Page 76 of My Boss

“It looks like it’s worth a fortune.”

“It was a steal. I bought it six months ago for six thousand dollars.”

“Six thousand dollars for a watch?”

“The one who sold it was a fool. In fact, it was enough to clean the mechanism, reassemble it, oil it and adjust the movement. Plus, the cosmetic work applied to the bracelet and the envelope, and it’s like new. Now its value has doubled. Let me help you fasten it.” He takes the box from my hand and takes out the watch.

“No.” I take my hand away.

“Would you rather do it yourself?”

“No, I mean…” I rub my forehead. God, this is not the right time for this kind of thing. “Jan, I can’t do this right now. I’m really in a hurry to see my mother, besides, I don’t wear watches.”

“I noticed that you don’t wear one, so I thought it would be a perfect gift. If you don’t like this one, you can choose another. I have some interesting collections at home: Frederique Constant, Ball, Versace, Omega, Junghans,” he lists them with such an involved enthusiasm that it occurs to me—he is really crazy about watches. Which, all in all, shouldn’t surprise me, since I would often see a different model on him. Apparently, watchmaking is a hobby of his that I had no idea about. But now is not the time to learn about Jan’s passions. I have more important things to do!

“Jan, this is not a good time,” I interrupt his enumeration. “Let’s postpone it until later.”

He looks at me confused.

“Why?”

What the fuck, is he serious?

“Because my mother had a heart attack and I want to go to see her in the hospital.” My nerves are starting to fray.

Jan looks at me with such a gaze, as if the meaning of my words does not reach him.

“But you did say you were not fond of her,” he replies quite seriously.

My eyes go wide.

“Well, right, but she is my mother. Things may not be well between us, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about her. Do I really need to explain this to you?”

“Yes.”

I am about to choke.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain to me why you feel the need to go to the hospital to a mother you don’t like,” he says seriously.

I look at him completely stunned. The level of his empathy, or more precisely, his total lack of it, scares me. After all, it’s obvious why I should go to her, can’t he see that?

“Because she’s my mother, dammit! Because decency dictates so, because I would be consumed with remorse if I didn’t visit her, and on fucking Christmas Eve!” My voice trembles. “Maybe if I had been at my parents’ house during dinner, nothing would have happened to her? Maybe she was upset by my absence and her heart couldn’t take it?” I tear up. “Can’t you empathize with my situation and understand that I have to go to her?”

Jan is watching me closely. I can see by the expression on his face that he is analyzing my words. Seconds pass until he finally speaks in a subdued voice, “No.”

“No what?”

“I can’t get a feel for it and can’t understand it.” He puts the watch in the box, arranges it in the case, then closes it with a clatter. “I’ll take you to your mother, though, if you care so much,” he adds, and it occurs to me that I wasn’t wrong about him earlier: Jan is a damn selfish person. One hundred percent logic, zero empathy.

On the way to the hospital, we are silent. The silence is absolute. And that’s because Jan doesn’t have a radio or CD player in the car or anything to fill the silent void between us. I pull out my phone—no messages from my father. A familiar sting of anxiety nestles around my heart. I play the first song from my playlist to distract myself from the unwanted flurry of thoughts and chase away visions of dark scenarios in which I see my own mother on a hospital bed, connected to a monitor, and suddenly I hear Jan’s firm voice:

“Turn it off.”

I’m immediately reminded of all those months during which I felt like murdering him for his bossy tone.

“Why?”

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