The Head of Order fumbled for her keys and entered her apartment. She was struggling to stay awake, and it was past her bedtime. The day had been busier than usual, thanks to the Head of Chaos. He knew how to push her buttons. She needed a glass of wine to help her calm down.
Nursing the wine, she reviewed the day in her head and decided it couldn’t wait. Besides, he thrived at this time of night. She poured herself a second glass.
She picked up her phone and texted.
Christine: “You DID NOT!”
Opie: “What? Hey, why are you up at this hour?”
Christine: “I’m still awake because of you.”
Opie: “And your point is?”
Christine could almost picture him, feet up on the counter, a couple of empty beer cans nearby. He was fielding other texts from friends and coworkers congratulating him on today’s accomplishments.
Christine: “My point is, you do this all the time and every time I get stuck cleaning up your mess. It’s my job. It’s what I do. But I spent all day on this. I try to set goals and time limits, and thanks to you, everything got blown out the window. Christ on a pogo stick, I have a life outside of this, you know. Don’t you?”
Opie couldn’t help but smile. He must have pissed her off if she was going on like this at this hour. His day was just getting started, and she was still awake. He wondered if she was drinking a glass of wine. Otherwise, she’d be sound asleep by now. He ignored the flurry of messages from co-workers. It wasn’t often she was so willing to text him.
Opie: “You said so yourself. It’s your job, right? Well, my job is to make sure you are doing your job. I keep you on your toes, right? And yes, I have a life. I have goals too. Nice to know you’re keeping track of both of ours.”
Christine: “You’re doing your job just a wee bit too well. This is a huge dumpster fire you created. Everyone in every department is talking about it. I don’t know if I can fix this.”
Opie: “Really? It was that bad? Cool!”
Opie cracked open another beer. When the Head of Order was paying the Head of Chaos an enormous compliment, he was going to pay attention. He wondered if he would get a raise and made a mental note to ask HR about it during his next review. Christine: “Oh, for the love of little kittens, stop gloating. Let me guess, you got overtime for this, right?”
Opie: “Um. Yeah. But then you will get overtime as well.”
Christine: “This is not a contest. Or a race. I’m not mad, but you outdid yourself this time. I almost admire it.”
Opie: “That’s a first.”
Christine: “Did you see the new hire? Cole. Says he works in the Department of Panic? He did good. You make a good team.”
Opie was silent for a moment. In all their years working together (or against each other, depending on the point of view), she had said nothing like this.
Opie: “Wow. Are you thinking about flipping? Or is that the wine kicking in? I know you’re drinking it.”
Christine: “On my third glass now. And Calm has a new hire, some kid named Peter. Just a FYI. Guess there’s been some turnover. Or people quit because they are looking for something else to do. Have you heard anything?”
Christine didn’t think Opie would answer, but her gut said to try because he had seemed willing to gossip. She didn’t partake in office gossip, but Opie was Head of Chaos for a reason. He always seemed to know everything that went on behind the scenes.
Opie: “Something like that. I wasn’t told much. Scout’s honor and all that shit. I found out today about the new hires. Apparently, there are rumors about retirements going around, and I guess the higher-ups are trying to fill the gaps before things get out of hand.”
He realized he might have said too much. But Christine had a way of wrangling information out of him.
Christine: “Ok, just thought I’d ask. I’ve heard the retirement thing on my end as well.”
She waited for Opie to reply. After a few minutes, she did something that she’d been wanting to do for ages. It’s now or never, she thought. The worst thing that can happen is he says no.
Christine: “Can I ask you something? You can say no. I need to ask before I chicken out. You wanna meet up for drinks or dinner or something? You pick the place, somewhere neutral. My treat.”
Opie stared at his phone. His heart raced as he scrambled to think of a neutral plane of existence for a meeting. Smiling, he texted, “I thought you’d never ask.”