Page 100 of True Colors

He always makes it from scratch just like Miss Helen. At the state home, they used to make it from a box. They never tasted right.

I slowly tell him about what I overheard and then how Luther spoke to me.

“He didn’t even want me to be in the meeting room, Finn.” And that was the cruelest blow of all. I’m so much of a liability that he thought even my presence would harm his career.

He sets the griddle on the gas stove. “Did you want to be in the room?”

I don’t have to think about it. “Yes.”

“Even though he didn’t want you to present?” He turns the stove on and drops a sliver of butter on the griddle.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you not to attend the meeting?” Finn opens the fridge, pulls out a box of strawberries he bought at the farmer’s market, and sets them on the counter.

“I was disinvited.”

I grab a strawberry and bite into it. I wipe the juice that trickles down my chin with a paper towel.

“By whom?”

“Erin.”

“So…not Luther.”

I hesitate. “He…allowed it.”

“That’s a fuck up for sure.” Finn checks the griddle heat with a wooden skewer, and when he feels the sizzle is right, he pours a ladle full of batter onto it.

“But,” he adds, glancing at me, “that’s not the same as being a villain.”

I give him a quizzical look. “Huh?”

Finn grins. “Annie, he’s like what, twenty-nine-thirty?”

“And?”

“And he’s barely out of the larval stage of executive life.” He flips the first pancake. “He’s under ridiculous pressure. That doesn’t excuse it—but it explains it.”

I pick up another strawberry and look at it critically. Finn washes all the fruit and vegetables we buy at the farmer’s market in water and vinegar, so the berries look Instagram shiny. Not that either of us has a social media account.

“He said I was a liability to his career.”

“If he thinks that because of your stutter, he’s a fucking moron.”

“That’s better,” I mumble, biting into the lush flesh of the glistening berry.

Finn lets out a soft laugh. “Annie, I’m always on your side, you know that. But I don’t hate the guy. He’s trying to show his father he’s ready when he’s not. The fact that he thought your stutter would be a problem shows that he’s got a long way to go when it comes to becoming a good leader.”

Finn starts working on the second pancake.

“He broke my trust, Finn.”

“He screwed up,” Finn says, grabbing a cutting board and a knife. “But the measure of a person isn’t the mistake. It’s whether they stand up, take responsibility, and make it right.”

I chew my lower lip, feeling a wave of sadness. “It won’t matter, Finn.”

Finn stops chopping the strawberries and gives me a measured look. “Annie, love, just because he fucked up doesn’t mean you give up on him.”