"Oh boy, am I ever glad to see you!" Tony exclaimed when Angela arrived at his place. He ushered her into the apartment, his hand on the small of her back, practically pushing her inside.
"Where's Samantha?"
"Still in the bathroom, waitin' for you," he said. He spied the pharmacy bag she had in her hand. "Is that the stuff she needs?"
"Yes. I'm going to help her; don't worry Tony. I've got this." Angela headed to the closed bathroom door and rapped gently on the wood. "Sweetie, it's Angela. I brought you the things you need. May I come in?" The door unlocked from the inside and a small hand waved her in.
Outside the bathroom, Tony paced the narrow hallway, relieved that Angela was helping his daughter, yet somewhat glum that he had had to disturb her on the weekend while she spent time with her husband. He missed his days living at her house, and the feeling of camaraderie and family they had shared. Part of him longed for those simpler days in Angela's cozy home. While he enjoyed the challenges Mrs. R gave him, his new apartment in the house's large wing did not feel like a home, and he and Samantha always ate alone, or with the help, not with Mrs. Randall herself. Despite her professional interest in him, Mrs. R was not family. He was lost in his thoughts when Angela and Samantha exited the bathroom together.
He looked at his adolescent daughter, noting the high colour in her cheeks and her shy smile while she thanked Angela.
"Oh Sweetheart, I am so honoured that you asked me to help you," she said. Angela pulled Sam into a tight hug. "Whatever you need, I'll always be here for you, okay Sam?"
"Do you think you could take me to buy a new bra?" the girl asked.
"Samantha let's not impose here," Tony admonished her.
"It's no imposition, really! I'd be happy to take Sam shopping again for whatever she needs, whenever she needs it," Angela replied with a wide smile. She had always secretly hoped for a little girl, which was the reason she went along with Michael's baby-making plan. And she loved Tony's daughter like her own child and considered her to be a member of her family. Helping her grow up into womanhood was a privilege she did not take lightly.
"Thanks Angela!" Samantha gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to her room. "I've gotta call Marci and tell her. Oh she'll be so jealous I got it before her."
"So …" Tony started.
"So …"
"Um, whatever you did in there, I'm really grateful. I thought buying a bra was hard, but this, ha!" he shook he head and grimaced. "I wouldn't be making it through puberty without you, Angela."
"Oh Tony, she just needed a bit of guidance. Don't forget, you'll need to buy her more supplies every month. Just buy her the exact same box I got her. You'll be fine," she reassured him.
"Uh huh," he squeaked out, shuddering at the thought of making monthly treks to the pharmacy to purchase these supplies for his daughter.
"You can do it, Tony. And if it's hard at the beginning, let me know and I can help out, okay?" She squeezed his bicep and stifled a giggle because Tony looked so terrified.
Eager for a change of topic, Tony headed to the kitchen, indicating with his head for Angela to follow him. "How can I thank you?" he asked.
"You just did. And you're welcome," she said.
"No, no, I want to do something more. What can I give you? Or do for you?"
"Really, Tony, it's not necessary."
"It is. You have no idea what a life saver you were just now. Is there anything I can get for you?"
Understanding that male pride entwined with gratitude, Angela thought for a moment. "Well. . . I do love your walnut fudge brownies. I've missed them," she said, a slow smile blossoming on her face at the memory of eating the delicious, light as air yet thick as night chocolate treats.
"Brownies? That's it? You got it. I can make them right now; can you wait for them?" Tony began clattering around the kitchen opening cupboards, not bothering to wait for Angela's reply.
"How long will it take you?" she asked.
"Are you in a hurry to get back?" He placed two mixing bowls on the counter and grabbed a measuring cup and spoons.
"I've got a presentation on Monday and I haven't finished my storyboard yet," she explained to him while watching as he expertly measured the flour.
"What is it you always say about storyboards, Ang? That they're the building blocks of an ad, and like building blocks, they can be rearranged until the last minute, right?"
"True. I'm impressed that you remembered I said that" she told him, eyes wide in amazement.
"Well, in that case, do you know what's gonna go into your storyboard yet?"
"I have a pretty good idea. Just have to get it all down."
"Right, and it's Saturday afternoon. Do you think you can wait half an hour for brownies? Maybe eating one will inspire you. And you can bounce ideas off me too, ya know. I'm happy to be a sounding board." Tony began beating an egg and poured it into the dry flour mixture. "Whatcha workin' on anyway?" he asked with genuine interest.
Angela explained her campaign to him while he continued measuring and stirring his ingredients. Tony listened carefully while he poured the batter into a pan. He gave Angela some of his impressions and thoughts, always encouraging her while he did so. When he popped the pan into the oven, he filled the kettle and boiled some water for their tea. Together they waited for the brownies to bake and continued to chat about Angela's upcoming presentation.
