Page 27 of Never Bargain with the Boss
“I was nine years old, standing in the kitchen, getting a drink of water because I’d been outside playing all day and was hot. That was the first time I heard the word ‘whore’.” I throw my voice, mimicking the foster dad I’d only had for a short while, “Those shorts are way too short, girl. Got half your ass hanging out of ‘em like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see.”
He blinks reflexively at my course language but then narrows his eyes, his gaze hard and unyielding. “I hope you are not suggesting that I would call anyone—least of all,my daughter—such a thing.”
“Of course not. But what you say has power, especially to Grace, and can have unintended purposes.”
Cameron swallows roughly, and I swear he’s pushing down a thousand questions. Finally, he asks one. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”
I didn’t expect that to be his concern, and normally, I wouldn’t share this much of my backstory with anyone—especially my boss—since I try not to dwell in the past. But I’m the one who started this, so I might as well finish it. “Yeah, I dealt with that a long time ago.” I wave a hand dismissively, leaving it all where it belongs—behind me. “In the moment, I asked another kid what it meant and she told me. To be fair, the shorts probably were too small, and he probably didn’t mean anything sexual by it, but they were the only ones I owned, so I sweated my ass off in jeans for the rest of the summer. I can’t even tell you what he looked like anymore, but his words echo in my head, and to this day, I still don’t wear shorts.”
“I’m sorry, truly, that you went through that, but that’s not what’s going on here,” Cameron bites out.
“I know,” I agree, softening my approach. “But that was an opportunity to empower Grace to decide for herself, not justdeclare the skirt to be a ‘no’ off-hand, when all that demonstrates is that you have zero trust in her decision-making abilities.” The accusation of what he wasthis closeto doing is as clear as day.
Cameron’s head whips back like my words are a slap. “You are not her parent. I am.”
“Agreed.” And I could leave it there, but of course, I don’t. This is too important—for Grace. And for Cameron too. I want him to understand why I did what I did, and maybe understand me a bit more too. “But Grace is growing up, and part of that is learning to trust yourself. Sometimes, that starts by falling in love with a ridiculously tiny skirt that you have to perform miracles on to make work. Maybe she’ll learn to choose something easier next time, or maybe she’ll learn the work is worth it when she loves the result. And yeah, that’s a great lesson for life in general too, especially in regard to people.” I eye him like I’m trying to decide whether he’s worth the work I’m putting in here, but deep down, I’m pretty sure he is. Grace definitely is. “Either way, she’ll learn to sew, which is a skill that’ll serve her well for the rest of her life.” I look him directly in the eye and fight to keep my voice steady as I say, “But most importantly, she’ll learn that her dad trusted her enough to not rush in and override her before she’d even had a chance to think it through.”
My breathing is so fast that I’m nearly panting, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I’m certain I just got myself fired. Not because I’m wrong, but because I’m not sure Cameron is ready to hear what I’m saying. I get it… to him, Grace is his little girl and he wants to protect her from everything, even herself.
Nearly nose to nose, he stares back at me, his eyes full of cold fury, but I can virtually see him processing what I’ve said. I’m ready for him to reject it outright. He has no reason to value my opinion over his own where Grace is concerned, at least not yet when I barely know her and he barely knows me. But I knowgirls, and women, and the process it takes to get from one to the other.
“Jesus fuck,” he hisses, throwing his head back to stare at the fluorescent light above us. I think he’s looking for divine intervention, but I’m not sure if it’s with me or his daughter, but it feels like a rare peek behind his rigid façade, and maybe even an acknowledgement that there’s at least one tiny chink in his otherwise perfect armor. After a long, heavy moment, he scrubs a hand over his face. His palm on his stubble makes a scratching noise, and when he brings his attention back to me, his eyes are virtually pleading for mercy. “I just thought it was a criminally short skirt.”
“I don’t think it even qualifies as a skirt. I was thinking cummerbund.” I hold my finger and thumb up a scant four inches apart, which is an exaggeration of how short the skirt is, but not by much. He looks surprised at my expression of utter horror, and I laugh. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let her go out in that scrap of fabric. I just wantedherto realize it was inappropriate. That’s how she learns.”
I swear a metric-ton of anxiety lifts off Cameron’s shoulders when he hears that I absolutely agree with him. Tilting his head, he asks, “You don’t mind teaching her to sew?”
“Nope, she’s gonna be my stitch bitch.” When his eyebrows slam down low over his eyes, I press my lips together, fighting to hide my grin. “Which is absolutelynotwhat I’ll call her, because that would be inappropriate language,” I say stiffly. Well, as stiffly as I can because I’m seriously fighting off laughter now.
Cameron shakes his head. “You should hear what Kyle says in front of her. Stitch bitch isn’t remotely the worst thing she’s heard.”
Our eyes meet, and it feels like we’re both on the same page—one with Grace’s name at the top in big, bold, bubble letters. But I can see that he’s still processing what I shared. He won’tlet something like that go, which is exactly why I told him. He’s a great dad, but even greatness can falter every once in a while, and as much as what that long ago foster dad said echoes in my head, I think what I told Cameron will echo in his, and both he and Grace will be better for it.
“So, about those pants?” I ask, not really caring about them at all but wanting to lighten things up and hoping these supposed atrocities of pantsdom will make Cameron smile. His whole face changes when he does that, and he deserves those little momentary pockets of happiness amid all his stress and seriousness.
I’m rewarded by a full, white-toothed grin. It’s like watching the sunrise, and I instantly want to see him smile like this again. “They’re over here, and probably even more awful than I made them out to be.”
He’s right. They are absolutely dreadful, which is why I buy them immediately.
CAMERON
Grace and Riley spend the entire afternoon working on her new skirt creation, and thankfully, by the end of the process, the denim portion is nothing more than the top section of a mid-calf-length skirt that twirls when Grace does a spin.
“Isn’t it adorable?” Grace squeals, asking me for at least the fifth time.
“The most adorable ever,” I agree solemnly.
More surprising than the now-completely-appropriate skirt is that I’ve spent the entire time simply watching them. I haven’t felt compelled to check my emails, log in to work, hit the gym, or anything else. Grace and I usually spend our weekends together, but as she’s gotten older, we’re not always attached at the hip the way she was when she was younger, so a bit of together time and a bit of doing our own things is our norm. We’ll watch a movie together, but then she disappears into her room to talk to friends while I do something else, like get in a long run on the treadmill or deep-dive into whatever project I’m working on.
But today, we’ve shopped, snacked, and stitched together. Well, Grace sewed and I’ve been sitting here, but I’ve enjoyedwatching her learn something new, especially with Riley teaching her.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if Riley had whipped out a sewing machine from somewhere, like a magician with a rabbit in a hat, but instead, she handed Grace a thick silver needle and some thread and showed her how to slip the thread through the needle’s eye, which took several tries, some frustration, and a few giggles to do successfully. Then, they discussed ways to cut the fabric Grace selected, learned about ‘good scissors’ and grain, and ultimately, pinned the chopped fabric to the denim.
And that was when the real work set in.
I figured Grace would lose interest after a few minutes of repetitive up-and-down, up-and-down stitching, but she didn’t. Mostly because Riley was doing a project of her own on the cat T-shirt she bought, and in working side-by-side with Grace, she kept her engaged and entertained through the whole process.
I think Riley might be Mary Poppins, after all. In disguise, of course, but she definitely seems to have a bag of tricks she keeps unexpectedly pulling stuff out of.