I believe her rules aren’t sensible but mine are?
She doesn’t comment when we arrive at Anders’s car. “What’s its name?” she asks as I fasten her in.
“Smauglette,” I remind her.
“Not the dragon. The car!” I can almost hear the unvoiced Silly! at the end.
“I’m not sure. I forgot to ask.”
“That’s not polite.” But she says it with the air of a disappointed kindergarten teacher and I have to smile.
“I’m going to call it Toothless.”
Toothless? The dragon in How to Train Your Dragon? The car is black, so it makes some kind of sense. But somehow, I know we’re in trouble. “It doesn’t belong to us,” I tell her. “We can’t name it.”
But as she sets off into school, she whispers, “Goodbye, Toothless.”
All the trouble at breakfast means I’m a little late for work. I messaged Anders to let him know, but he’s already in a meeting when I arrive at my desk. I’ll work through lunch to make it up. Anders has never had a problem with it on the rare occasions it has happened before.
When there is a break in his schedule, I slip into his office.
I wait until he finishes giving quick instructions from his morning’s work before I say, “Thank you for yesterday. And your car was a godsend this morning.” I have a momentary vision of trying to wrangle Effie onto a bus at the crack of dawn, and it adds real feeling to my words.
“I owe you,” I add as I drop his car key onto his desk.
Anders looks up, surprised. “Cora, there will never be any debt between us. You should know that.”
I look at the floor, shamed. He’s right. Friends help friends. No balance sheet required. Except I’ve never thought of Anders as my friend. My boss, the visionary leader and sometimes the bane of my life, but not a friend.
“Of course,” I mutter and turn to escape the awkwardness.
“One more thing,” he says. I stop and twist around at his words, one eyebrow raised as a prompt.
He slides a piece of paper across his desk. “Your new car.”
For a moment, I’m floored. Has Anders bought me a car? This is too much. “What? No! We agreed no gifts!”
Anders leans back. “What we agreed is no gifts from me. If the gift is from the company, it is acceptable. “
I hurry back to his desk and snatch up the paper.
He frowns. “Technically speaking, it’s not a gift. Cerium hasn’t bought you a car. That would be a crazy thing to do. This is a taxable benefit.”
It would be a crazy thing to do, especially given our finances. I look at the document. It mentions a lease agreement. The company has leased an electric car for me.
He continues. “I need you to have a reliable mode of transport. What if I forget my sword again?”
A year ago, Anders was at a convention bigging up excitement for one of our older games by dressing as the main character.
Except, a crucial part of his outfit was still at home.
I’d been tasked with getting the essential prop to him.
But are we really going to ignore the existence of taxis and rideshares?
“Besides, it’s not new. Steve handed it back when they left. I’ve upgraded your compensation package to include the car. I’ve already spoken to Finance. You just need to sign this.”
My mouth drops open. He’s making it very difficult to refuse. It all sounds so simple and easy, but it isn’t. How many others drive a company car? If he hadn’t proposed, would he still be doing this?
To be fair to him, it’s not out of the ballpark.
The company has paid for compassionate benefits before, private medical referrals, specialist equipment, and so forth.
Anders prides himself on running a company that values its employees.
And I do need a car. My little girl will struggle with the exigencies of public transport.
It takes a toll on her that others don’t experience.
This way we will get a car and yet I can still afford to take her to see her grandparents for her birthday. It’s so tempting.
But am I playing into his hands? Can I afford not to? And does it matter if I do? Finally, I come to my decision. Dipping my head, I say, “Thank you.”
Anders’s smile is slow, like he knows he’s won. How much is yet to be determined.