She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as she looked across the small wooden table to him. Seeing as how that didn't spark a reaction from him, she cleared her throat. That didn't do anything either. Finally, she sighed loudly and spoke.
"I've seen you read a lot of books over the last few years, but I have to admit that it surprises me to see that Life After Menopause seems to have captured your interest."
Andrew, without looking at her, carefully and very deliberately turned the page of the book as he continued to study it, "Fascinating read, really helps me feel connected to my own mother," he added. Margaret tried to hold back a chuckle at that, but it seemed to come out as a snort. She nodded and looked to the table where she lined up her silverware before she took a look around the small restaurant.
"You know, even for a book editor, it's rather rude to read at the table, especially when eating with someone," she told him, hoping he would glance her way.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't feel the rules applied when dining with what, Satan's Mistress," he said, finally glancing her way with a smirk before turning back to the book.
"Come on, Andrew," she huffed. "This is ridiculous. We are adults, after all. You can't possibly tell me that it's not embarrassing to sit there and read that stupid book. You are being childish going to the lengths you are to avoid any conversation with me."
"I'm being childish?" Andrew snapped, both in his attitude and with the book. He sat forward, closing the book as he spoke to her, his voice irritated, but low due to the fact they were in a public setting.
"I'm trying to keep my sanity here, Margaret. I was doing just fine up here, well, as well as to be expected with Gammy sick. You followed me and have the nerve to say I'm being childish. You know what? Fine," he nodded, and his face turned red. "Why not?" Andrew gestured around them, indicating this was as good of a place as any for a fight. "We aired our dirty laundry in Sitka, then again in New York, so sure, why not here in Juneau as well?"
"Andrew, if you would let me explain-" Margaret started to say, but he cut her off.
"Explain what? Margaret, what could you possibly have to say? I'm well aware I work for you again, even if it is in a different capacity now. We're both editors, even if you are the senior editor, and I have to report to you. Fine. I can deal with that. I'm the one who hasn't left you, Margaret. Years of loyalty at work. Years of loyalty to you for, for," he waved his hand. Finally, he couldn't find the words so he dropped his hand and looked away shaking his head.
The table grew quiet, and the waitress dropped off the wilted, pitiful looking salads. Andrew took a look at his, sighed, and he picked up a fork. He started to stab at it with force. Margaret watched.
"I'm not very good at anything, well, let me rephrase," she said. "I'm good at my job, and that's about it."
"So introspective," he grumbled. With a spear of lettuce on his fork, he looked to her and pointed, "Why are you here? Just answer me that."
"Gammy means a lot to me, even if you don't understand that," Margaret explained quickly. "I was serious when I told your parents I thought you could use a friend."
"Yeah, well," he shook his head from side to side as he looked to his plate and not to Margaret, "I could have brought Jordan for that. I'm a big boy, Margaret. Like everything else, I'll take it like a man and move on. I've had to do a lot of that the last year. So, don't mind me. I'll be fine up here, and hopefully, Gammy will be fine very soon. I know she won't live forever, but she's going to pull through this. I know she will. I'd rather not deal with your drama on top of my family life right now," he told her.
She nodded as she listened, and then, she waited until their eyes met, "It should be my family drama, Andrew. That's my fault."
He chuckled lightly, still not taking her seriously, "I'm sorry. I need to clean my ears. It sounded like you just admitted fault, and the only other time you did that was at that sham of a wedding."
She gave a firm, single nod and continued, "I am admitting fault, and yes, I am admitting it to you. Both instances involve you and my wronging you. I did come here out of concern for Gammy, but I also came to deal with you."
He raised an eyebrow, "Deal with me?"
"I should be here now, but not to just deal with you. I should be here now because it's where I should be," she said, frowning as she said it. Andrew's face turned to confusion.
"For a prominent book editor, you have a terrible way with words, Boss. You've only confused me more. If you don't mind," he pointed to the book on the table, "I'll get back to my reading, not that this dinner conversation isn't totally fascinating," he said as he rolled his eyes.
"Where in the world did you get that hideous book?" Margaret hissed as Andrew had picked it up and started reading it again. He ignored her for another page, and only after he turned the page did he look up to see that she was staring at him, waiting for a response.
"I'm sorry," he faked a smile. "Really good stuff in here," he gestured to the book. "Almost sorry we didn't publish it."
She narrowed her gaze at him, "Did you find that in the hospital bookstore?"
"No," he finally acknowledged her and started to confess, "The truth is I saw it on the lobby table while I was waiting for you to finish in your room. I needed something, anything," he said louder, "to keep me, to keep us," he corrected himself, "from any conversation. My mistake, Boss, in forgetting that you do what you want to get what you want."
"Well," she said with a firm nod, "you're right about that. I shouldn't have run away."
Andrew, who now was mid-sip into his glass of water, spit the water out as she confessed to him. He started to cough and choke on it as he looked to her, "I'm sorry, but this is a world record. You admitted something else? Seems like you might need to be the one hospitalized, Margaret. The delusions have set in."
"I'm serious!" Margaret insisted, now stomping her foot as she sat there. She closed her eyes and sighed loudly. "I'm horrible at this."
Andrew let out a low laugh as he looked back to his almost empty salad plate, "You know, I've kind of lost my appetite." He started to stand, reaching for his book, when Margaret reached over and put her hand on his.
"Andrew, please," she looked up to him. "Know it took a lot for me to get here and to say this. Please," she asked of him again, and he closed his eyes briefly as he sat back down and gestured around them.
