April 15th is tax day and throughout the country commercials are running endlessly by car and mattress companies vying for the savings from your refund check. Procrastinators, the forgetful, and those suffering from lack of organization rush around trying to find faded receipts and official documents thrown in bottom office drawers or lost in piles of junk mail. Seemingly relevant questions that need urgent answers all but jam the IRS hotlines: "Are pantyhose a workplace deductible and why can't my dog be claimed as a dependent?"
There's a guy on the street corner continually waving at passing cars who has nothing but Mountain Dew running through his veins. Wearing a pale green gown spinning, twirling an oversized sign, he barely breaks a sweat in the midday sun. You watch fascinated by it all sitting in your car as the light finally turns green and you drive away confused how Lady Liberty has any association with taxes or twerking.
Poor souls walking around with Manila folders filled with W-2 forms and tax information just waiting for some frazzled accountant to use his special Ouija board decoder to let them know their back surplus, what they need to pay the government or just owe him for his mystical psychic services to keep them from a cordial letter from Uncle Sam inviting them over for an intimate IRS audit and fee collection.
This is probably the worst day to look for anyone extending kindness and forgiveness to another human, but here we are meeting on the 15th for the third straight year for our reconciliation lunch date. We've come together to rehash old memories, talk about the past year and try, once again, to see if we can reach some sort of understanding and help fix what's long been broken between us.
You get on highway 17, take a left on County Road, then make a right on Schnebly Hill, drive up the winding grade for 5.1 miles and then you walk through 20 feet of brush and there it is. An outcrop of flat rock that gives you a perfect view of the valley and the city below. That's our special spot. That's where we always meet.
Most people would say that this qualifies as an anniversary of some sort but those anniversaries usually refer to fun and anticipated events. These scheduled meets have yet to end joyful for us and I doubt that this one will see us come to any peacemaking agreement or part with happy goodbyes, either.
"I mean, I guess I should start first, right?"
I say this almost to myself. I'm stalling for time and you know it and there's nothing for you to say in reply. My mind is going in circles trying to think of something to say. I knew we would be here together and I had practiced and played out scenarios in my head for this, but I still find myself stumbling for words. It's always the person who's done the most wrong and wanting forgiveness to be the one to start the conversation. We know that.
"It was here where we first made love, remember?"
I come back with yet another swing and a miss. It's a lame attempt at breaking the ice with something that's bitterly sentimental to us both and I again get no response from you as I lay out the blanket on the ground and you take your place beside me.
"Okay," I say letting out a deep sigh, "I'll start from when everything really began for us. Your folks were in town for a day and you wanted me to meet them over dinner..."
"Mom? Dad, this is Rachel Anderson. She's my boss, my mentor, the youngest and only female partner at the firm and the person whose career is a shining beacon for young graduates like myself to follow."
"Mr. and Mrs. Carson, it's a pleasure meeting you but, I have to say, your daughter is a bit enthusiastic with that introduction. The work I've done and things I've been able to accomplish as a lawyer are not that impressive."
"Well, are you not the youngest partner of any law firm here in the valley, in all of Arizona for that matter?" Mr. Carson interrupted and asked as your mom leaned in closer waiting for my reply.
Your father was blunt. Instead of introductory niceties, I was being grilled over before our waiter had even left bringing the appetizers. You placed your hand on my knee under the table and I felt grateful for your hidden show of sturdy support. You then you squeezed your grip towards my inner thighs.
"Well, um, I..." I stammered.
"And she is now handling a case against Arizona Electric that could bring in the firm's largest settlement ever," you gleefully added.
I swallowed hard and was barely able to stifle in a groan. You then inched your hand upwards, parting my thighs to get to the crease of my love. You then probed around my panties to dig your fingers in my furry muff. I tightened my legs and bit my bottom lip, cursing myself for misreading your intentions, as you added to the pressure the rest of the Carson family was already applying to me.
"I've been fortunate in my 36 years to be in the right place at the right time and win a few high profile cases that made the right people plenty of money. That is, um, that's my secret," I said as I finally was able to discreetly push away your invading hand and compose myself. "Your daughter graduated at the top of her class at American University. Hiring her was an easy decision for the firm. I would've been a fool not to tout her and the baked chocolate chips cookies she wowed me with during our first interview. Were those cookies handed down from you, Mrs. Carson? Mmmmmm, they were so delicious!"
"Maddie hardly ever throws high praise around and rarely insists to us anyone she would like us to meet." Mr. Carson said pointing his fork, "I think you're being humble and coy with us, Ms. Anderson. Maddie?" your father asked, "Cookies? Did you really bring cookies?"
"Oh, Maddie, no! You didn't bring cookies, did you?" your mother whispered over to you disappointedly with shock in her eyes.
"Sir, with all due respect!" I emphatically interjected, "Your 24 year old daughter's graduate thesis was on the intersection of race, poverty, and gun violence and their affect, if any, on criminal sentences in courtrooms across America. Any one of those subjects is a 50 year judicial career in itself. She's brighter and more mature than I ever was at that age and who, I might add, did naively bring cookies to my first job interview. When the time comes, Mr. Carson, which will probably be sooner than any of us here thinks, Maddie won't need to have her name conveniently added to any existing practice because she will have started her own reputable practice and I, as well as my established partners, will be begging her to hire us as employees."
Mr. Carson dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clang that caused a momentary silence throughout the whole restaurant as he sat back and stared at me.
You took advantage of me dropping my guard while talking to your father and your hand again found the warm space between my legs. I knocked my knee against yours to stop the advance of your hand any further, but your grip only tightened as you hid your devilish deeds from your folks with a grin from behind a sip of white wine.
"Ron, I think she just showed you why she is one of the top attorneys here," your mom said smiling, finally easing the tension.
The rest of the night went well with the typical light conversation that normally accompanies a casual first meeting. Your mother gave me a warm hug goodbye afterwards and your father smiled and said that he believed his daughter had the perfect person in her life. This caused me to raise an eyebrow and he quickly added, for clarification, that he meant the statement as me being just a mentor to you - which then caused us all to laugh.
You drove me home after dinner and waited for me to comment, but I said nothing. We drove in silence for 7 miles until your curiosity finally got the best of you.
"I think you impressed them."
"Was that the purpose? To impress them? Because I didn't like it," I said.
"No, I have my own reasons for them to meet you. I'm proud to work for you and nothing I said was a lie. I meant it all. I think I kept it strictly professional, boss."
"You know I hate you calling me..."
You laughed and rolled your eyes at me for so easily falling for the bait you laid out for me to bite on, "Now? Now you get flustered into giving an emotional response?"
"I felt like I had walked into an ambush at first," I said, "What all have you told them about me?"
"Nothing that isn't true," you quickly replied, "You heard it all and there was nothing new. My parents are independent of me and will ask things that's of interest to them. Was anything my dad asked really that hard of a question to answer? I think you did well!"
"Well, no," I admitted, "And they love you. They're very caring parents."
