Unsuspecting Blessing.

xxiii

xxiii

I am meeting with Brian's Father this evening, alone. The thought sends fear into me, but with fear it also brings hope that his Father will show some of the compassion that Brian has—he has to get it from somewhere, and I know most must be from his Mother, but irrational hopes are still hopes. Brian is walking me there, and since he is not technically part of the legality of it all he is not to be present.

Brian is worried about me and meeting with his Father, possibly more than I am worried about myself; that definitely puts a stamp of brooding over the thought. Though, despite his expression of uneasiness on the whole situation Brian seems to be—how should I say this—resentful of the circumstance, but not for any reason anyone would expect. The resent is more in the tone of envy, like he is mad at me for gaining the attention of his scumbag Father so quickly. But Brian supports me nevertheless, and that is what makes him a true...well, I don't know what I would really call him. A friend? A lover? A partner? Even a caretaker or benefit? Our relationship feels like it has made haste towards complexity and I choose, really, not to label it for the sake of some simplicity; though I do not know what he refers to me as in his head.

Not much small talk was present in the car for the drive, but an aura of loud silence surrounded the driver's side.

Then, all of a sudden: "When you get in there, don't take any of his shit, okay?"

I looked at Brian, and his unexpected furious tone.

"I'm serious," he said, emphasizing the adjective, "he can be a slippery rat if you don't catch on to any of the bullshit he will certainly be trying to pull." He paused a while, and silence befell the cab of the car again, until: "And this isn't just coming from me, it's coming from my Mother as well."

"She looks out for me so much and I still have yet to meet the woman."

"I can bring you to see her after this, if you'd like."

"Won't she be tired after work and all?"

"Well, I can just tell her not to walk home today, and say we are going to pick her up."

"And make her sit in the backseat?" I argued, when in reality I was trying to delay meeting his Mother due to petrifying fear of first impressions.

But the words did not hold weight in argument as we pulled up to the front of his Father's workplace.

"I'm going to go in with you," Brian said, almost as if I were challenging him, "and then I will sit in the lobby and wait."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm pretty scared about all this."

"I don't want to work you up—but you should be. This is a serious moment for you, and if he starts giving you trouble let me know."

I nodded, and we both hopped out of the car. Entering the building felt the same as last time, but there was a dull tiredness that washed over me and caused me to yawn as I stepped through the doorway. His secretary, who was absent from work the previous time, approached us and explained that "Mr. Skinner will be with you in just a moment."

And as she said, just a moment passed and Mr. Skinner invited me into his office.

He wore an intimidatingly black suit, like before, and his face seemed almost more menacing but with a cheerful undertone; the feeling when I looked at him reminded me of how a scared child sees a clown. Plush and friendly on the outside, but something just does not feel right; or sinister.

"My dear," he said, as he sighed and sat down on the thick black chair that looked to me more like a throne in the anxious lens I unintentionally wore. "I have found a lawyer."

Not a beat was skipped in my excitement, and I practically thrust myself upwards from the chair I sat in, and if not for the writhing pain in my leg I would have most definitely hit the ceiling. Though, my overzealous cheerfulness faded as a grimness took over his face and did not leave.

"But," he said, and my heart shuddered, "the lawyer is top of the line. I researched the man who you are to be on trial with; do you understand that he is a very powerful Canadian investor? Despite the accident being his fault, clearly," he nodded towards my crutches which were propped up on the right side wall, "he could most definitely make sure he does not give you a damn cent."

I sunk in the chair.

"But," he said, that word feeling so abrasive from the last time he used it, "I can make a deal with you." The grimness left his face, and an almost sinister smile took its place; with each wrinkle hid a microscopic hint of cynicism. "I will pay the lawyer, and you will pay me back in increments the second you start working, with interest, of course." His face darkly lit up at that word 'interest' like a devilish kid seeing candy. "Preparation can take months—" his voice started to drown out as I attempted to crunch numbers in my head.

Most likely if the case was won, I thought, the driver would be paying for my medical support that I am definitely indebted for after I am recovered—but most times there is an extra payout. Then I would be able to pay Mr. Skinner back for whatever I owe him for the lawyer. But, I thought, and noticed a few keywords from Mr. Skinner as he spoke: "Five Percent; Months; If;" and of course; "Interest." But what if I lose, my train of thought came back to me, what if I lose and owe more money than I started.

A pile of papers was placed in front of me, at least fifty or so.

"So," Mr. Skinner said, "would you like to sign now?"

Hesitant, realizing that I did not grasp most of what he said to me, I asked if I could take it home with me, "And let my legal team review it with me."

His face was stubborn and sharp, with the wrinkles on his face all staring at me individually, he said: "Of course, I have more than one copy."

"Thank you," I said, and asked him to carry out the papers for me because there was no way I could manage holding that many with my crutches. He gave the papers to Brian on the way out of the building, and there seemed to be a Mexican standoff with the tension between them, and Mr. Skinner looked reluctant to let go of the stack. The papers came loose from his hands with one tug from Brian.

The car ride to pick up his Mother from work consisted of majorly questions on how the meeting went, those of which I did not have many answers.