“Just a Quick Touch Base”

At 11:30, Sherry called, chipper: Could I swing by her office at 2 for a “quick touch base”? Sure, I said. Of course. I asked what she wanted to talk ab– DING! The meeting request landed in my calendar.

I went next door to your office, poked my head in and asked you about it. “Oh,” you frowned.

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head. You turned back to your screen, and I didn’t think a thing of it. I asked you to lunch, you pointed at your computer and threw a hand up, as if the meaning were plain, and I didn’t think a thing of it.

I tucked into a small corner of the vast dining room, sipped my soup, and opened a paperback my partner had been urging me to read – a Grisham novel whose shocking revelation I never did discover.

The summer before, he and I had gone snorkeling off the coast of Maui. The rocking of the ocean left me queasy, but I managed to dip my head in the water. Before I saw a single fish, I heard a tiny clattering that seemed to have no source. Back on board, I puked and asked the fine-tanned dinghy captain about it. He called it the sound of a healthy reef – creatures everywhere, each going about the day, scuttling on rocks, pushing through the water, ignorant of whatever else might be happening. The dining room carried the same sort of noise: murmuring chatter, shuffling feet, a loud laugh now and again – the sound of a healthy workplace.

When I got back, you were gone. I asked around. No one knew where you were.

In eight years, you had gone missing once: the afternoon the last CEO resigned. You weren’t one to be absent. Ever. Why didn’t I think a thing of it?

Brad came to my door. He knocked. I told him I was busy. What was I supposed to do? You weren’t there. I couldn’t call you, the way you had told me to do. Remember? That had been our deal ever you sat me down, closed the door and showed me a print-out of the formal report that concluded a six-week investigation. You remember the one. Of course you do. It began when I told you Brad had called you a “retarded bitch.”

I remember the look on your face when I told you. You didn’t suggest I go to Sherry – you demanded it. “You have to tell HR.” I wasn’t sure that would end well. “Don’t be worried. You need to tell them.” You were, I think now, insistent. Almost demanding.

You had been very different the first time I told you that Brad had been pushing me to go get a drink with him. I told him I had a partner, that we had been together for years and years. Do you remember what I told you Brad did next? How he raised an eyebrow and leaned in his chair and said he was only suggesting we get to know each other a little better. How he said he was still new in town and needed friends. I told you this and your answer was, “Are you going to go?”

A few weeks later, we all took the shuttle to the airport. Brad pushed his knee against mine and held it there. I couldn’t move because your massive suitcase was blocking the aisle. He pushed against me. When I told you, you smiled and laughed and said, “That shuttle was crowded. He didn’t mean anything.”

But when I was wrapping up my presentation and everyone else had left the conference room, when Brad stayed behind and said he didn’t like the way you questioned me — you remember what I told you happened? Of course you do. I told Brad I appreciated your pushback. He said, “I think she’s a retarded bitch.”

Ah. That was where you drew the line.

I didn’t have to tell you he had said it. I did, though. Because after twelve years together, I owed it to you. Twelve years, I assumed, bought loyalty and trust. It ensured that someone would back you up before you knew you needed backup.

So I said something.

Sherry spent eight weeks talk to everyone we worked with. She asked them if they had ever had problems with me. She told them to think long and hard before they answered whether I was honest and reliable. Whether I could be believed. She asked everyone, including you. Then she wrote her report, which left you sighing with something like relief because it said everything I reported had been corroborated by others. Our conclusion is that although there were no direct witnesses to these events, we have no reason to doubt the veracity of the accusations.

I shook. You put a hand on mine. I asked what would happen to Brad.

You said: “They’ll take care of this.”

At a quarter to two, a window popped up on my computer screen: “Touch Base With Sherry Begins in 15 Minutes.”

I knocked on your door. I readied the face we used when neither of us were looking forward to a meeting. You weren’t there, so I left a note on your desk. Meeting with Sherry. Back in 30 or so. Will fill you in.

Chipper Sherry smiled when I got to her door. “Come on in! Sorry for doing this so last minute.”

I stepped inside.

That’s when I saw you.

You … smiled?

Then you spoke: “We’ve decided to terminate your employment.”