Knox

When I pop my head into Jason’s office on Friday morning with two scones, I’m surprised to find it empty. I’m about to leave the pastry bag on his credenza when he emerges from underneath the desk, his hair sticking up in spikes.

“By all means, come in,” he drawls. “Don’t mind me.”

“What’s going on down there?” I stifle my grin as he straightens his hair with his fingers.

“Nothing. I dropped my phone. What do you want?”

“I just came to say good morning, and to see if you wanted my extra scone.”

“What flavor is it?” His eyes are narrowed suspiciously. He’s quit refusing my breakfast offerings, and now critiques my choices instead.

“Cinnamon-chip.”

“Not my favorite. I prefer cranberry-orange.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I toss the bag and it slides across his desk. He digs in and takes one, then shoves the bag back towards me.

“Is this an invitation to eat with you?”

“I don’t know where you got that,” he mumbles through his full mouth. “But I don’t guess I can stop you.”

“Thanks.” I grab the opportunity and sit quickly, breaking off half of the remaining scone for myself.

“How are things going?” I ask.

“Great. I think we’ve got a handle on Hilton. Jesse talked to Mark Price about expanding their print budget, and we’ve come up with some social media tie-ins that I think will be effective.”

“I was asking more about you. You know, how are things going with you?” He stares at me blankly. “Like, in your life?”

“You’re asking how my life is going.” His tone is deadpan.

“Well, not in a philosophical way.” I clear my throat. “More like in a friendly, how’s it going kind of way.”

“We’re not friends.”

Patience, Knox.

“Maybe not, but I’m allowed to ask friend-adjacent questions, aren’t I?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“If you don’t tell me about yourself, I’ll start telling you about me. Do you want to hear about my family snowboarding trip? Katie sprained her ankle the first day out. I’ve got the pictures on my phone if you want to see.”

“God, no.” He crumples the empty scone wrapper and tosses it in the trash basket. “Things are going fine with me.”

“How are your parents?” He immediately stiffens. Looks like that relationship is still in the toilet.

“Peachy.” He chirps. “And yours?” It takes him a second to realize what he’s asked, and his face quickly falls. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” I say tightly.

“I never got to say how sorry I was about your Dad. You know, before you left without a trace.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, I know the way I left was shitty, and if you really want to hash it out now, I’m ready.”

“Truthfully? I’d rather drown in a vat of boiling oil.”

“Colorful,” I mutter.

“That’s why I’m the talent.” He stands, which is clearly my cue to leave. But I’m getting a little tired of the passive-aggressive cues.

“Sit!” I bark. It’s a command, not a request. He narrows his eyes, but does as I say. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna have my say, then you can have yours. And then, it’s over.” I take a deep breath and lean forward, pitching my voice low.

“I regret how our relationship ended, but I’ve never regretted being with you. I loved you, and we were good for each other. But my family needed me, and I didn’t want to hold you back with my drama and my grief. You were 20 years old, and the last thing you needed was a boyfriend stuck in Texas with his dysfunctional family. So, I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry, okay?”

His face remains flat throughout my little speech. I’m not sure how I expected him to react, but his cool indifference has me on edge.

“Are you done?” He finally asks.

“Yes. Do you have anything to say?”

“Not really.”

I nod, feeling somewhat deflated. I thought we might be able to talk things out, but I guess I was wrong. I grab the empty scone bag and stand to leave.

“Knox?” He calls when I’m just outside the door.

“Yeah?” He hasn’t called me by my first name in almost a decade. He comes to stand in front of me.

“You were wrong. I did need you, even when you were hurting and stuck in Texas with your grieving family. And you needed me, too, you fucking idiot. But keep telling yourself you did it all for me, if it helps you sleep at night.”

And then he slams the door in my face.