“Why?” Levi’s gaze lifts from his computer screen to me, and his double take is small, but noticeable. He always has the same look in his eyes when he first sees me: a flash of panic. Then he collects himself and his entire face shutters. He should really work on expanding his emotional range. What does he think I’m going to do, anyway? Convert him to Scientology? Sell him Avon products? Give him full-blown typhoid? “Really, I just want to know why. I’m not even asking you to stop, I just need to know . . . why? Do I smell like cilantro? Did I steal your parking spot in grad school? Do I remind you of the kid who poured Snapple on your Game Boy when you were about to finish The Legend of Zelda?”
He blinks at me from his chair and has the audacity to look confused. I have to give it to him, he has giant balls. Likely to compensate for his micro-dick. “What are you talking about?”
My smile turns bitter. “Levi. Please.”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to. But I’m really busy, so—”
“See, I’m not. I’m not busy at all. I haven’t been this unbusy since I was on summer break in middle school—but you know that already, so . . . why?”
He sits back in his chair. Even half-hidden by his desk, his presence is overwhelming. Winter-frosty. Snow-covered spruces, his eyes. “There are things I need to be doing right this moment. Can we schedule a meeting for another time?”
I laugh softly. “Sure. Should I send you an email?”
“That works.”
“I bet. Will it get the same number of answers as the other emails I sent you?”
He frowns. “Of course.”
“Zero, then.”
He frowns harder. “I’ve answered all your emails.”
“Is that so?” I don’t believe it for a second. “Then maybe it’s an email problem. If I were to check my spam folder I’d find a message from you inviting me to this morning’s meeting?”
That’s the moment something shifts. The moment Levi realizes that he’s going to have to deal with me. He stands, walks around his desk, leans against it. He folds his arms on his chest and regards me calmly for a minute.
Look at us. Just two archnemeses, casually standing in front of each other in fake-relaxed poses while tumbleweeds roll their merry way around us. A modern spaghetti western.
I shoot first. “So, it’s all a big email misunderstanding?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares somewhere above my right shoulder.
“It checks out. Emails that should be delivered, aren’t. Emails that shouldn’t, are. It would explain the one that canceled the order for my TMS equipment. It probably just sent itself. Vigilante emails going rogue. Uh-oh, Outlook’s in trouble.” His fake-calm is getting less convincing. “If you think about it, it’s the only possible explanation. Because last week, when I asked you if you had an ETA, you said that we were close. And you would never lie to me, would you?”
His annoyingly handsome face hardens. Yes, even more than usual. “I would not lie to you.” He says it in an earnest, pissed-off tone, as though it’s important to him that I believe him. Ha.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” I push away from the door and amble around the office. “And you would not single me out to point out a dress code that is obviously never enforced, nor would you make it impossible for me to get into my office without having to beg to be let in.” I stop in front of a library shelf. Scattered between the engineering tomes I notice a handful of personal items. They humanize Levi in a way I’m not ready for: a child’s drawing of a black cat; a few bobbleheads from sci-fi movies; two framed pictures. One is Levi and another tall, dark-haired man free-climbing a rock formation. The other, a woman. Very beautiful. Long, dark blond hair. Young, probably Levi’s age. She smiles at the camera, holding a toddler with a full head of dark curls. The frame is clearly homemade, buttons and shells and sticks glued together.
My heart lurches, heavy.
I knew he had a child. I’ve even turned this piece of information around in my head several times since finding out. And I’m not surprised that he’s married. He doesn’t wear a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything—I often do wear a ring, and I’m most definitely not married. Honestly, I’m not sure why this hits me so hard. I certainly have no personal stake in Levi’s romantic life, and I don’t usually go about feeling jealous when people find themselves happily paired. But the domesticity that the picture conjures, just like the soft, intimate tone his voice took last week when he answered the call . . . very clearly, Levi has a home. A place in the world, just for himself. Someone to go back to every night. And on top of that, his career is more stable than mine.