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By the time Friday ends, I am positive this has been the most exhausting work week of my life.

Roxie invites me to go out with her, maybe to Happy Hour again, but all I want to do is go home and sleep.

Bobby is back. Apparently, his past weekend with Trey was a smashing success, so he’s here for a repeat. When I ask how he’s justifying being out of town another weekend, he says Dad agreed Bobby could collect all the financials for the week and bring them over for me to work on over the weekend. Only this time, it’s all the receipts from almost three months that I’ve been away, and when I see the box Bobby brought with him, I burst into tears.

I don’t want to work all weekend on Dad’s stuff. I want to sleep and cook and maybe go out with Roxie. I don’t want to do more accounting.

Bobby shrugs and says I should do what I can, no rush. He says he’ll be back next week with more.

I feel like I’m doing books for the mob. I don’t want to do it anymore, but I don’t have the option to stop.

Bobby says that I have to tell them so, and endure whatever comes my way.

I don’t think I have it in me, not yet. Maybe not ever. The thought fills me with despair.

I sleep till noon on Saturday, then do laundry and go grocery shopping, and make dinner for myself and Bobby. He texts he’ll be with Trey all weekend.

I’m a little peeved, but I understand. I guess I’ll have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. For a brief moment, I think how it would be nice to have Joe over, complain about the week and watch him eat with abandon.

I spend most of Sunday sorting over the receipts from Dad’s shop. I seethe the whole time.

When Bobby finally stops by before he leaves for St. Cloud, I tear into him.

“If you’re going to use me as your beard, you should have the courtesy of spending some time with me. Otherwise, you should stay with Trey.”

“We’re not there yet,” he says.

“I love you, Bobby, but you’re being a dick. Dumping receipts on me on Friday, going with your boyfriend all weekend. You could’ve had one fucking meal with me over the whole fucking weekend.”

He looks at me. “You are right. I am sorry.”

“I’m not Mom. You don’t get to come and go as you please without any regard for me.”

“I know. I know you’re not Mom. I said I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.”

He sits down next to me. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not. I am exhausted. And now I didn’t even have my weekend to relax.”

“Can I do something to help?”

“There’s nothing to do now. You’re on your way back.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“How is Joe doing?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since your last visit.”

“Do you miss him?”

I nod.

“Does he know you miss him?”

I shake my head.