Well, good. He should be moping. He deserves to mope after how he’s been treating me.
Also, why does knowing he owns a cat suddenly make him more attractive to me?
Kiera: So what did you say to him?
Junie: Nothing that didn’t need to be said. I insinuated he was acting like your mom, which he was.
It takes a while for Kiera to answer. The three little dots appear then disappear, appear then disappear.
Kiera: Oh, Junie…
Junie: What?
I wait for Kiera to answer, but it’s taking forever. Maybe she got busy with work and had to put her phone away? But then I feel a tug on the leg of my pants. I look down and nearly jump out of my skin.
“Oh my gosh, Kiera! You scared me!” I hiss down at her. She’s crouching by my legs like she army crawled over here from her desk. “What are you doing?”
“I had to talk to you. It was too much to text.” Her eyes are big and she looks so comical down there, I might laugh, except she looks really serious. “Junie, I understand you were upset, and you probably had every right to be—believe me, I know how infuriating my brother can be—but what you said was…”
I wait, but she never finishes the sentence. Great, now I’m starting to feel uneasy. “What?” I prod.
She sighs. “Owen is, um, sensitive about how he’s perceived, and he’s extra super sensitive about being compared to our parents, for reasons I don’t think I need to point out. If there’s anyone he doesn’t want to grow up to be like, it’s our mom and dad. So telling him he was acting like her, well…”
She trails off, and I glance at Mr. Ferguson again. There’s no doubt about it, he’s definitely staring off into space. His arms are folded, and he’s turned in his chair, staring out his window that faces the city. The corners of his lips are pulled down, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of tugging at my heartstrings.
“I’m not saying you need to apologize,” Kiera says quickly. “Owen needs a good, swift kick in the pants every once in a while. But maybe avoid comparing him to Mom in the future. Okay?”
And right then and there, I know how badly I screwed up.
That’s the thing about Kiera. She’s like Joan of Arc: a fearless warrior who would go into battle defending what she believes to be right and good, or die trying.
This is Kiera going to battle against her best friend on behalf of her brother in the most gentle way possible. She’s defending him. Protecting him. Caring for him the best way she knows how, even though the two of them aren’t always on good terms. This is important to her.
Another thought strikes me.
Would Cynthia Burton ever go to battle for her son like this? Or her daughter? What kind of mother was she that even the mere mention of the similarities between her and her son would make him have an existential crisis? Mr. Ferguson may have needed to hear what I said to him, but he doesn’t deserve to feel this way. And who am I to point fingers? My own parents didn’t turn out to be exactly role-model material. And I may or may not have picked up a bad habit or two from their examples…
I attempt a smile and smooth Kiera’s hair back, because it’s the only part of her I can reach sitting up here on my tall secretary chair. “Okay, Kiera. I didn’t understand before, but I think I do now. Thank you for talking to me about this.”
Kiera, looking relieved, squeezes my calf with both hands. “You’re the best.” She moves to crawl back to her desk, but pauses. “Oh, by the way, Summer and I are going out to dinner this weekend. Do you want to come with us?”
“Of course I do.”
“Great. I’ll text you. Bye!”
Kiera makes it back to her desk when I notice a new email sitting in my inbox.
Miss Cousins,
Since we weren’t able to have our meeting this morning, I’d like to ask if you could stay for fifteen minutes after work today to meet with me.
I promise to be on my best behavior.
Mr. Ferguson
I stare at the words on the screen. They are…surprising. Cautious, polite, dare I say almost, apologetic? No. I’m reading too much into this. He probably wants to meet so he can lecture me on proper work behavior.
But…that doesn’t feel quite right either.