While they’re productive members of Rose’s company, I’m more like a little hamster running along a stationary wheel. I fetch coffee and file notes. Busy work. But it beats masturbating for a whole two hours without any sort of release. I did that yesterday. Not fun.
After a short minute, Rose exits her office and struts over to my white desk. “Did you get the business card I left you?” She made me a whole box, as though solidifying my position as “Assistant of CEO” for the future.
“Yep, they’re pretty.” They’re even “lily” scented. I asked her if her cards smelled like roses and she shot me a cold look. Apparently, Mom had the idea to scent the business cards, and Rose had to go along with it. Our mother has her claws in Rose’s company in more ways than just one. Rose started the business at sixteen, too young to realize that our mother would deem herself co-founder. She acts like a silent partner, but Rose would rather she wasn’t involved at all, considering the only contribution she makes is painful irritation. She’s a nosy gnat, but she’s also someone easy to love if she agrees with you.
“No, not those cards. The therapist.”
“Oh…yeah, it was taped on the computer screen. Pretty hard to miss.”
“Have you called?”
I lick my dry lips. “No, not yet. I thought you were still researching.”
“No, I’m done. That’s the one. I know she is, but if you don’t like her, then I’ll keep looking. But you should meet her at least. She’s a lovely woman.”
I inhale. “Okay, yeah. I’ll meet her soon.” Maybe she’ll prescribe me some drugs and take these feelings away. That sounds nice.
As her heels clap back to her office, I Hulk-grip the mouse and click my way through Microsoft Excel with efficiency. Rose has detailed my tasks and their importance by numerical code. I realize that calling my therapist is number one. Checking shoe sizes for shipment to Macy’s is number thirty-five.
Just as I reach for my phone to make an appointment, it buzzes on the desk, vibrating across the glass surface. I frown and check the screen, an unknown number popping up. Could it be…？ I frantically pick up the cell, my heart hammering. If it’s him, what do I say? I hesitate, words coursing through my brain in overdrive. I don’t know if there’s any right way to start a conversation. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s just hopeful thinking. He’s not even supposed to be calling until March. Isn’t that what Ryke said?
I drown my insecurities and put the receiver to my ear. I inhale a deep breath before saying, “Hello?”
“Hi.”
He called me. Lo called me. I let the words sink in with the sound of his deep voice. I lean forward on the desk, putting a hand to my eyes to shield any tears that’ll threaten to fall. I’d rather Rose not see me from her office and end the call before it even starts.
I’ve thought about all the things I would say to Lo in email and on the phone in March, but they’ve breezed out of my mind since the first ring. I’m left with a not-so eloquent reply. “You called.”
I hear him shifting, as though adjusting the phone and holding it up with a shoulder to his ear. I picture one hand on the wall and a long line of guys waiting behind him to use the black cord phone. Sort of like prison. I don’t know why I relate them. He’s not in jail. He’s in rehab. The latter of which will help him. I’m sure my new therapist will psychoanalyze that comparison.
“I’ve been doing well, so they’re letting me get in touch with my family.” He pauses. “You’re the first person I called.” He lets out a weak laugh, and I imagine him rubbing his lips. “Hell, you’re the only one I’ll probably call.”
“Not Ryke?” I wonder.
“I’ve seen Ryke,” he explains quickly, brushing over the topic. “How have you been?”
“Why didn’t you email before? Ryke said you’d be able to this month.” Yes, I dodged the question about me. I need to hear him explain this before I can quantify anything going on in my life.
He pauses for a long time. “I planned to. I sat down at the computer and stared at the screen for a full hour.”
I bite my thumbnail. “What happened?”
“I’d write a couple sentences, reread them, and delete. Everything sounded so fucking stupid. I mean, I’m not a writer. So by the end of the hour, all I had was ‘hi’ and I was so pissed that I just walked away.”