Cheers to a new year and a new chapter.
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I was no Bill Tyree, but I still considered myself a man of routine. I had my own set of procedures and processes. There were certain things that I enjoyed doing, and sometimes in a particular order.
My mornings were methodical. I set aside ample time for breakfast, and while the menu rotated on a frequent basis, it was often served with a side of light reading or morning news on television. There was time for grooming, showering, and changing before I took the car down California Street and went to work.
Office life felt as though it had even greater automation. Not quite assembly line automation, but similar. The nature of accounting meant we were often juggling multiple clients, but I tried to maintain a sequential order when completing my work. It allowed me to have greater clarity over each project and individual client needs, and I felt that it enhanced both the quality and efficiency of my work because I wasn't confusing details from different companies.
The only time I strayed away from repetition was after work. For the most part of my working career, this segment of my day didn't last long. I routinely worked late hours at Armstrong & Lynch and seldom had evenings to myself. That usually resulted in haphazard dinner plans and little else to speak of. When Penny moved in, however, I managed to return home at a respectable time. Her eccentric behavior kept things unpredictable, so I still managed to have equally disorganized evenings, albeit with far more fun and enthusiasm.
This would lead to bedtime, which represented another well defined activity in my day. I went to bed at ten thirty each night, so I could get a proper eight hours' worth of sleep. A consistent sleep schedule was an important part of good health, and I was insistent on going through the sleep cycle as was recommended.
Lately, however, that cycle was disrupted.
At first it was hardly discernible. It took a few nights before my ears finally adjusted to the unusual noises that came in intermittent fashion. I didn't hear it every night, but it broke my heart every time I heard it.
Penny, as I had come to known, was a magnificent woman. There were enormous hurdles placed in her path and she faced them with a smile. In front of her parents or in public, she never showed any signs of faltering. But even the strongest women break down every now and then. For Penny, she waited until the middle of the night — presumably when she thought I was fast asleep — to show her vulnerability.
I wanted to walk over and comfort her, but I knew she needed some time and space to herself. A little peace and quiet to unwind and gather her thoughts. Besides, there was nothing to be said that she hadn't heard already, either from myself or another well-wisher. The encouragements also did little to change her situation. Penny didn't need to hear me say that things would get better, or that everything was going to be okay, because she knew I couldn't keep those promises. They might have sounded great, but I didn't have a crystal ball and I couldn't predict the future.
If I could, I would have never gone to the beach with Penny on that fateful afternoon.
The rational and logical side of me understood that there was no point in thinking backwards. All the should have's and could have's of the world couldn't restore Penny's vision or save her from her inner turmoils. The dreamer side of me — instilled by none other than Penny herself — wondered how things might have turned out had we not left my parents' place. Maybe this accident was one that we could have avoided.
Perhaps this was a thought that crossed Penny's mind. Perhaps not. She already had a lot to think about and I didn't want to clutter her thoughts with hypothetical questions. It was safe to say that neither of us were in the best headspace right now. Some personal time might help drag us out of this rut.
Penny was granted disability leave and stayed at home during this time. Even though the leave was a necessity, I could tell that Penny was concerned about this hiatus. It wasn't about the decreased pay or the extra hours of silence, but it was the temporary nature of this solution that unsettled her. Eventually her leave would expire. What happened then? There was a possibility that she could be let go if they deemed her unfit to fulfill the responsibilities of her role.
Even in the best case scenario, if her employers were able to come up with accommodations such as assistive devices, flexible schedules, or modified work stations, Penny could be transferred to a different role. Perhaps something less interactive or fitting for her, such as administrative tasks. Penny loathed these routine and mundane roles. The best case scenario might not be that great after all.
I didn't know how to help. I wasn't a part of those conversations with her employer, and even if I was invited, I didn't have the time to attend. Our workloads at Armstrong & Lynch were picking up once again, and a strict holiday blackout period was observed. My great relationship with the managing partners wasn't going to make me an exception. It was quite the contrary, in fact. My notable seniority and involvement in the company meant I was expected to maintain an exemplary attendance record. I had to be a role model for the other staff members.
It wasn't like I could claim disability leave or any sort of family leave. Although Penny was near and dear to my heart, she wasn't my spouse. There weren't any legal ties that bound us together. As such, there was nothing I could do but continue to tend to my duties at the firm.
My body might be at Armstrong & Lynch, but my mind was still somewhere at home. I couldn't help but worry about Penny. Leaving someone with vision loss by themselves — especially one still adapting to her conditions — was a dangerous proposition to me. Many accidents could happen. It was difficult for my mind to not assume the worst.
"Can I come in?" A feminine voice asked shortly after knocking on my door.
"Come on in."
Marilyn pushed the door open and walked in. Her cheery smile was matched by her blonde ponytail which whipped one way and then another with every stride. There was an exuberance about her that was welcoming, and frankly, much needed during these trying times.
"How's it going, Marilyn?" I asked as she took a seat.
