Page 6 of Emil

“Are you warm enough?” I asked, even though I was already fiddling with the seat temperature.

“I’m fine. Thank you for driving me home. I know it’s out of your way.”

Anders’s voice was small, but his size took up the entire passenger seat. He was a big guy, though never threatening, always gentle. It almost reminded me of a storybook character my mom would read to me when we were little. His blond hair in braids and tied back in a bun, the massive chest, the tree-trunk legs. It seemed such a diametrically opposite vibe.

“It is absolutely not out of my way.” I hadn’t been in the room when the doctor made the diagnosis, but I did hear what the nurse had to say. I knew it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help but feed the incessant need inside me to understand what was wrong. “So it was only dehydration?”

“I can’t believe it was something so stupid.”

“Well, celebrities the world over use it as an excuse for whatever, so it must be valid enough.”

“I don’t think that’s a good barometer for whether or not something is valid. ‘Celebrities do it, so it must be okay.’”

“Fair enough. So it was just dehydration?” Anders had sounded cagey when he answered the question, so I suspected there was a little bit more to what the doctor had said. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing serious,” Anders hedged. When I waved my hand for him to continue, he sighed and added, “My iron is low. I need to eat more vegetables, I guess, and red meat, and I need to stop skipping meals, which you were there for that part.”

“Why have you been skipping meals?” Anders didn’t answer my question but turned to stare out the window. His fingers were clasped in his lap, but they weren’t relaxed. They were actively flexing against each other, creating a tangled knot. He studied the lights out the window as if they held all the answers to the universe. “Anders?”

The only response I received was silence.

“Anders, I asked you a question. Why have you been skipping meals?”

Anders whipped his head around at the authority in my voice. “My appetite’s been off. I’ve just been stressed, and when I am stressed, I can’t eat. And when I can’t eat, I get a little shaky.”

“How often do you skip meals?”

“I don’t know. Maybe four or five times a week.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna stop today. There will be no more skipped meals.”

“Pardon?” Anders clarified incredulously.

I’d said what I said, and I meant every word of it.

“Where is the confusion? You won’t skip meals at work anymore, and I will be double-checking to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Don’t you think that’s too much?” Anders wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he stared at my dashboard as it followed the path of the GPS instructions.

“No, I don’t think it’s too much at all.”

Of course, HR might think so, but we didn’t need to let them know about this latest directive. If I told them, they would have thoughts on it, and I sure as shit didn’t care what they were. The thought of Anders hurting himself because he was pushing himself too hard made my skin crawl. Anders was a damn good employee. I was his boss. It was going to stay that way because, unfortunately, he already had a boyfriend—a shitty, absolutely fucked-up one, but a boyfriend nonetheless.

I pulled up to one of the nicer apartment buildings downtown. I hadn’t looked up Anders’s salary, but I was surprised that this was where he rented. But I suppose if John was picking up the majority of the rent… Oh, fuck me. Anders was worried about not getting paid. I would bet my car that the piece of shit John was making him split the rent at least fifty-fifty, even though John’s salary had to be a shit ton more than Anders’s. There was no way for me to get confirmation without seriously overstepping boundaries. Fuck.

“I meant what I said. You’re not coming in until next Monday,” I said with all the firmness I could muster without sounding harsh. Anders flinched anyway.

“I don’t have any sick leave, remember? I can’t afford to take unpaid leave. I can take a day off, that’s fine, but I need to finish out the week.”

“The good news for you is that your company no longer sets HR policy. You now have more than three days’ worth of sick leave. You’re staying home, and we’re not discussing it anymore. You’ll stay home, read a book, watch TV, and eat all the spinach you can handle.”

“I wasn’t aware that my boss could dictate what my dinner was.” Anders had a slight smile around the edge of his mouth.

Was that a joke? When he glanced over with a little bit of light in his eyes, I got the confirmation I was looking for.

“Well, this one does, so I guess you’re gonna have to follow it.” Anders nodded, but I noticed that his shoulders dropped and his breathing became slightly less labored.

I’d take the wins where I could find them.