“I’m your boss. I shouldn’t have you fighting my battles in the first place. I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Who cares?!” Rana says with surprising venom. I drop her hand and look at her seriously. She seems upset.
“You’re too nice, Aricia. I think Peter’s good for you.”
“We don’t know what Peter wants from me.”
“Ugh, I don’t know how people do this. I guess it’s better than the apps but… aren’t you… I don’t know… totally anxious!?”
“My ex-husband’s mistress showed up at my job and attacked one of my most dedicated employeesanda loyal friend of mine. I’m not worried about my personal life right now.”
Bzzt. Bzzt.
“Even if your personal life is begging for attention?” Rana asks, examining and approving of her bandages.
“Peter is doing just fine. He’s just thirsty, like most single men his age.”
“If he’s thirsty, it’s because you’re a catch.”
“Rana…”
“I’m serious, Aricia! I want to be you someday… even if it probably means I’m never going to find love.”
“Don’t say that. Take time off. Go to Italy. I’ll update your contract if you need more time off to do something special.”
“I love my job. I don’t want to get on a plane and end up having to take a water slide down an exit ramp.”
“Then do a road trip.”
“Aricia… I’m fine. I’d much rather talk about your hot mafia boyfriend now that we’re away from the office.”
“We should be getting work done at my kitchen counter.”
“Can’t we talk about Peter?”
“We can talk about Peter once I log a full day’s work. Now… Are you going to stay, or do you want the rest of the day off?”
“Um… If I don’t stay, I can’t hold you to your word about Peter. You could turn your phone off and ignore all my annoying questions.”
She uncovered my plan, but at least Rana staying behind will help with my workload. She fills up both of our metal Stanley cups – I didn’t buy the strangely addictive-to-drink-out-of 64 oz monstrosity for myself, Rana got it for me, but the hydration helps me focus on my casework.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Every hour, I have to ignore a call from Peter. He doesn’t stop calling until some time after eight p.m. when I finally finish working and get Rana to order us some food before she heads home for the night. She yawns as she scans through our dinner options on that app I barely understand how to use.
“Do you want pho?”
“Rana. You know I want chicken wings. Anywhere between fifteen and thirty.”
I honestly want thirty, but I don’t need my young, healthy employee judging me for the number of wings I can put back.
“Peter stopped calling,” Rana says.
“Did you put that order in yet?”
“Yes, Aricia. It takes like three seconds.”
“I don’t know how these apps work.”
