Chapter 10 #2
Still, he hoped Lucy hadn’t listened to Allie. Hadn’t let the other woman convince her to choose one of those horrific tiny house options on camera.
He understood his best friend. If she picked a house on cable television, she’d feel obliged to go through with the purchase. The last thing she needed was either a deep-woods pot shack, a dick-festooned bus, or an Oregon Trail enthusiast’s fever dream.
If he’d been there to offer support, maybe she—
MATLAB. Focus on MATLAB.
His fingers paused on the keyboard. What she and Hairy really needed was a yurt.
Unlike the other tiny houses she’d toured, a yurt would give her plenty of overhead clearance—more than enough to stave off claustrophobia.
Lots of options for a client changing area and a decent bathroom.
Room for Hairy to run around and torment hapless, aloof cats.
She could design the yurt to whatever specifications she wanted, take it down and transport it with relative ease, and pay someone to set it up for her again.
An engineer should be able to look at yurt plans and figure out how best to meet her needs.
After all, she expressed them so damn easily, with such faith that they wouldn’t be used against her.
And when they were used against her, as with Fuckhead Jarrod or Allie, she managed to pick up the pieces and regain her confidence somehow.
To keep believing that reaching out, holding on, was worth the pain and effort.
Believing matters, she’d said.
A little light Googling wouldn’t hurt anyone. After all, he’d originally intended to take more vacation time today, and he wouldn’t charge the company for the hours he spent researching yurt options and plans.
What sort of weather conditions could a yurt withstand? Were different types of yurt materials more conducive to different settings? How much would it cost to transport the whole yurt contraption? What sort of supports were needed to create separate spaces within the yurt structure?
He’d never, not once in his life, used the word yurt so often. It had lost all meaning to him at this point. Yurt yurt yurt yurt yurt.
Yup. Total nonsense.
An hour or so later, however, he had some yurt-related answers. Given a few days, he suspected he could help design one that would incorporate everything Lucy required and suit her aesthetic sensibilities. Maybe even design two, depending on the decisions she reached about her future.
But still he sat in front of his monitor, hands on the keyboard, frozen in indecision.
The limerick came to him without his volition.
There once was a man so lonely and tired
Who wouldn’t reach out for a love that inspired
He lay alone in his room
Filled with such sadness and gloom
Never knowing in his past he was mired.
Not his finest effort. The rhythm in the last line was off. But maybe the sentiment was worth considering anyway.
A few minutes later, he knocked on his boss’s office door.
“Come in!” Brent yelled.
Sebastián walked inside and closed the door behind him. “I thought I wouldn’t need the rest of my vacation, but I do. Maybe a few days next week, too. Is that doable?”
“Will you be able to finish your projects before deadline?” His boss didn’t look up from the paperwork on his desk. “Because if the answer is yes, take some more time. The office should survive without you.”
Especially since Sebastián had ensured his presence there didn’t leave much of a mark, except when it came to work-related issues.
“The deadlines won’t be a problem,” he said. “I’ll make the necessary changes to my time sheet.”
“Then you’re set.”
That seemed to be the end of the conversation. “Thanks.”
Just as Sebastián turned to leave, however, Brent raised his head from his work. “You never take vacation days. Is everything all right? Is your family okay?”
Normally, Sebastián would end this line of questioning without hesitation. Say he was fine and close his boss’s door behind him. And he still didn’t plan to parade his private concerns and emotions in front of his coworkers in what was intended to be a professional setting.
But Brent was a good boss and a decent man. Maybe he could be trusted with a little corner of his employee’s life.
Sebastián looked at the ceiling for a moment, his jaw clenched. Then he forced out the words. “I screwed things up with someone important to me. I want to fix the situation, if I can.”
Brent’s fingers stopped tapping his desk, and his brows rose. It was the first piece of personal information Sebastián had voluntarily revealed since his job interview last year, and he suspected the significance wasn’t lost on his boss.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Brent sat back in his chair. “Take as much time as you want. If there’s anything you need from us in the meantime, just e-mail or call.”
“Thanks again. I will.” He reached for the door handle.
“Sebastián?” Brent’s face had softened, his expression turning sympathetic and warm. “It’ll work out.”
Sebastián wasn’t so sure. But he nodded anyway.
Believing matters.