"I've missed this," she said, while he poured hot water into a teapot.
"You've missed my teas and brownies?"
"I've missed our talks," she clarified. "It feels so good to talk to someone who cares about my work, and who supports me. Besides, you always give me a lot of good ideas to use. Thank you, Tony."
Tony tilted his head and studied her. He hesitated for a moment, poured the steeped tea into two cups, and took a deep breath. "Isn't Michael supportive?" he asked.
"Well …" she trailed off. "He's supportive of me, but he doesn't appreciate it when I bring work home on a Saturday afternoon," she explained.
"Yeah, but you're the President of Wallace and McQuade. He can't expect you not to bring your work home sometimes, right?"
"No, no, he gets it. He just doesn't like it. I guess he feels left out or ignored."
"Wasn't that the issue you and Michael had the first time around?" Tony remembered having a similar conversation with Angela when Michael first returned.
Angela nodded and busied herself with her teacup. "Same issue," she said. "And you know, it's not like I don't give him my time, or work all weekend. I do make time for him. I don't understand why he gets so upset with me." She shrugged her shoulders.
"Have you asked him?"
"Yes, and he just says he wants me to have some downtime."
"And you're not buyin' that?"
"No. Tony, I think my husband resents the fact that I work at all. He's never liked my career or the fact that I couldn't take off with him into the jungle at a moment's notice."
"Would you want to follow him into the jungle and abandon your career?" he asked her.
"No," she said.
"Well then," Tony stood up to check on the brownies.
"Well then," she whispered.
On her way home, Angela thought about her conversation with Tony, and smiled at his eagerness to help her with her work. She inhaled the sweet aroma of the brownies in her car, excited to eat a second one. As she pulled into her driveway, she noticed something was amiss. Though it was dusk, the outside light was off, and the living room appeared to be dark. Angela put the car in park and sat for a moment, alone with her thoughts and the scent of chocolate. Images of her afternoon at Tony's stayed with her; Sam's frightened white face in the bathroom, her relief when Angela showed her what to do, and then Tony's gratitude, followed by the earnest way he listened to her, so attentive and helpful. She sniffled, then took a deep fortifying breath, and exited the car.
When she entered the living room, Michael was sitting in the semi-dark waiting for her.
"Well it's about time," he said, a jagged edge to his voice.
Angela balked, then took off her shoes and raincoat. She set the brownies on the living room table and sat beside her husband on the couch. "You told me to take my time."
"Yeah, but I thought you had a storyboard that couldn't wait." He was unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. "What are those?"
"Oh, um, these are "thank you" brownies." Angela wished she had kept them in her car, away from her husband's intense scrutiny.
"They're warm," he commented. "Did you sit around and wait while Tony baked these?"
"Uh …" words failed her.
"Yeah, uh. I get it," he mocked her.
Angela stood up, not willing to be cowed. "What is it you think you get, Michael? Do you get that Samantha needed me, and Tony was so grateful, he baked me brownies? Because that's all there is to get." She could not help but sound defensive.
"That's not what I get, no," Michael stood up and lowered his voice. He whispered into Angela's ear, "I get that you are eager to spend time with your former housekeeper, even if means putting off work. Even if it means putting me off."
"You're wrong!"
"I don't think so, Angela. Give me those."
"No, Michael, those are my brownies!" She tugged at one end the paper bag while Michael pulled it away from her. Angela could feel her anger rising and she yanked harder. This had the unfortunate effect of ripping the bag. The brownies spilled all over the coffee table where Angela's storyboard layouts had been neatly tidied.
"Look what you did!" she admonished him.
"Oh hell, do you want me to do something? Here!" Michael took his fist and smashed it into the brownies. The chocolate smeared all over Angela's campaign.
"Stop it, Michael, stop it! Dammit!" Angela pushed at him and he pushed her back. She fell to the floor.
On Monday at school, Samantha looked for Jonathan at recess like she usually did. She liked to check in on the younger child, as she felt rather protective of him and needed the family ties.
"Hey Squirt, how are you doing?" she asked, briefly interrupting his inspection of a worm.
"Oh fine," he replied, his face downcast.
"Oh no, what's wrong?" Sam took in the large, sad eyes.
"I didn't get to taste any of Tony's brownies," he admitted.
"Oh why, did your mom eat them all herself?" That would not have surprised Samantha in the least.
"No. My Daddy smashed them to bits all over my mom's work. I tried to lick the table, but Mom said not to do that."
"Why would your Dad do that?!"
"I dunno. He seemed really mad at my mom. He yelled at her a lot and she ended up crying."
"What? Is she okay?"
"I guess. He stopped yelling now. It's very quiet at my house."
"Jonathan, that's not good. Does your dad get very mad at you too?"
"Not really. He's mostly yells at my mom."
The recess bell rang then, and Samantha knew she had a lot to tell her dad when she got home later.