"Statistically."
"That's better."
Afterward, the girls sat between them eating cookies.
Emma pointed toward the bandage on Marcus's arm.
"Your blood saved me."
Marcus shook his head.
"Lots of people saved you."
"Doctors."
"Nurses."
"Paramedics."
"People who donated before me."
"People who delivered blood."
"Your mom getting you help quickly."
Emma frowned.
"But yours helped."
"Yes."
He had eventually learned from the blood bank, through proper consent and after the fact, that Marcus's unit had indeed been issued during Emma's overnight care after testing and processing.
Not alone.
One of several.
That mattered to him.
He looked at Emma.
"It helped."
She smiled.
"Then I'm still saying thank you."
"You're allowed."
Victoria watched.
For once, gratitude did not feel like debt.
Time softened strange things.
Marcus stopped thinking of Victoria as the woman from the lobby every time he saw her.
Victoria stopped thinking of Marcus as the man who saved Emma every time she saw him.
They became more ordinary to each other.
That may have been the beginning of something more meaningful than either apology or gratitude.
They disagreed.
Frequently.
Marcus told Victoria one proposed contractor metric would encourage supervisors to manipulate schedules.
Victoria told Marcus he could not solve every policy problem by saying executives should "just ask workers."
He accused her of using too many consultants.
She accused him of believing spreadsheets were evidence of moral failure.
Once, during a panel meeting, Marcus said:
"You do understand people hate when you say 'we've heard your feedback' and then explain why you're doing the same thing anyway."
Victoria stared at him.
Five executives went silent.
Then she said:
"Fine."
"What would you prefer?"
"Tell them the truth."
"Which is?"
"We heard you."
"We disagree."
"Here's why."
Victoria considered.
"That's brutally direct."
"People already know when you're ignoring them."
She changed the language.
Months later, one of the HR directors told Marcus:
"Nobody else talks to her like that."
Marcus answered:
"Maybe that's part of the problem."
The girls' friendship deepened.
Sleepovers eventually happened, though the first one required an absurd amount of planning because Victoria's security staff insisted on making it complicated.
Marcus finally said:
"Emma is sleeping in a two-bedroom apartment in Westerville, not crossing the border under an assumed identity."
Victoria looked embarrassed.
"I'll simplify."
Lily loved Ashford's enormous house.
Not because it was enormous.
Because Emma had a treehouse.
Emma loved Marcus's apartment because Marcus made pancakes shaped like animals.
Badly.
"What is that?" Emma asked one morning.
"Giraffe."
"It looks like Florida."
"Geography breakfast."
The girls laughed until syrup came out of Lily's nose.
Victoria stood in the kitchen doorway.
She had come to pick Emma up.
For a moment she simply watched Marcus.
T-shirt.
Barefoot.
Flipping another disastrous pancake.
Two children laughing at him.
Something in her expression changed.
Marcus noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was definitely something."
Victoria shook her head.
"You're different here."
"From work?"
"Yes."
"At work nobody appreciates giraffe pancakes."
"Clearly a culture issue."
He laughed.
Then Victoria did.
The moment remained.
Neither named it.