Page 80 of My Boss

Enough is enough. I’m ending this toxic relationship. I’m cutting myself off from my screwball family.

*

After throwing the discharge papers in Arek’s face and leaving everyone in the hospital parking lot without a word, I charge off like an enraged bull toward the nearest bus stop. I really don’t give a shit that I’m trekking around in the cold with bare legs andno panties on Christmas Eve and that I don’t have my cell phone, keys, or even money for a ticket. At least I have cigs.

After several unsuccessful attempts to fire up the lighter (fuck winter with its snow and wind!) I finally manage to take a drag on my cigarette. Ohhh, how good… My thought process immediately improves. A blissful stream of nicotine runs through my body, and a brilliant plan is already being conceived in my head: I’ll hitch a ride to Toska’s. Surely, as tradition dictates, there will be a place left for an unexpected visitor at her table, with warm tea and kind words. She’s probably sitting with her husband on the couch by the Christmas tree, watchingHomeAloneand eating traditional Christmas poppy seed cake, while their little one sleeps peacefully in the next room. Not that I’m envious (especially of the kid), but I’d rather be sitting with someone in the warmth and watching something.

A chilly breeze takes my breath away. Snow blinds my eyes, and I instinctively curl up. God, how cold is it? I extinguish the half-soaked cigarette in the trash can, take a piece of gum, wrap my arms around my body and continue on my way. Just then, a familiar male voice reaches me…

“Maria!” I glance toward the street. A black BMW is moving slowly at the curb. Through the open window on the passenger side, I spot Jan sitting behind the wheel. “Get in.”

Oh boy, I had completely forgotten about him! What a sight for sore eyes… I come closer, and the car stops.

“Hi.” I get inside, close the door, and the window slides up, separating me from the snowstorm.

Oh God, how warm. I glance gratefully at Jan because, in addition to offering me a ride, he turned on the seat heater earlier. My ovaries, along with my bladder, sigh with relief.

“Thank you for picking me up.” I fasten my seat belt.

“Sure.” He turns on his indicator and pulls away up the road. “Why did you run away from the parking lot?”

“Because I couldn’t stand looking at my family for a second longer.”

“I conclude that there was something in the discharge papers that you did not expect?”

“Oh yeah.” I still can’t believe I have such a witless family. “Did you know it was just reflux? My mother got heartburn, and they were feeding me a lie that she ended up in the hospital because of me because her heart ached with despair over Maria.”

Jan shakes his head.

“I don’t understand people,” he states.

“My family are not people. They are vultures. Sometimes I wonder if someone accidentally switched me at birth in the hospital for their real child. That would be a nice surprise.” I shift my gaze outside the window and notice that we are heading back to the center. “Er, where are you going?”

“To my place. I have a good Scotch. You could use a strong drink.”

I look at him. He is so composed and calm, as if today did not happen at all. While I am an emotional wreck. I guess it will do me good to down a nice shot of something. At Toska’s, I wouldn’t drink alcohol. She doesn’t drink because she’s nursing, and her Radoslaw is a non-drinker since they diagnosed him with Hashimoto’s a year ago. Apparently, he got this shit due to prolonged stress—the wonders of owning a real estate development company.

“OK, sure,” I reply. “But I don’t like Scotch. Do you have something else?”

“Vodka.”

“With juice?”

“Orange.”

“Great.”

Jan lives on the top floor of a secured apartment building—one of those with automatic gates, surveillance, underground parking, a guard booth, a courtyard and fancy balconies overlooking the city. God, how much does he earn that he can afford such digs?

As soon as we take the elevator upstairs, I realize that apart from my mathematical genius, I also have clairvoyant abilities because this is exactly how I imagined Jan’s apartment.

Big bright tiles on the floor shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. Gray, white and black everywhere. I have a suspicion that Jan, in addition to being antisocial, also suffers from total color blindness.

The kitchen is so clean that you can eat from the countertop and drink from the sink. It’s scary to touch anything in case you get it dirty.

As soon as I take off my jacket, under which I’m only wearing a bra (because the damp blouse was left at the office), Jan brings me his shirt—on a hanger, perfectly ironed and so white it shines. I put it on, roll up the sleeves and sit down on the bar stool. God, what does he wash his clothes in, men’s perfume? The shirt smells so amazing that I feel like hugging myself.

“Your cleaning lady is doing a good job,” I venture when Jan enters the kitchen after going to change (surprise, surprise—into a snow-white shirt).

---