It was none of my business, after all, and intrusive questions are very ill-mannered.
“Eh, so... did you decide about the promotion? Are you going to take it?”
I had, of course, been pondering this in spare moments throughout the preceding days.
I had looked for signs, clues—none were forthcoming, however, except that, last Friday,
twelve across had read: in favor of (upward) movement (9). I had taken this as an encouraging omen.
“I’m going to say yes,” I said. He smiled, put down his fork and held up his hand.
I realized I was meant to place mine against his in what I now recognized as a “high five.”
“Nice one,” he said, resuming his lunch. “Congratulations.” I felt a flash of happiness, like a match being struck.
I couldn’t recall ever having been congratulated on anything before. It was very pleasant indeed.
“How’s your mother, Raymond?” I asked him, having enjoyed the moment and the last of the scone.
He talked about her for a while, told me she’d been asking after me.
I felt slightly concerned about this, a default anxiety pertaining to maternal inquisitiveness, but he put my mind at rest.
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