Rude Boss

Chapter 22

Essex

I don’t think my mother’s passing has fully hit me. It’s surreal. I can’t wrap my mind around it. My father – he’s tough – graciously welcoming people into his home who’ve been stopping by since Monday night to offer their condolences. I’ve never seen this many flowers in one place. I know most of these people, but haven’t seen them in ages. Many of them still remember me from my younger years. They’re shocked at my transformation, so much so that this gathering of people who are supposedly here to support us during this difficult time are more interested in talking about how I was a chubby lil’ thang. One of my mother’s friends said every time she saw me, I was putting something in my mouth. It’s like making fat jokes without just coming out with it. No matter how much you’ve leveled up, people are quick to remind you of how you used to be. All the recollections of the past are making me feel like I never grew up. Like I’m still Stewart.

Mother didn’t want me to change. She griped about it every chance she got and now, I have to live with knowing I wasn’t the man she wanted me to be. That’s a kick to the gut. It’s something I can never make right because she’s gone.

I step outside to get some air. In Florida, I don’t care how hot it gets – there’s always a breeze to be had, and I desperately need this one passing through me. I had to get away from the constant reminiscing about mom like she’s been dead for years and she only just died yesterday. That’s still hard for me to believe. I’m sure it will hit me one day when I least expect it.

“Hey.”

I turn to the woman’s voice. I know her – she’s a pretty Caucasian woman with hazel eyes and jet-black hair – tall like a model. Her name is Jessica. My mother tried to set us up a few years ago. She owns a boutique mom frequented and apparently, they talked about me a lot. She and my mother became good friends over the years and I’m not surprised to see her here. I wasn’t interested in Jessica, but I always thought she was a pretty woman – just not the pretty woman I want.

“Hi, Jessica.”

Her eyes are weary. She’s not crying at the moment, but I can tell she has been. She says, “I just stopped by to express my condolences. Sylvie was a good woman. I’m going to miss her coming into the store, always talking about you. She adored you.”

I crack a smile and say, “Thanks for that.”

“She really did. I could hear the excitement in her voice when she talked about you. Anyway, I just—I wanted to say that.”

“Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate it.” I turn away from her and resume my alone time, staring off into the distance. This sitting around and talking about her nonsense isn’t for me. I’d rather be left alone with my own thoughts and feelings on the matter. I don’t need to reminisce. I need to distance myself from it – clear my mind of this.

That’s why when Thursday comes around, I find myself right back at work, wondering why everyone is looking at me like I have a target on my forehead. When I get off the elevator, Ms. Davison’s eyes grow bigger than globes. She stutters, “Sir, I—I didn’t expect you back so soon. I’ll get you some coffee.”

I keep on walking. While I’m back, I’m not in the mood for conversation – for anything, really. I just want to work, but when I log into my email, I see a bunch of replies from an email with ‘Sad News’ in the subject line. I click on one of them. It’s a ‘sorry for your loss’ message. I click on another one – ‘you’re in my prayers’. I find the original message and it’s an email Shanice sent out to the entire company.

Unbelievable.

I stand up, gearing to confront her about it, when I see a card on my desk. A card…

I tear the envelope away from it and read it. It’s one of those premade cards with some generic sympathy message. After the standard message, are the words written in cursive:

Sorry for your loss. Quintessa

Sitting back down again, I immediately pull up the messenger app to question her about this.

Essex to Quintessa: why did you give me a card?

Quintessa to Essex: you’re back??

Essex to Quintessa: I asked you a question

Quintessa to Essex: I wanted to show my support…show that I care

Essex to Quintessa: nobody cares, and I don’t need your store-bought, generic piece-of-crap card or your feigned sympathy. I’ll have Ms. Davison bring it back to you.

Quintessa to Essex: wait…are you joking?

Essex to Quintessa: The card is nothing but something you picked up from a Walgreens and signed…required absolutely no effort. None!

Quintessa to Essex: so I guess the card bought itself and jumped up on your desk.

I place my messenger on DO NOT DISTURB so ensure I don’t get any more messages from her or anyone else, take the perfunctory card and head out of the office with it, straight for Ms. Davison’s desk.

She glances up, sees me coming and I swear the woman’s entire face goes pale. “The coffee is still brewing, Mr. DePaul.”

“Forget the coffee. Did I ask you for coffee? I’ll answer that. No! I never asked you to have coffee waiting for me in the mornings. You—you take it upon yourself to do things I never ask you to do. Like the email you sent out on Monday about my mother—what would make you think that was okay?”

“Sir, I was just trying to support you in this difficult time. I didn’t mean—”

“If you want to support me, do what I ask you to do! Nothing more, nothing less. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

I slam the card and ripped envelope on her desk and say, “You can start by taking this downstairs to Ms. Bailey.”

“Okay, sir. I’m on it.” She springs up, takes the card and walks as fast as she can in those sky-high heels toward the elevators.

I go back to my office, sit down and hang my head trying to figure out how I’ll get any work done with all the craziness going on in my life. It’ll be nearly impossible, but I have to do it. What else is there for me to do besides sit with my father while he relays stories about my mother to anyone who would listen? My mother is gone. It’s too soon to hear stories about her life when just a few days ago, she was walking this earth.