“I just thought you might get along. We could even go to her family’s house for Thanksgiving.”
My pulse thundered in my ears. “What about our family?”
“We could stop by their celebration if you wanted to.”
Stop by. He didn’t want to. Not that any of that came as a surprise, but still. My hands shook. “I…I thought we were keeping it small this year.”
“It’s just an option, Z,” he said gently.
But I knew him. If I turned this down, I had the option of spending four hours getting suffocated and analyzed across the table from our parents or holing up at home with Craft Cove and microwave mashed potatoes. He’d check on me. But he’d leave. He was always meant to leave. To love somebody.
“I…I’ll think about it.” I hung up, anxiety pulsing through my veins.
Somehow, I’d ended up in front of Geppetto’s Workshop. The turkey plush sat on a shelf, its button eyes askew, silently asking, ‘Are you okay?’
Maybe.
I snuck inside and peeked around the shelves.
Old neon gym shoes were propped up on the counter, and a familiar tune rang out from a tinny speaker. Sal was playing Craft Cove. He slurped some kind of energy drink and rocked himself in the roller chair.
Maybe Craft Cove and mashed potatoes wouldn’t be so bad.
Turkey Tom stared at me.
I hugged him tightly, then shoved him back on the shelf and walked away.
It was fine. I had to work on my happiness, right?
I peeked over my shoulder. Turkey Tom was squished in the back. That wasn’t right.
I came back to fix how he was sitting. There. Now, he’d be comfy. And so would I.
Sal’s chair squeaked as he turned, so I rushed off to work, pulling my cap down.
No one needed to check on me. I’d be busy crafting…and fixing things.
8
Backup
People made mistakes. Often. At least it kept me employed at True Tech.
One girl in her late teens with a floppy ponytail handed me a plastic food container. “My phone fell in the bath, but I put it in rice overnight,” she said, her voice wavering.
Nice.I examined the fluffy contents. “It’s not supposed to be cooked,” I said.
She tilted her head. “It’s all I had. It’s dry, and that’s what matters, right?.”
No. Not even close. “I…will see if I can fix it.” I clenched my teeth in a grimace-smile and handed her a tablet to complete her paperwork. “Normally, we’d text you an update. Is there another number we can call?”
“Yeah.” The girl bit her goopy lacquered nails, her gaze darting across the ledge.
“We’ll salvage everything we can,” I promised.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just that I don’t think my parents would help me buy a new one. And phones have gotten really expensive.”
No one needed the newest models, though. “Perhaps you could get a refurbished one.”
