Chapter Seven
1328 Words
Chapter Seven
Two years later, Christopher still annoyed me.
Which was impressive, considering we worked together five days a week.
Some people grow on you.
Christopher grew like a rash.
Not a dangerous one.
Just persistent.
The sort you eventually learn to live with.
Unfortunately.
I looked up from my laptop just in time to see him walk past my office carrying three coffees and absolutely no sense of urgency.
Typical.
“Morning,” he called.
“You’re late.”
“It’s eight fifty-nine.”
“Exactly.”
He shook his head and kept walking.
Arrogant man.
The annoying thing was that somewhere between day ninety-two and now, we’d developed a routine.
Not friendship.
Definitely not friendship.
Just… familiarity.
Which was somehow worse.
The office was busy already.
Phones ringing.
People talking.
The steady hum of normal life.
Two years ago, walking through these doors had felt impossible.
Now it was just Tuesday.
Which, according to Alice, was progress.
Personally, I thought it was called paying a mortgage.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Alice.
Lunch?
I immediately typed back.
No.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
You still owe me for the intervention.
I rolled my eyes.
The intervention.
Apparently convincing me to stop hiding from the world qualified as one.
You’re very dramatic.
And yet I’m still your favourite friend.
That was unfortunately true.
I put my phone down and returned to work.
The morning passed quickly.
Meetings.
Emails.
Spreadsheets.
At some point Christopher appeared in my office doorway.
I noticed him immediately.
Mostly because he blocked the light.
“Can I help you?”
He leaned against the frame.
“I have a question.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I need a signature.”
“There it is.”
His mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
We’d reached an unspoken agreement sometime during the last two years.
Christopher annoyed me.
I complained about Christopher.
Christopher continued existing.
Neither of us seemed capable of stopping.
“Meeting room three,” he said.
“Five minutes.”
“Am I allowed finish this email first?”
“No.”
I sighed dramatically.
He left.
Satisfied.
As if he’d won something.
I hated that.
Five minutes later, I signed whatever document he put in front of me.
“Anything else?”
Christopher glanced down at the paperwork.
Then back at me.
“No.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“That sounded suspicious.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Now I’m even more suspicious.”
For a second he actually laughed.
A real laugh.
The sound caught me off guard.
Then he stood.
“Have a nice day, Emily.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“See?”
“What?”
“This is why people think you’re difficult.”
I pointed at the door.
“Out.”
Still laughing, he left.
Insufferable.
Completely insufferable.
The worst part was that the office felt strangely empty after he was gone.
I refused to examine that thought too closely.
At four o’clock I collected Sofia from school.
She climbed into the car and immediately started talking.
Something about maths.
Then art.
Then somebody called Liam who had apparently committed a crime against humanity by swapping lunch seats.
I listened.
Mostly.
The way parents do.
Half paying attention while mentally planning dinner.
It wasn’t until we got home that I noticed the letter.
It fell from her schoolbag while she emptied it onto the kitchen table.
I picked it up automatically.
Then froze.
Father’s Day Breakfast.
Wonderful.
I considered throwing it directly into the bin.
Instead, I placed it carefully beside the fruit bowl.
And pretended it didn’t exist.
Three hours later, Sofia found it.
Of course she did.
“What’s this?”
I glanced up from the dishwasher.
Immediately regretted it.
The letter dangled from her hand.
The Father’s Day letter.
Wonderful.
Again.
“Something from school.”
She studied it.
Or pretended to.
Then looked up.
“When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
“Oh.”
The single word hung in the air.
I knew that tone.
The same tone she used before asking difficult questions.
Or expensive questions.
Usually both.
She climbed onto one of the kitchen stools.
“Everyone gets to bring somebody?”
I dried my hands.
“If they want.”
Silence.
Never a good sign.
I looked up.
Sofia was thinking.
Really thinking.
Then:
“I want Christopher.”
The plate slipped from my hand.
Luckily it landed in the sink.
Unfortunately Sofia noticed.
“What?”
I laughed.
A very strange sound.
“Christopher?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
As though she’d decided weeks ago.
I leaned against the counter.
Trying to buy myself time.
“Why Christopher?”
Sofia shrugged.
Like the answer was obvious.
Maybe to her it was.
“He knew Daddy best.”
The kitchen suddenly felt very quiet.
“He tells funny stories.”
I didn’t reply.
Because she was right.
Over the last two years Christopher had become something strange in our lives.
Not family.
Not exactly.
But not just a colleague either.
He showed up.
Birthdays.
School plays.
The occasional Sunday lunch when Alice bullied everyone into attending.
Never for long.
Never making a fuss.
Always slightly awkward.
And somehow always there.
“Remember the camping story?”
Sofia asked.
I smiled despite myself.
Unfortunately, I did.
Christopher had spent twenty minutes telling Sofia about the time Tomas somehow managed to set fire to his own tent.
Twice.
According to Christopher, it should have been impossible.
According to Tomas, it had been bad luck.
According to everyone else, it had been Tomas.
Sofia grinned.
“Daddy sounds funny.”
“He was funny.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Sofia’s smile softened.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then she looked back at the letter.
“Christopher would come.”
The certainty in her voice caught me off guard.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She raised one right back.
A habit she definitely didn’t inherit from me.
“Have you asked him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Sofia rolled her eyes.
The full dramatic eight-year-old version.
Because apparently I was the unreasonable one.
“Because Christopher likes me.”
I stared at her.
She stared right back.
Completely serious.
The annoying thing was that she might actually be right.
I looked down at the form.
At the blank space waiting for a name.
At the date.
At the cheerful little breakfast invitation.
And suddenly the problem wasn’t the school event.
The problem was the phone call.
Because asking Christopher meant opening a door I’d spent two years pretending didn’t exist.
“Mammy?”
I looked up.
Sofia was watching me.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Eight-year-olds were dangerous that way.
They didn’t know when they were asking for impossible things.
“Will you ask him?”
I thought about saying no.
I thought about suggesting someone else.
Alice’s husband.
My brother-in-law.
Literally anyone.
Instead, I heard myself sigh.
A long defeated sigh.
Sofia’s face lit up immediately.
Which told me she’d already known the answer.
Children were terrifying.
“I’ll ask.”
Before the words were fully out of my mouth, she launched herself off the stool and wrapped her arms around me.
“Thank you!”
I laughed despite myself.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
But she was already running upstairs.
Conversation over.
Decision made.
Problem solved.
Lucky her.
I looked at the letter.
Then at my phone sitting on the counter.
The ridiculous thing was that I already knew what Christopher was going to say.
Yes.
Of course he’d say yes.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that for the first time in a very long time, I realised Sofia didn’t see Christopher as part of the past anymore.
And I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.
- Writer
