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I hold out my hand expecting a pebble or a piece of mulch, but instead, a half-dead worm drops into my palm. I swallow hard to force the bile back down to my stomach where it belongs and fight the urge to throw the thing across the room.
“Thank you,” I say with forced gratitude. “That was so… thoughtful of you.”
“Thot. Full,” he repeats.
“That’s right. Thoughtful. It means you took lots and lots of time to think about the gift. You’re such a sweet boy.”
He nods sagely then tugs at my shirt.
“What is it?” I ask
“I want down.”
“Ma, put me down, please,” I gently correct.
“Down peas.”
“Close enough.”
I smile and set him back on the floor, and he races back to the train set in the middle of the room.
Before I even ask, Mom is at my elbow with a wet wipe and a paper towel to help me dispose of my “present” without Leo seeing me throw it away. Even though I feel like I need a full decontamination shower from touching the awful thing, the last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings.
His latest obsessions are worms and rocks, so in his two-year-old brain, everyone else must love them too.
I live in fear of the day he falls in love with snakes.
“Thanks, Mom.”
I give her a grateful peck on the cheek after she disposes of the worm.
“You’re here early. Rough day?”
“It was alright,” I say, shrugging.
“So we’re lying to our mothers now, are we?” she scolds. “I’m going to try again. How was work, Avery?”
If I ever become even half as perceptive as she is, I’ll consider myself a very lucky woman.
I flop down on the couch and drag the box of tissues on the coffee table closer to me—just in case—before I start narrating my week from hell. I recount every tantrum, every slammed pot, every abuse of power, and every foul name he’s called everyone this week.
“I wish I had the nerve to stand up to him, but I just freeze,” I say, embarrassed, “and Mia is usually busy with inventory and coordinating with scheduling and everything else involved with running the back of the house, so she’s not there a lot and she’s the only one who ever stands up to him.”
I shrug dejectedly.
“I guess that’s because she’s the kitchen manager. If Henri pisses…” I say, darting a guilty glance over at Leo, “her off, she’ll just stop ordering his spices or whatever.”
“Has she brought her concerns to the owner?”
“She has, but every time he comes in, Henri is a saint so he doesn’t believe her. We have cameras in the kitchen for falls and stuff, but there’s no audio so it’s a he said, she said thing. Or he said, he said, depending on who it is.”
“But he threw icing at you!”
“Yeah, standing in front of me, completely blocking what he was doing from the camera. All they’d see if they looked at it was him standing close to me and talking.”
“Honey, I know Mia’s your best friend and it was so wonderful of her to get you this job, but maybe it’s time to move on, find a healthier work environment,” she says, sighing.
I gesture helplessly at her and then start anxiously rubbing the scar above my ear.
