Page 89 of Salty Pickle

I think she’s still trying to get at what makes me salty. “It wasn’t any worse than what everybody got.”

“Did you always know you wanted to work in a New York business?”

We’re heading into personal territory. “I don’t know many kids who think to themselves, ‘I want to work for a mid-sized media conglomerate when I grow up.’”

“Is that what Pickle Media is?”

“Yeah. It started as the marketing arm for the Pickle delis, then expanded.”

“When did you take it over?”

“When I graduated with my MBA. The company was always meant for me. Uncle Sherman likes to spin off companies for family.”

“I see. Must be nice to know where you’re headed and have a place ready for you.”

“Or maybe it takes away all your choices.”

She lifts her head. “Is that why you’re so salty at work?”

I figured that was on her mind. “Who says I’m salty at work?”

She sits up, working the covers until they’re loose enough for her to wrap them around herself. “Well, let’s see. I bet Devin would say it. And probably Dawn from merchandizing. And I’m pretty sure I got tyrant vibes from everyone in the hall that day Matilda got loose.”

I cross my arm over my face. “I have a reputation, sure.”

“Deserved.” She lifts my arm to make me look at her. “And yet, here you are, sweet as pulled taffy and just as flexible.”

I don’t respond to that. She waits awhile, then sighs and slides next to me, her head on my shoulder. “What do you do for fun?”

“Work out.”

“What about all those well-loved carpentry books on your shelf?”

I go stock still. “You were snooping in my things?”

“Oh, there it is. Salty Court. There’s nothing to snoop here. You could move in any family, and nothing would have to change.”

I sigh to show my aggravation. “I don’t spend much time here.”

“Not even on the weekends?”

“I belong to a couple of informal sports leagues. It keeps me busy.”

“I see. Did you skip out on them today?”

“It’s fine.”

“You did that for me?”

I stare at the ceiling. I’m not good at pillow talk. I prefer hotels where I can leave.

She bumps my chest. “Court! Bring back the man who was talking to the baby who kicked him in the gut while we were having sex.”

She’s right. My whole body has gone rigid and not the good parts.

She deserves something. We’ve changed the tenor of our relationship today. I know I initiated it, all of it. I have to follow through. “It was like you with your grandmother. I learned carpentry from my grandpa.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Did you make things?”

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