Jimmy’s toothpick darts from one side of his mouth to the other. “You know what you can put in those boxes?”
“What?”
“Onyx bracelets.”
My heart plummets down into my gut. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. I need to get rid of them, so you can have them.”
“Does it never cross your mind how much damage you do to this brand by making me cancel orders, disappoint customers, and then a month later shove the bracelets into the January boxes? It’s spitting in the face of all the people you had me deny last month!”
Jimmy smirks and lowers his feet from the desk, then leans forward slowly. “Listen to me, Calliope. I do not care. If you had put those bracelets on the website in the first place, then we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”
It’s pointless. We’ve already had this argument and he’ll never accept that he was the one who told me to take them down. My chest swells as if air is leaking in from somewhere, and I’m far too angry to speak. In the end, I leave his office and slam the door as hard as I can behind me.
He’s there, sabotaging me at every corner. Maybe I should be grateful to get the bracelets because so many of our customers loved the look of them, but the thought of having to deal with the influx of emails and complaints that we’re now selling something we previously denied to people makes my stomach roll.
Today started so nicely.
Just like that, my day vanishes. I spend hours checking and cataloging every damaged box and every piece of jewelry affected by the leak. Those that aren’t completely waterlogged are stacked in a separate office where Jimmy insists we’ll be able to sell them at a discount. I don’t have the energy to tell him that no one is going to want to buy jewelry that was caught in a flood caused by a burst waste pipe and simply add it to my list of things to do.
By the time four o’clock rolls around, nothing I wanted to do today has been done, but I get the inventory done. Then it’s a quick call to Mom to tell her I’ll be late, and I spend the next two hours helping Victoria catalog my new stock so it can be sent to the stores overnight. Everything I’d ordered for the January boxes will now end up in window displays while I deal with disappointed customers who expected jade necklaces and aquamarine rings. Instead, they get onyx bracelets.
My last two hours at work involve frantically packing what small orders I can squeeze out, answering a string of emails explainingthe delays with countless apologies, and fielding the usual calls about delays with postage over Christmas. By the time I make it home, I’m utterly worn down.
“Mom!” Nick dives into my arms the second I walk through the door.
“Hi, baby.” Tired, I shrug off my coat and slowly hang it up.
“Look! Look!” Nick bounces up and down on the balls of his feet and thrusts a handmade card into my hands. “It’s from Tobey!”
“Aw, how sweet.” A squiggly Santa is drawn on the cover with messy writing inside where I can just about make out Tobey’s name.
“He said he missed me all over winter break and says next year, he’ll ask his mom if I can go to the Hymeneas with him!”
I pause, unravelling my scarf. “Where?”
“The Hymen—hymlineas!”
“The… the Himalayas?”
Nick frowns immediately. “That’s what I said!”
“Of course it is. I’m sorry, Nickie. Mommy’s tired.”
“Aw.” Nick pouts and leans forward, kissing the back of my hand. Then he sprints away with the card clutched in his hand and vanishes into the kitchen.
I follow after, struggling to get out of my boots. Nick’s on his stool next to Mom as she busies herself washing up the dishes.
“About time,” she mutters as soon as she sees me. “What’s the excuse this time?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Is there dinner?”
“We have Chinese food!” Nick declares with a grin.
“What?” I stop halfway into the kitchen. “Mom, did you order takeout again?”
“Did you expect me to cook?” she asks, looking over her shoulder. “Of course I ordered takeout.”
