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No sense acting like I’m not going insane. “No, actually. I need to speak with you,” I grumble. Grabbing my bag, I hurry out of the room under the watchful eyes of my team and hiss into the phone, “When can I schedule a session?”
Six
NARDI
I stand in front of the copy machine, mindlessly staring at the wall while the rustle of paper being sucked into a printer putters behind me.
This morning, I dropped Josiah off at school. He sat in the backseat, not saying a word as he tapped away on his phone doing who knows what.
I’m always on edge when I see him on that stupid device now. He’s smart enough to hack a billion-dollar project, so who knows what he’s doing on that phone? What if he hacks into the CIA or the FBI? What if the next time I go home, the black SUVs parked outsidearen’tRonan Cullen’s?
I’ve gone back and forth about whether I should take his phone away or not. The device is practically an extra limb at this point. I’m afraid he’ll bleed out and need emergency care if he doesn’t have it.
But what other alternative do I have? Josiah doesn’t have any friends and he’s always at home, so grounding him would be pointless.
My phone buzzes at that moment.
I fish it out of my pocket and see a text from mom.
Mom: Hey, haven’t gotten a call from you in a while. Is everything okay?
I drop my head against the copy machine, groaning softly. How do I update mom on everything that’s been happening without totally overwhelming her?
Hey, mom. Why haven’t I called lately? Well, I was a little busy with work and my Saturday food stall. Oh, and Josiah hacked into a billion-dollar simulation and the creator is a millionaire who’s dying and now he wants to marry me and make Josiah his legacy. How’s the weather in Belize?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
Mom was nervous enough letting Josiah come live with me. If I tell her the truth, she’ll just worry needlessly from miles away, feeling helpless and constantly thinking the worst.
My phone lights up with a call.
It’s mom.
My stomach twists into knots.
The more the phone buzzes, the greater the sense of doom becomes.
Panicking, I turn my phone off.
It’s the worst move, but it’s the only solution I can think of. If I answer mom’s calls, I’ll feel pressured to lie and I don’t want to do that.
Mom trusts me to be honest with her. That’s why she sent her only son all the way from Belize to stay with me. I treasure that trust and I don’t want to break it, so it’s better if I settle things over here before having a conversation. At least then, mom won’t worry.
The printer beeps, indicating that it’s finished with all the copies. I make a mental note to send mom a generic ‘everything’s fine’ response later.
As I’m stapling the documents together at my cubicle, I overhear my colleagues talking.
“I knowright!Her husband was soawfulto do that to her but, to be honest, she kind of deserved it because she should have totally seen that coming.”
My attention captured, I wiggle my chair closer to the wall.
“What happened? Who are you talking about?” I ask, glancing between them.
“Carla from Accounting.” My co-worker purses her bright red lips, eyes sparkling from the joy of dishing gossip.
“Carla?”
I hadn’t interacted much with her before she quit, but I do remember the stir that flooded the office when Carla got married. Apparently, it was to a wealthy guy who lived on the other side of the country.