Chapter 22 - Thatcher’s Apology to My Work
At fifty, Thatcher asked me one strange favor.
“Can I visit Northstar?”
Why?
His company wanted enterprise software vendor demo.
Not my department.
I arranged nothing special.
He attended through sales channel.
After, we had coffee.
He looked at massive office.
“I used to hate this place.”
“You barely came.”
“I hated what it represented.”
“What?”
“That you had somewhere you were valued without us.”
There.
Then:
“I thought marriage meant I should be main thing.”
I said:
“People can have multiple important things.”
“I know.”
Then:
“I’m sorry I called it just a laptop.”
He had apologized before.
This felt different.
“I didn’t understand how much work was inside.”
“Even if it held nothing, your mother shouldn’t destroy.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“I made replacement cost point because money was only language I understood.”
I nodded.
Then:
“Can I ask?”
“What?”
“What were you taking that night when you said more expensive?”
I laughed.
“I didn’t know.”
He looked surprised.
“I thought you had page fourteen plan.”
“No.”
“So line was bluff?”
“Emotion.”
“What did it mean?”
“Myself.”
Silence.
Then he nodded.
“Fair.”
That was true.
The expensive thing I took was not account.
Not guaranty.
Not loan agreement.
My willingness to keep subsidizing a life that disrespected me.
The financial consequences came later.
Then Thatcher smiled:
“You really are dramatic.”
I stared.
He raised hands.
“Joke.”
May you like
I laughed.
Some old phrases can lose poison with consent and time.
