She asked like a person asking another person, not a manager asking a report. Productive. James Okapor came to ask me directly what happened this weekend. Her eyes sharpened. What did you tell him?
The truth. He watched her absorb this. That we went to the wedding together. That it's new. That we're figuring it out.
She was quiet for a moment. Processing. Then how did he take it? He asked if I was happy. I said yes.
He told me to handle it right. Malcolm picked up his water glass. He's a good guy. Vanessa looked at her menu. People are going to talk, she said.
People are already talking. Denise in accounting started it Friday afternoon. She looked up sharply. He kept his expression neutral. Then she exhaled half laugh, half resignation and shook her head.
Of course she did. It'll settle. He said the talking. People find new things to talk about. And until then we do our jobs.
We don't perform anything. We don't hide anything. He looked at her steadily. Same thing you told me Sunday morning. Real all the way.
She held his gaze, nodded slowly. Real all the way. She said they ordered, they ate, and it was it was dinner. Ordinary and specific and real in the way that first dinners are when the people at the table already know each other well enough to skip the introductions and go straight to the actual conversation. She told him about a project.
She was worried about a client who kept changing specifications. Her suspicion that the real problem was something interpersonal on the client's side that was expressing itself as architectural indecision. He told her his read on it different from hers in one key way the same in two others. They argued about it briefly and productively the kind of argument that sharpens rather than divides. And when they arrived at a combined position that was better than either original, it felt like something he wanted to remember.