"I'm good! How are things with you?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
Marilyn raised her eyebrow as the side of her lips quirked up. Her large, almost puppy-like blue eyes scanned the length of my desk and then at me. There was a playfulness in her expression that reminded me of Penny. "Are you sure?"
The question caught me by surprise. I hesitated and coughed, but managed to collect myself and deliver a composed response. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
"You seem a little . . . off. You're usually a pretty steady presence in the office, but I noticed that you've been a little disorganized of late. Maybe I'm reading it wrong, but it seems like you're going through some things. I just felt like I should ask and see if you need any help."
The question was surprising, but Marilyn's observations were even more surprising. I didn't think Penny's accident hampered my performance at work — the audits that I completed were error-free and up to my usual standards. I masked my negative emotions by keeping a straight face in the office. For most of my co-workers, that was my norm. I didn't think anyone could tell that something was wrong, least of all Marilyn, whose reception desk was facing the other side of the building.
"I'm going through a few things at home," I admitted, "but I'll be fine. It's just a rough patch."
"Anything you want to talk about?"
"Not right now, no, but I appreciate you asking."
Penny's issue was admittedly a constant presence in my mind and its weight caused me a fair bit of stress. I supposed it would be beneficial to talk about it as opposed to keeping my emotions pent up inside, but I wasn't feel comfortable sharing this information with someone who had no relations to Penny, even someone as familiar to me as Marilyn. It wasn't my position to share such sensitive information about anyone. Penny would not appreciate it if I revealed her secrets to others.
Marilyn nodded and gave me an understanding smile. "That's all right. If you need anything, just know that I'm here for you. You've been such a great mentor since I started here, Dylan, and I want to return the favor any way I can."
"You don't have to thank me. You've been a great asset to Armstrong & Lynch since day one. Our team becomes less efficient without you."
"Well, aren't you sweet?" Marilyn stood up, dusted off her black skirt, and gestured towards the door. "I'm going to make myself a cup of coffee. Would you like a cup?"
"Yes, please. Black will do. Thank you."
"I'll be right back."
Marilyn went to the pantry to make coffee, leaving me to digest her words in my office. It was clear that I couldn't contain my concerns, despite my best efforts to conceal them. If others could see my struggles, when I was someone who was generally even-keeled and relatively unscathed by the injury, I could only imagine how much frustration Penny was experiencing. I might have even underestimated the extent of her emotional damage.
I decided that I was going to do something special for Penny after work. We spent far too much time dwelling on the negative impacts of her injury. As a result, an air of pessimism lingered around the house. Interactions, including regular conversations, were declining in frequency. An injection of cheer and happiness was long overdue.
I made a few calls on my break to set up the surprise. There was nothing elaborate or extravagant about my plan, but I knew Penny valued the thought behind the project and not its grandeur. Less was more.
The hands on the clock in my office continued to tick. There were several files that demanded my attention for the next few hours. Several calculations, reviews, and client calls took up the rest of my afternoon. It wasn't the busiest of days in the office but it was a productive one.
It was a rare occasion, but I felt relieved when it was time to go home. I was looking forward to seeing Penny. Our evenings had taken a mundane twist in recent weeks. Penny, troubled by her injury, became reticent and withdrawn. I was all too willing to accommodate, out of fear that I would upset her with the wrong words. As a result, a gap in communication had occurred and the gulf was growing bigger with each passing day. Tonight was a chance to correct that course.
A few detours emerged on my usual drive home after work. I stopped at one of Penny's favorite Italian restaurants and picked up one of their meal kits. There was bound to be great excitement on her face when she recognized the flavors, and I looked forward to the shock that followed when she learned about my involvement. Culinary expertise was not part of my skill set so this was going to be a fun surprise. A little novelty was good for the soul.
Two more items rounded out my shopping list: wine and fresh flowers. Losing her sense of vision shouldn't create a void in Penny's daily interactions. I was keen to fill that gap with other sensory experiences. She might not be able to see the bottle of Riesling or the bouquet of gardenias on the table, but she would be able to smell the fragrant aromas of the two.
I went straight to work as soon as I returned home with my haul. The bouquet went into a vase that I had owned since moving in years ago but rarely used. The wine went into the fridge to maintain a cool optimum temperature. I made a quick trip to my bedroom to change into something more comfortable, and then it was time to prepare the meal.
"These smell nice," Penny commented when I emerged from my bedroom, having swapped my work outfit for a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans. She was leaning over the vase on the dining table. Her nose twitched like that of a rabbit's as she sniffed the sweet scent of the gardenias. "I like these."
"Well, I'm glad. I got them for you."
"Aw, you didn't have to." Penny reached out and gently traced her fingers along the petals.
"I thought you might like them."
That brought a smile to Penny's face. "I love them."
I looked at the meal kit ingredients that were scattered around the countertop. The instructions were printed on a sheet of paper that was stapled to the bag. At a glance, the instructions seemed relatively straightforward but I knew it would still take some time. Especially for someone like me.
"It'll be a while before dinner is ready," I notified Penny. "You still have time to finish that audiobook if you want."
