Chapter 4: Monday

On Monday I wore my second-best suit and sat in a glass conference room on the fourth floor.

Two people from human resources sat across from me.

I had slept four hours on Ned's couch.

I had given up my own lease three weeks earlier, because Yvette said we should begin our marriage in one home.

The HR director was a woman in her fifties with reading glasses pushed up into her hair.

She slid a printed copy of the complaint across the table.

"Mr. Taggart, Ms. Hargrove alleges that you disrupted a private event and made unwanted claims about a relationship."

"We take it seriously," the younger man added.

"Is she coming?"

"She asked not to be in the room."

I set my phone on the table and unlocked it.

"Then I'd like to show you what I've got."

I had spent Sunday night in Ned's kitchen, scrolling to the top of the thread, and it had taken me an hour just to reach the first year.

I turned the screen toward her and started with a recent one.

It was dated last Thursday.

Don't text me at the office, love. Walk behind me in the garage tomorrow. Home Friday, I'll cook.

"That is her number," I said.

The director read it and said nothing.

I scrolled.

Don't sit near me at the offsite. People will talk.

Wait in the bar until the others are gone, then come up.

I can't be seen at your birthday dinner. I'll send flowers to your apartment, not the office.

Her second HR colleague, a younger man, had stopped taking notes.

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