1
SAGE
The kitchen timer goes off, and I smile to myself, knowing my morning cup of coffee is just a few moments away from being done. Pushing down the plunger on my French press, I watch the coarsely ground coffee gather in the bottom of the glass container, leaving a rich, dark brown liquid and the perfect amount of caramel-colored crema on top.
I pour my morning cup of coffee, appreciating the picturesque swirls of steam as the mug fills up. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the earthy, citrusy, comforting scent of my favorite Ethiopian beans before enjoying the first sip of the day.
My morning routine consists of three things: French press coffee, toast with peanut butter and honey, and scrolling through cute cat videos until it’s time to work. It may seem like a small, lonely life to some, but I’ve worked really hard for this little slice of peace. Never knowing when my life would be uprooted has made me appreciate calm.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t lonely with only my dad for company. Even then, I haven’t seen him very often since I moved to my own apartment a few years ago.
I look at the clock on the microwave and frown to myself, not realizing how late in the morning it had become. I guess I’ll have to wait till later to scroll through cat videos. As a freelance graphic designer and website designer, I don’t exactly have regular office hours. However, I find that sticking to a schedule helps me be more productive. Plus, it’s not like I have any friends or anywhere to go anyway.
I get settled on the couch with my lap desk and laptop, placing my half-full cup of coffee on the table next to me. As with most jobs, my workday often starts with checking my email. Usually, my clients are pretty reasonable. But every once in a while, like right now, I have a very particular client who can only describe things theydon’tlike about a design, and onlyafterI’ve done them.
As expected, I have a very lengthy email from Mr. Daniels. Yesterday, he liked the sand-colored background of his website, but today, it’s far too bland, and he wants to try light blue – a color I had suggested weeks ago. I roll my eyes, but at least it’s an easy fix. I even have the hex codes saved in my client notes.
The next email is a request for business cards, which I’ll reply to this afternoon with an estimate. The third email in my inbox gives me pause. There’s no subject line, and the sender’s email address is a random string of numbers and letters. I should probably delete it. It’s likely spam or a scam of some kind. Then I notice the preview text before I even click into the email. “Tell your father…“ I don’t hesitate to open the email, knowing my father is into some shady things. The rest of the message is just as chilling as the first part.
“Tell your father we know how to find you.”
That’s it. That’s all it says. That’s all it needs to say to send a shiver down my spine.What has he gotten himself into now?
I close my eyes and tilt my head up, taking a deep cleansing breath. This isn’t the first time I’ve been caught up in one ofmy father‘s many schemes, but it’s the first time anyone has threatened me.
I close the browser tab and open up a new one, logging into my Adobe Cloud account so I can start work for the day. Five minutes pass, then ten, fifteen, and twenty minutes go by. All I’ve done is stare at the screen. I try shoving all of my worries aside so I can concentrate on finishing up this project. But those nine simple words in the strange email have completely derailed me.
It’s nearly ten in the morning, and I figure my father is probably up by now. That is, if he didn’t go on a bender last night. Grabbing my phone, I scroll over to the contacts and hit my dad‘s number, taking a shaky breath as I lift the phone to my ear.
After three rings, I think he’s not going to pick up. But then I hear his familiar, scratchy morning voice.
“Sage? Is that you?” He sounds rough, but at least his words aren’t slurred.
“Yeah, Dad. Listen…” I hesitate slightly, doubting this whole thing. Maybe it was a hoax after all, and I’m waking up my dad midmorning for nothing.
“Out with it, what do you need?”
“I got a weird email this morning.”
“And? What’s that got to do with me?”
I bite the side of my cheek to hold back my response. There’s no use in arguing with my father, especially when he’s in one of his moods. “It said to tell you thattheyknow how to find me. Who arethey? Why are they contacting me?”
I met with silence instead of scolding, which is a red flag.
“Dad? Do you know what this is about?”
“We can’t talk about it over the phone. It’s not safe.”
“Not safe?! Dad, what…“
“Not over the phone! If you want to talk about this, come over in person.”
“If I want to talk about this?” I repeat, trying not to sound too incredulous. “Yes, I’m going to need some answers.”
My dad curses under his breath before hanging up. My stomach churns at the possibilities of what is wrong. In the past, he’s been arrested for petty theft, breaking and entering, and writing bad checks, but none of those things involve me.
I know I’m not going to get any work done while I’m thinking about the email and my dad's strange response to it. So, I hop in my car and drive fifteen minutes to my childhood home. It’s been almost a year since I’ve visited, and as I walk through the front door, I’m reminded of why.