Penny had taken up a few hobbies. Music and podcasts had always been an effective pastime, but other things such as knitting, going for walks, and listening to audiobooks were also gaining traction on Penny's activities list. The latter was a favorite in recent days, as Penny discovered and binged a science fiction series. She would stay up in the late hours to finish a few extra chapters.
"No, I'm good. There's only a few chapters left before I'm finished with the series. I think I'll save the ending for tonight." Penny made her way over to me. "What's for dinner tonight?"
"A surprise," I whispered.
I could hear a soft chuckle precede Penny's whispered response. "Ooh. Fancy."
Most of our meals since Penny's injury came from our parents. Both sets of parents stopped by on a routine basis to drop off a healthy supply of home cooking and keep our refrigerator full. Penny and I played this roulette game where she would randomly heat up a container and that would be our dinner. Sometimes I would order delivery on my phone if we had a particular craving, but those were special treats that we kept to a minimum. We couldn't justify spending on food when we had so much at home to begin with.
It wasn't an ideal situation, but it was the best arrangement under these circumstances. One of the items on Penny's to-do list was to learn to cook again. Knives and an open flame posed a safety hazard at this time, but the threat should be manageable as Penny continued to adapt. I would have cooked in her place, but work had demanding hours—especially during peak seasons—and I often returned home late in the evening. That was why our parents offered to help out.
Tonight, however, I wasn't going to rely on their assistance. I re-read the instructions to reduce any probability of oversight and errors, and started to cook. The ingredients were already prepared and portioned, so it was a matter of adding everything to the pan in a sequential order and applying heat. Easier said than done. Some key words such as sear or reduce sauce still gave me a fair amount of trouble.
Penny roamed around the living room and kitchen spaces. Her head poked over my shoulder on a few occasions as she snooped on my cooking. She might not be able to see my work, but she could hear the sizzle and smell the flavors coming from the pan. A few thoughtful nods hinted that she was pleased with my progress. I fed her a grape tomato as a feedback incentive. Like one of those gift cards that were handed to participants for filling out a survey.
The table was set when I turned off the stove and applied the finishing touches to the plates. Penny was seated at the table already. An air of anticipation enveloped her. I hoped the food would live up to her expectations. Or at the very least, not be a complete disappointment. I knew to expect positive feedback regardless, but I wanted Penny to have a genuine unforgettable experience.
I set the plate down in front of Penny, before setting my plate down across the table. My guest of honor commented, "It smells fantastic. I'm excited to dig in."
"Not yet," I advised. I brought the bottle of Riesling out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses for us. Penny's ears perked up as she heard the glasses being filled. "There's some wine to accompany the food."
"Very fancy," Penny remarked, evidently impressed.
I basked in the moment. This was a well planned and executed surprise. Long overdue as well, as I couldn't remember the last time Penny seemed so jovial. A much needed change of pace, and I reminded myself to do something similar on a more frequent basis.
The food turned out to be half decent. It was nowhere near restaurant quality, but it wasn't a burning disaster either. Penny, as expected, was vocal with her praise. I attributed much of the success to the restaurant's preparations. The seasoning and sauces made it taste distinctly like their cooking, and it was difficult for me to ruin that.
"That was amazing," Penny announced as she finished the last of her wine. "I loved every second of the meal. Thank you for putting this together, Dylan. You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine," I assured her. It might have been a long day of work and preparation for this surprise, but I didn't feel any worse for wear. The surge of optimism and enthusiasm might have pushed out any signs of lethargy in my body. "As long as you enjoyed it, then it was worth it."
Penny sighed, but it was more playful than wistful. "You're too sweet. Honestly didn't think that was part of your character when I met you but you're just full of surprises."
"Like my cooking abilities?"
"Like your cooking abilities."
"I could say the same thing about you. You're also full of surprises, too."
Penny definitely had greater variability between the two of us. I liked to think of myself as a simple man of routine. Drastic changes weren't part of my personality, nor my profession, and I was content with the status quo on any given day. The planning and execution of this surprise was already well outside my comfort zone.
"Oh, I can be full of surprises, all right." Penny laughed. "I bet you didn't expect me to go blind when you first met me. Neither did I. But that's a surprise for the two of us."
There was a slight hint of bitterness in Penny's words, as I would expect from someone relatively fresh off of a traumatic experience, but nothing overtly malicious or concerning. A little bit of self depreciating humor could be one way of dealing with hardship, so I laughed along with Penny as a show of support.
We ended up talking at the dinner table for a while. Penny didn't bring up her injury any more. Instead, we caught up on the conversations that we missed in the past few weeks, trying to close the gap that we had unintentionally created. Positive progress.
And when Penny offered to do the dishes with me, it felt like we were past the lowest point in the recovery process and everything was on the upswing again.
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Thank you readers for sticking with this story. I know it has been a very long time since I updated APFYT but I love this story to death and don't want to get anything wrong, which is why I keep tinkering with the content. Hoping to have a second update out soon. Once again, appreciate your patience and hope you like the new chapter!
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