Page 88 of My Boss

“I don’t. I want to go to sleep.”

My throat seizes again. Okay, take it easy. The guy is tired. Respect it, turn on your side and go to sleep too. It’s been a hard day.

“OK. Good night then.”

“Good night, Maria.” Jan closes his eyes, and I turn my back to him and cover myself with the quilt up to my ears.

And even though I realize that nothing will happen if we don’t fall asleep cuddled together tonight, somewhere deep inside it saddens me. Because it was really great sex. But apparently, only sex.

I’m awakened by the urgency of my bladder and a wolf-like hunger. I open my eyes, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am, but after a while, I remember everything. It’s dark all around, with only the faint moonlight creeping in through the window. I glance at the place next to me—empty. What time is it? I look around the bedroom, but I don’t see a clock. This is damn strange because I’m sure I heard a pendulum clock striking during the night. It’s a good thing Jan doesn’t have a cuckoo clock in the kitchen. That would be quite a symphony.

“Jan?”

The only response is from my growling belly. The pangs in my stomach grow stronger by the minute. I really shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t eat anything all day yesterday. I fasted for Christmas Eve.

I throw back the quilt, sit on the edge of the bed and look for my phone. It should be on the floor with my clothes. Gosh, but I need to pee. I look around the dark floor, and my eyes slowly get used to the darkness. I can’t see my clothes or my phone. I get up, looking around. In the depths of the bedroom, I see a treadmill, a bicycle, some barbells, and a bench—apparently Jan has his own dedicated gym here. I look around the room and notice a chest of drawers standing opposite the bed, on which a white shirt and a skirt lie, folded evenly in a neat square, and on that are my bra and cell phone.

It makes me want to laugh. God, Jan, you neatnik.

I walk over to the dresser, put on my shirt (wait, did he iron it???) and glance at the phone display.

It’s five after five. The middle of the night.

Ohhh, the relentless urge. I absolutely have to pee. And poop, too, I think. I tighten my sphincter and go out into the corridor using my cell phone as a flashlight. I notice light coming out from under the door of Jan’s office. My first instinct is to look in on him to ask why he’s awake at this hour, but I really have to go to the bathroom because my bladder is about to explode.

I enter the bathroom, and immediately the light blazes on, and the fan whirs. The brightness dazzles me. The fixtures, glossy tiles and mirrors gleam like jewels in a jewelry store. Wow, what a ‘surprise’.

Jan must have showered recently because the glass of the enclosure is still wet.

I put the phone down on the sink, lift the toilet seat flap and I’m in awe. Not a single hair, no stain, no yellowing, no scale: pure whiteness, clear water, the smell of lavender. It looks like the first time I’ll do a number one and two on the seat anywhere other than my house. Even at my parents’, Toska’s, Nina’s or Artie’s, I crouch over the toilet. Any woman who has ever caught an acute yeast infection will understand this. The itching, burning, and swelling are impossible to forget. And since I learned from my mistakes, I avoid swimming pools and never touch with my own ass a toilet seat that has entertained someone else’s.

This time, however, I’m going to break that iron rule. I am almost one hundred percent sure that if there was a competition for the cleanest toilet in our country, this one would take first place. I can already see our company’s health and safety newsletter headline: “We are proud! Jan Engler, Director of the Finance Department, king of the cleanest throne in Poland.”

He, he. But I would love to see his face if he saw such an e-mail.

I sit down comfortably, do what nature tells me to do. Almost immediately, I hear a puffing sound, and the bathroom is filled with a lavender scent. Oh my gosh, I’m impressed. Undeniably, Jan should have his own show on TV—The Perfect Househusband.

Well. Time to satisfy another physiological need. I hope Jan has something good in the refrigerator. I walk out into the hallway, approach the door with a line of light underneath, and knock.

Silence.

I knock again.

Nothing.

“Are you there?” I ask.

No answer.

I turn the door handle and look inside. Jan is sitting bent over the table; a desk lamp illuminates his hands. One is holding a pair of tweezers, the other a disassembled watch. He is so focused that he doesn’t notice me at all. I study him for a while. And there is definitely something to look at. His hair is slightly damp from the shower. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt, sweatpants and his feet are bare. This is the first time I’ve seen him like this. And I damn well like it.

“Am I bothering you?”

Jan raises his head and frowns.

“Maria. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question. Can’t you sleep?” I walk toward him.

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