It was a rare opportunity for Peter Mayhew to spend an entire Wednesday with Renea and he simply could not be more excited than he was to do exactly that. She had claimed it was ‘bring your spouse to work’ day, but Peter discovered when they arrived at the office building that it was actually just ‘bring your Peter to work’ day.
“Okay, I made the whole thing up,” Renea admitted when it became obvious that Peter was the only spouse brought to the office that day. “I didn’t think you’d come if I told you the truth.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. They exited the elevator on the 13th floor. Renea nodded politely to every single person they passed as they traversed the ‘cubicle land’ that was the corporate headquarters of the operations department.
“The truth?” he asked when they were safely behind the door of Renea’s corner office.
“I want you to shake hands with a few… very specific people today,” she said, setting her briefcase down behind her desk. She sat, looking at Peter as though to gauge the cost of her transgression.
“Before I decide what this deception is going to cost you, who and why?” Peter asked smartly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
If he were entirely honest, Renea’s reason to invite him to come to work with her did not matter in the slightest. He was just happy to spend the whole day with his favorite person in the world. Even if she’d lured him there with the intention of subjecting him to hours of being bored while she tapped away at her computer, Peter would have come along happily.
In the 9 years it took for Peter and Renea’s relationship to develop into the loving, trusting, and healthy partnership that it was now, they had each learned where and when to give. More relevant to the situation at hand, they had also each learned when and where to take. Peter had an opportunity for the taking.
“Carol, Dillon, and Mariah.”
“Mariah?” Peter asked, confused. “Your assistant’s assistant Mariah?”
“The very same.”
“Okay. And why,” Peter prompted.
“In hopes of getting some dirt, curiosity, and because whenever I talk to her I get this feeling that she’s hiding something - in that order.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully, and then stepped around Renea’s desk to look out the window. He remained there, back to his wife, for several seconds. Without turning around, he finally replied.
“I’ll do it, but you’ve got to help me pull off a surprise birthday party for Greg.”
Renea hesitated, but agreed.
“And play Super Brash Mothers with me for… two hours. Not all at once, but you know, in increments.”
“Okay.”
“And…”
“Peter,” she said firmly. “I think SBM and a surprise birthday party are more than equal to shaking a few hands.”
Peter turned around, hands on hips and brows raised. “And…”
Renea rolled her eyes, relenting. “And what else?”
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“And you make that egg-nog french toast on Christmas morning.”
She smiled. “Deal.”
After exiting the elevator on the tenth floor, Renea made a point of introducing Peter to a handful of people near Carol’s office. Peter, for his part, was playing the perfectly sociable trophy husband and his little act brought people from all over Carol’s department to him like moths to a flame. When the thick-necked and no-chinned woman finally came out to see what all of the commotion was about, Renea pounced on the opportunity.
“Don’t we have work to do?” Carol croaked her demand. The crowd of people around Peter dispersed quickly. “Isn’t that what we do here?” she called after them like a bitter English teacher. One whose unfinished novel remained a never-ending project and therefore resented the children they taught to pay the bills.
“Carol, you haven’t met my husband, have you?” Renea asked.
Carol looked Peter up and down slowly. A little too slowly, like a starving man at a piping hot cheeseburger.
“You brought your husband to the office,” Carol observed while continuing to look at Peter in a way that was beginning to make the pair of Mayhews uncomfortable. “That’s the reason for the disruption of my entire department’s workflow?”
Renea readied herself for a battle, but Peter stepped in.
“That was my mistake,” he said, looking bashful and adorable in the way that only Peter could. “I know Misty from goat yoga. We got to talking about last week when…”
“Let me stop you right there,” Carol interrupted. “I don’t care about goat yoga, I am uninterested in formally meeting you, and I,” she paused to look pointedly at Renea, “unlike some people, have work to do.”
