Hmm. Don’t like that either.
But I keep quiet about it. Electra seems on edge as it is. “How’s work?” I ask.
She sets the menu down and squeezes a lemon into her water. “I quit.”
“You quit?” I echo. “But you’ve worked at Dr. Blakney’s office for years. You’re the most hyped-up dental hygienist I know.”
“Yeah, well, I might be too hyped-up,” she says, stirring her water. Another weird sign. Electra never looks at the food menu until she’s ordered a drink, no matter what time of day it is.
“What do you mean?” I ask, but I’m cut off by the waiter arriving.
We order our food—curry chicken for me, a sad salad for her—before Electra reluctantly goes on.
“Sean wasn’t a fan of me working there.”
An eyebrow involuntarily arches. “At adentist’s office?”
“I guess he feels it’s too… personable. Since half the patients are men.”
“You have to be joking,” I say with a laugh. “I’m sorry. But he can’t be serious. You’re cleaning their teeth, not giving them a sack assessment. Jesus.”
I shake my head, but as per the new usual, Electra is refusing to look at me. In fact, she’s looking everywhere but at me.
“Okay… intervention.”
That gets her attention.
“What do you mean?” she asks defensively.
“What’s going on with this Sean guy?” I ask.
“Nothing. He’s just… a little protective.”
“A little? Electra, you’re never allowed to hang out any more. You’re constantly on your phone. You’re not acting like yourself at all. You don’t dress the way you used to. You’re looking over your shoulder like you’re being watched. This behavior isn’t protective, it’s controlling.”
“Again, can you really lecture me on this?” she snaps, and I knew it was coming. But it’s okay. I have ammo for it.
“Ransome is territorial because he knows a lot of people who aren’t great people, and he’s actually trying to protect me. But I’m not afraid of him. You seem afraid.” My tone softens. “If you need help getting out of a bad situation?—”
“I don’t need help with my relationship. Jesus. Sean isn’t a bad guy. He’s just… a little intense sometimes. He has a very stressful job and his life is hard,” she says. Then she adds, “It’s not his fault.”
I look at my friend incredulously. “It’s not his fault that he’s got you on a shock collar? For real. I don’t think this guy is good for you. I think?—”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she says. “Please? Let’s talk about you.”
I’m hesitant because I’m really concerned. But begging is also not an inherent Electra trait. So I let it go.
For now.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, trying to shift back into a chipper mood.
“When are you due?” she asks.
“I have about a month,” I answer. “Though it for real feels like I’m going to pop any day now.”
“So what if… we throw you a baby shower?” she asks as the waiter sets our food down.
“Oh.”
