揘o, not necessary. I抦…able to compartmentalize well enough. I抣l keep delivering quality copy on the wedding campaign, or wherever else you need me.?
揥hatever you want,?I say with a nod. 揊or the record, I抦 sorry too for that last conversation. It takes two to tango and I抦 a terrible dancer.?
She laughs softly before she speaks again, this small, gentle sound hanging in the air.
揝o, we抮e good, Burns??
揥e always were. You抮e the one who didn抰 think there was any point in being friendly.?Why did I say that? This conversation has been almost civil.
揜ight, because you抮e a psychopath.?
揧es, and the most undateable prick to ever walk the earth, which you know because you spend your free time Googling me.?I抦 grateful, but mildly surprised I haven抰 heard her mention Regina, lover boy, or the lawsuit yet.
Apparently, my gag order worked better than I thought.
揥hy did I call expecting an adult conversation??she mutters.
揈asy. You needed to hear the sound of my voice.?
Where the hell is my tongue? Get it together, Burns. Now you抮e just flirting and she抯 radioactive. Not to mention she has an attitude the size of Mount Rainier. A girl like Nevermore won抰 hesitate at all to walk out when things get tough or when something better comes along.
揇ang, you got me. That抯 it. I need the majestic sound of grumpy men with tiny fuses to lull me to sleep…？
揇on抰 call my fuse tiny, lady,?I growl jokingly.
She snorts laughter.
換uestion,?I say, wisely ignoring her crap. 揃ecause you caught me off guard in the meeting today棓
揙h? That sounds like a first.?
揥hat抯 your idea of the perfect wedding??
She hesitates. 揧ou抮e really asking me that, knowing weddings are off-limits??
揧ou asked first. Fair is fair, Nevermore. It抯 just us here. No audience.?
揥ell, I don抰 believe in marriage. Not anymore. But on the off chance I抦 ever drunk enough to get Vegas hitched or whatever… I think I抎 elope,?she says.
揈lope? Why??
揥eddings are all for show. The average groom never does any real work. I抦 not willing to go through that for some dude to maybe change his mind when we抮e thousands of dollars deep and on the hook socially. He抯 either serious enough to get married the minute he proposes, or he can keep his ring.?
揧ou抮e hardcore,?I say without thinking. 揑 like it.?
揘o, I抦 jaded.?She huffs a loud breath. 揕ike why don抰 guys spend six months planning what they抮e going to wear at a wedding or what color the flowers should be? Because someone will do it for them, and then it抯 慶ute?when ads show her having to chase him. I still have no idea how that ever sells a dress. I mean, nothing screams romance from the rafters like the notion that I should beg to be good enough for some guy who supposedly wants to be my husband.?
She抯 gone all ranty.
I抦 smiling like a dumbstruck fool.
揇amn. That was the wrong question, I see,?I tell her, trying to save face.
揌ey, you knew it was a sore spot, bossman.?
I chuckle. 揑t抯 hard to believe you called me to apologize.?
揧ou抮e right. But I am sincerely sorry.?She pauses. 揟echnically, you抮e still a complete freak over breakfast rolls, but we抮e cool even if we抮e not exactly friendly. I抣l see you next week with less attitude.?
揑 hope you抣l continue being a little psycho, Miss Poe. For the sake of good creative, of course,?I say.
揚sycho? Am not!?
揂re,?I growl.
揇ude. I抦 not the one flipping out over a cinnamon梱ou know what? No. I抦 not getting baited into going around in circles again. I apologized. Good night, Mr. Burns.?
She抯 exasperated and I抦 enjoying it far too much.
Shit, maybe I really do have a screw or ten loose.
揧ou turned down five hundred dollars for a ball of dough for your pride. That抯 objectively crazier than offering five hundred dollars for said dough.?I still maintain if she knew why I needed the cinnamon roll, she抎 stop calling me a lunatic.
揑 was having a bad day,?she says absently.
揥hy??I grip my empty glass, hating that I suddenly care.
揘one of your business.?
I say nothing, knowing I抦 teetering on the edge of another blowout.
揃urns? I just told you棓
揥hat抯 the first rule of dealing with clients in copywriting??I blurt out.
揊irst rule? I don抰 know. I was a creative writing major. I only turned to copy and marketing because poetry doesn抰 pay the rent. I never went to business school.?
揌ow have you made it this far without knowing that??I scratch my face, far too warm. Blame it on the booze.
揑抦 good at writing. I don抰 do peopling unless I have to.?
I pause, thinking over my words, because I mean this and I抦 not sure how she抣l take it.
揟o move up in this industry梩o reach your full potential梱ou may have to get over that,?I say carefully.
揑 know but…I抦 okay with making a steady income and focusing on my poetry. I抦 not a ladder climber. I probably shouldn抰 have bothered telling you that.?
揑t抯 fine. I just hope you reconsider somewhere along the way,?I say. 揧ou know you抮e talented, Poe. The first rule of talking to a copy client is this梱ou have to go three whys deep. Your first reason for refusing to accept five hundred for a lump of flour, sugar, and cinnamon is that you were having a bad day. That could be anything from 慖 tripped leaving the house?to 慖 just got hit by a truck.?So, if you want to shut me up, give me one more why.?
揑t should have been棓 She pauses. 揥ould have been my wedding anniversary.?
揑 see.?
Dammit, I抦 a clod. A total buffalo-brain.
She was left at the fucking altar. I should抳e known. Also, I have an inexplicable urge to punch the guy who left her stranded and humiliated.
揗r. Burns??
揥e don抰 need to go three whys deep,?I say sharply. 揑 get it now.?
She抯 quiet for a heady moment.
揥hy did you really want that cinnamon roll so badly??
Face, meet floor. I made my own bed, didn抰 I? And I just taught her how to not let up.
揑 was starving,?I lie.
揂re you on a cinnamon-sugar diet? You had options. There was a case full of bear claws,?she reminds me.
I glower at the screen.
揥ould you believe I抦 allergic to almonds??
揘ot at all.?
Didn抰 think so.
揊ine. You got me. It was for my mother,?I say with a twist of my guts. It抯 not technically a lie. If there were two rolls, I definitely would have saved one for Ma.
I just wouldn抰 have pitched a fucking fit over it.
揧our mom only eats Sweeter Grind??she asks incredulously.
She抯 getting warmer. Closer to the truth.
揝he has fond memories of head-sized cinnamon rolls growing up in old Seattle. Sweeter Grind抯 are the closest, even if they抮e a newer shop.?Again, not a total lie since it抯 truly why Ma fell in love with them. Still a lie by omission.
揥hy??
Fuck, I have no idea how to spin this further.
揥e used to share them when I was a kid,?I tell her.
揙h, and your mom was jonesing for memories to the tune of five hundred bucks??
揝he was having a bad day,?I say, amazed I don抰 trip over my own words.
揃ad day? Really??Nevermore prompts.
Because it was her wedding anniversary. I don抰 know. Leave me the hell alone.
揝he doesn抰 always enjoy her retirement, I抦 afraid,?I say. 揈specially since my father passed away a few years ago.?
There. Hard truth. Now she can buzz off and go torment some other grief-stricken madman on the verge of revealing too much.