Again, Peter acted just before Renea transitioned to corporate-battle-bot mode.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he said, smiling his big Peter smile that could disarm entire nations. “Even if you aren’t interested in formally meeting me, I would be honored to meet you. I’m Peter Mayhew,” he said brightly, holding out his hand for her to shake.
Carol looked at Peter’s outstretched hand like it was a snake that may bite her. She rolled her eyes irritably, and then reached out and shook his hand.
“Carol Inhouse.”
“Nice to meet you, Carol. Truly, it’s my pleasure,” Peter said. He turned to Renea. “I think we’ve taken enough of Mrs. Inhouse’s time, don’t you dear?”
Renea kept her smile from growing too large for the situation. “Indeed.”
Back in the elevator, Renea looked at Peter expectantly. “Dirt?”
“Even better,” Peter replied, failing to restrain his excitement.
“What?” Renea demanded. “What did you find out?”
The elevator dinged as they reached the fifteenth floor and the doors opened. The two men waiting to enter appeared pleasantly surprised when Renea and Peter stepped out of the elevator.
On the right stood a bald white man who had the look of someone who’d been ‘top brass’ management as long as Peter had been alive. He was Dillon Carter, the CEO. Peter recognized him from company parties, but had only met him briefly. Dillon looked from Renea to Peter, clearly trying to remember the latter’s name.
On the left was Bob White, the COO. He was of middle eastern descent, which Peter found incongruous for a guy named Bob White, but he reprimanded himself for the errant thought. He nodded to Renea then turned to Peter and smiled, holding out his hand.
“Peter!” Bob said, shaking Peter’s hand and grinning. “It’s been a while, my friend. You still not interested in working with us? We’d love to have you, you know. If you’re worth half of a Renea Mayhew you’d be an incredible asset to this company.”
Peter waved a flippant hand, his bashful expression was like that of someone who had just received the most flattering compliment in history. “Thanks, Bob. But you know you can’t afford me. And, also, I’m pretty sure if I were here everyday my wife would be sick of me before she ever made it home.”
Dillon was next, reaching out to shake Peter’s hand as a matter of custom. “Peter. Nice to see you again. How are you?”
“So dang good,” Peter told him, grasping palms and glancing over the informational table that appeared in his mind’s eye. “And you? How’s Barb? Still doing pilates? I haven’t been for a few weeks.”
“I’m good. Barb’s great. She does pilates?” he asked, brow raised.
How this man had no idea that his wife spent literally every afternoon at a posh pilates studio that ran $100 per session, Peter had no idea. He hoped he hadn’t just let a secret slip, but who keeps exercise a secret? Right?
Renea ran through similar perfunctory how-are-you’s as well, but much more briefly. They all rode the elevator down together while Renea explained that they had only come up because Peter wanted to pop in and say hello. The Mayhew’s exited on the 13th floor, wished the brass a good day, and then hurried back into Renea’s office. She shut the door behind them and looked at Peter expectantly.
“So…” he started, frowning. The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, and then a wild grin spread across his cheeks. “I don’t even know where to start. Wait, shouldn’t we find Mariah first?”
“Peter, if you don’t spill it immediately, so help me…”
“Fine,” Peter said, breathing on the fingernails of his right hand and then buffing them against his navy blue polo. “Carol’s a troll, Bob’s cheating on his wife, and Dillon has some weird hobbies. And, when I say weird, I don’t mean like that time I got really into kitchen curling. I mean like, he should probably talk to a therapist weird. At least if we ever need to blackmail either of the C’s we’d just have to make a phone call to Bob’s wife, or have a look at a certain Dillon Carter’s browser history. Oh! Another one, this one for free, Merilyn downstairs, pansexual. I never would have guessed that, she seems so… vanilla.”
Renea visibly processed what Peter had just told her, and just as visibly ran it through her mind again, and then a third time before speaking. Peter enjoyed every second of watching her work through the word vomit he’d just spat at her.
“What?”
“We should do this more often,” Peter said happily, getting to his feet and making for the door. “I’m going to go find Mariah.”