At that, I laughed. Too loudly, probably. This stupid disguise was really coming back to bite me.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“A new pair of glasses isn’t really very high up on my priority list!”
“I can’t have my personal assistant going to meetings with a giant crack in her glasses. It looks ridiculous. And it’s distracting.”
“Fine, then I won’t wear them anymore.” I pulled them off my face and closed my palm over them, feeling very relieved that they were finally off my face.
He shook his head at me and tutted loudly. Clearly, this wasn’t the right answer. “I’m sure there’s a good reason you’re wearing glasses. You wouldn’t want to mess your eyes up just because you’re being stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” I shook my head at him. “I’m being poor. Not stubborn.”
His eyes narrowed and traveled over the features of my face, as if he was trying to take me all in. His mind seemed to be ticking away; I could almost hear it.Tick,tick,tick. What went on in that head of his?
“Come!” Suddenly, he rose up out of his chair like a massive tidal wave.
“Where?”
“To an optometrist.”
“But . . . I . . . I . . .” I tried to protest.
“Stop stuttering and come. As an employee, you have medical cover. I’m sure a trip to the optometrist is covered. And hopefully a new pair of glasses too.” He strode out of the room and I ran after him.
He wasn’t serious, was he?
Oh, but he was. He wasveryserious. Because ten minutes later, after a rather awkward, silent drive (not that I should have expected anything else by now), we arrived at an optometrist. He’d demanded an immediate appointment. He’d declared it an emergency, and so that’s how I now found myself sitting in the chair looking through all the fancy machines and pointing when I saw the dots of light. I’d tried to object several times, but he’d insisted. And now he was sitting outside in the waiting room; I could hear him talking on the phone.
“Well, your eyesight is perfect, Miss Granger,” the optometrist finally said when it was all done. “No need for any glasses.”
At that, a chill ran up my spine. If I walked out without a bloody prescription, even if it was for the mildest of eye issues, he would know that I’d been wearing fake glasses this entire time. I laughed nervously and followed him out of the room, back to where Ryan was waiting. As soon as he saw me, he put his phone down and looked up.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s a miracle,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t need glasses anymore.” I smiled nervously at him and he looked from me to the optometrist, and back again.
“Her eyesight is absolutely perfect,” the old optometrist said.
“WELL,” I quickly cut him off, “not perfect, perfect . . .per se. It’s OKAY. You know, not perfect.”
“No, it’s pretty perfect,” the optometrist continued, and I wanted to kick him.
My grumpy boss was staring at me strangely again, and I shrugged. “Like I said. It’s a miracle.”
“Well,” the optometrist butted in again, and now Ireallywanted to kick him. “It would be very unusual for a problem tosimplyrectify itself all on its own. What did you say you were again? Short-sighted, far-sighted?”
“Yes. Those!” I said quickly.
The optometrist looked confused but nodded at me slowly. “Yes, like I said, it would be unusual for that to correct naturally,” he added again. He wasn’t letting this go! And every time he opened his mouth, he was digging me deeper and deeper into a hole.
“But nothing is impossible.” I turned to the optometrist and glared at him in a way that screamed “play along!” A poster of a woman looking up at the moon with glasses on caught my eye. “Think about it. Do you think primitive man would ever have expected us to walk on the moon?” A poster of someone looking at e=mc2on a chalk board through a pair of glasses also caught my attention. “And what about the Internet? Imagine what Einstein would have thought about an email.” I looked from poster to poster and continued with my rather clever (well, I thought so) analogies until I came to the last poster. “And what about Ryan Gosling—” I blurted but quickly stopped myself.
Wait, why did he have a poster of Ryan Gosling on the wall?I stared atmyRyan blankly.
“What about Ryan Gosling?” he asked. Clearly confused.
“Well . . .” I looked around for an answer. “Um, he’s very, well, he’s a funny actor, obviously and, well, you are not an actor, obviously, but you know . . . and you have the same name.”Oh God, this was making no sense.But I couldn’t stop myself because they were both staring at me now, waiting for answers. “Not that that makes you the same. I’m not saying you are similar, because you’re not alike. Sure you’re both hot but that’s a given—” I slapped my hands over my mouth. Had I just said that?Shit!“Right!” I jumped, changing the subject. “Let’s go!” I rushed out through the door, past the confused-looking optometrist, and headed straight for the car. At least I didn’t have to wear those stupid glasses anymore.
