A Series of Conversations #4: A Conversation About Nothing

“Alan, I’m sorry, you’re just wrong,” I exclaimed laughingly as Alan contorted his face into one of faux outrage. 

“Grape jelly is absolutely the best on a PB&J!” Alan yelled.

We were in the break room, having a conversation that had meandered from one innocuous subject to the next. I couldn’t speak for Alan, but these conversations had become a part of my work routine just as much as grabbing coffee in the morning and submitting my daily mission summaries in the afternoon.

“Strawberry jam, always and forever,” I teased.

Alan rolled his eyes with a smile he couldn’t suppress. “Ok, ok, ok. But let me ask you this, smooth or crunchy?”

“Depends on my mood.”

“Your mood!?”

This started another loud, but friendly, debate. Some coworkers came in and left, either contributing to the conversation or just chuckling at us as quiet observers. It was a nice, light conversation until Marcus from HR stormed in.

I had only met Marcus once, when I did the new hire paperwork. I would see him around the office, but never conversed with him. He seemed friendly enough, but he was a mind reader, so that could make things uncomfortable. Marcus always wore a ‘suppression crown’ at work, a simple silver crownlet to the untrained eye, to give everyone their privacy. But I had heard grumbles that Marcus still knew too much for someone not using their mind-reading powers. Mind reading or just insightful? I couldn’t say.

“Alan,” Marcus said, cutting into our chatter, “Your father’s here.”

“Oh,” Alan exhaled as he quickly looked at me and then looked away.

I felt dread wash over me from head to toe. My supervillain father’s superhero arch nemesis was here. I wasn’t sure how I should respond, or if I should respond at all. 

“Neveah, don’t let this shake you,” Marcus said, displaying that suspiciously acute awareness of people’s thoughts despite wearing the suppression crown, “You just go about your day like you normally would.”

“Ok,” I mumbled, ashamed of how small and pathetic my voice sounded.

Marcus turned to leave the break room. “Coming, Alan?”

Alan nodded and went to follow him out before pausing in the doorway. “Hey, Neveah?”

“Yeah?”

“If my dad says anything to you, will you tell me?”

“Uhh…” I hemmed before responding, “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” He left with what I believe was a muttered ‘thank you’.

I wasn’t sure who was more worried about The Protector being in the office, me, or The Protector’s son.