"As I said, let's air the dirty laundry in a new place tonight, Margaret, shall we? What is this place called again? Isn't it the Miner's Wagon or something? I just want to be able to remember that as I lick my wounds."
"I didn't have to come back!" Margaret blurted out, looking to him, and he titled his head at her. She fumbled her hands and continued, "Do you know that I was offered my job? I could have stayed in Canada and continued with the job there. My year is up. The company was well within its legal rights to employ me again. They told me I could just work from Toronto. You and I both know most of the job could have been done there if I'd chosen to go that route. No, I came back."
"Yes," he nodded. "Thanks for that, the no warning and all," he rolled his eyes. "So glad you decided to come back and torment me. Tell me, Margaret, how did you see this going? Are you trying to get me to quit? I don't wan to leave the company, but I can now as an editor and put out feelers for another job. Bluntly speaking, Boss, this can't continue."
"You're right," she said, now calmly as she took a very deep breath. She repeated herself as she met his gaze, "You're right. Look, I did a lot of thinking this last year, and to be honest, I owe you a lot of apologies for my many actions. I don't blame you if you want to get up and walk out of here. The truth is that I've been scared to talk to you. I've tried many times since I returned. I stood outside your apartment or condo or whatever it is," she shook her head, "for an hour last week, and I couldn't bring myself to knock."
He raised his eyebrows at her, "You stood outside of my place? Why?"
She sighed, "I may have given you," she paused and bit her lip as she thought through her answer. She sighed again and tried again, "I may have given you the wrong answer last year. I spent this entire last year working through that, working through all of my messed-up self, and I came back not really for the job, even though I do want my old job back at my old office and all, but I need to make this right, or I need to try. I suppose, Andrew," she said his name slowly as she tried to make eye contact with him. She paused and waited for him to look at her, and he finally did when she offered up the pregnant pause. Then, she continued, "I suppose I was quite caught off guard when I came back and found out that you've been just fine this last year, that you've moved on and quite nicely, I might add. You've bought a new place, transitioned into your new job well, are working out all the time, which by the way, is something I've had no motivation to do all year, and I find out that you are even what, coaching baseball? I guess with all of my thinking this last year, I assumed we both would, would-" she paused, not sure of the right word.
Andrew, who had been extremely surprised at her admission, had actually started to listen and when she paused, couldn't help his comment, "We both would act like scared puppies? What is it, Margaret? You left me. You're sitting there saying you can't believe I tried to move on with my life? Well," he said with a nervous laugh without realizing he was admitting it, "News for you, Margaret. I'm dead inside. You want to know why I'm bitter? I've got nothing left."
Margaret's eyes flew open at that admission, and she tried to catch his gaze again. He shook his head and looked down. She cleared her throat and continued by speaking quietly, "Andrew, in going home, back to Toronto," she clarified, "I was forced to deal with some of my own baggage. I left Toronto shortly after my parents died, and I haven't been back. It's like this last year, I was forced to deal with that trauma, and I call it that because I'd forced it out of my head. The most real I've been in well, as long as I can remember, was when I ended the sham at the altar."
"Just great," he raised his eyes at her and shook his head. "Let's just relieve that again, shall we?"
"I was real in that I was admitting it was a sham. I was admitting I couldn't go through with the sham of a wedding, but what I couldn't understand then or even back in New York when you proposed, is that I was too scared. I have come to realize in the last year," she paused and the two looked up as their food was delivered. Nothing was said as the plates were put on the table. After the waitress left, Andrew pursed his lips.
"Well, if this isn't just what the doctor ordered after a long, stressful few days with Gammy, a beat down of Andrew's emotional state," he sighed.
"I do love you, you idiot," she blurted out, but this was loud enough for those around them to hear. She turned red as people looked to them, and Andrew, who had already cut off a big chunk of steak and started chewing it, paused, part of the steak hanging out of his mouth. Margaret made a face. He looked like a five-year-old who was learning how to not take too big of a bite.
"You're lucky I like steak and worked really hard to keep this bite between my teeth. I almost spit it at you. You what?" Andrew asked. He opened his mouth to properly chew his bite. He didn't say more and looked to her, which almost made her uncomfortable.
"You heard me," she said quietly. "I know I've hurt you, but I want to make things right."
"Margaret," he said, running his hand through his hair, "for one year, ONE YEAR," he said raising his voice, "you've ghosted me. You've completely cut off communication. I'm pretty sure Canada is advanced enough to have basic phone service. Oh, and I'm pretty sure you still remember my email address seeing as how you would send me almost hourly lists of my tasks," he said through gritted teeth. "Then, you up and decide to return to the scene of the crime-in more ways than one!" Andrew exclaimed and gestured around them. "You came back to New York for work and then to Alaska to rehash our personal mess."
"I'm trying to fix both! Andrew, you know me. You know I don't admit anything. Know that I'm basically here begging," she sighed and looked to her plate of chicken. The two grew silent for a few moments. Andrew sliced and diced his steak, taking his frustrations out on it. Finally, as he took another bite and wiped his mouth, he threw down his napkin.
"Ask me nicely," he told her. She glanced up, her meal in the opposite state as his. While he'd dug into the steak and polished it off quickly, she'd barely touched her chicken.
"Ask you nicely? Andrew, what?" Margaret asked him, unaware of what he wanted her to do.
"Ask me again nicely to forgive you because the offer expires in oh," he glanced to his watch, "three seconds." If you don't meet the timeline, I'm back to my book and back to stewing about you for the rest of my life.