But evenFinnsaid he was a good applicant. Betrayal burns hot through my veins as I remember his words.
You each have different skills and abilities to bring to the position, but both of you are very passionate and would make great department directors.
A sharp pain stings my throat as I try to understand. Now that I know it was Kyle he was talking about, the words feel like treachery.
How could he like someone who hurt me so badly? Who treated me like trash and apparently still finds it entertaining to do so. How could Finn not see through the orchestrated version of Kyle that he must’ve presented in that interview?
Well, I spent years falling for his manipulations.
The air squeezes out of my lungs in a harsh, forced breath.
I need a plan beforehegets back to this office. I can’t spend the rest of the day hiding in the corner.
Pressing my palms and fingers into the cool tile floor, I try to think through what to do.
There are a few tasks that would keep me out of the office, but I have no idea what Kyle’s day will look like, since he doesn’t actually work here. Where will he be and what will he be doing all day? And most importantly, how can I avoid him?
Before he can make it back in here, I lift myself from the floor and bring up the library outreach event email. Then I shut down my computer, grab my purse, and flee the office to join Micah for the afternoon.
***
I’m not proud of the fact that I called in sick to work this morning.
I’m also not proud that I lied to my best friend about being sick and then watchedGilmore Girlsall day without her.
And I’m not proud that I’ve completely ignored every one of Finn’s worried calls and texts.
But I have no idea what to say to him. I’ve processed enough over the last twenty-four hours to logically understand that Finn is not the bad guy here. I can’t blame him for something that isn’tactuallyhis fault.
It’s Kyle’s fault.
I had to tell Micah yesterday afternoon when I found him at the library since he also has to deal with the work situation, but I swore him to secrecy.
So today has been wasted in bed as I wallow in self-pity. I’m now surrounded by an empty bowl of salsa, a half-finished bag of tortilla chips, an iced coffee that I didn’t drink before the ice melted, and a considerable dusting of powdered sugar from the almond croissants I had delivered. And in the back of my mind, I’m telling myself to buck up and get it together. Maybe shower and eat some not-junk food. Go for a walk and get some sunshine on my face.
But I just can’t find the enthusiasm. I can’t find thewillto go back to work tomorrow and face my worst nightmare.
My phone chimes with a text, and I lift it from my nightstand.
Finn:Just dropped off some soup at your front door. I didn’t knock in case you’re resting, but go get it when you wake up so a raccoon doesn’t steal it. I hope you feel better soon.
A deep breath rushes out of me. He bought me soup because he thinks I’m sick, and I’m lying about it by omission. Guilt sours my stomach.
Clutching my phone to my chest, I jump into motion. The bag of chips tumbles to the floor, but I ignore it, jogging through the silent house. Maybe I can catch him before he leaves and tell him the truth right now. He doesn’t deserve to think I’m sick. It’s not his fault.
When I open the door, a small cooler sits on the doormat, but I don’t see his car in the driveway. I take a few steps out and see he’s not on the street anymore either. My shoulders droop, and I reluctantly grab the cooler and lug it into the kitchen.
My phone rings in my hand, startling me, and I place the cooler on the counter to look at it. An image of my mom and dad sticking their tongues out greets me, and I swipe to answer the FaceTime before I can think better of it.
“Hey,” I greet them, holding the phone up so they can see my face. The tiny image of me in the corner reveals my hair sticking in every direction and a lovely salsa stain on the collar of my pajama shirt. I drop my chin and try to rub it away, but the evidence remains.
“Sweetie,” Mom coos. Her face fills most of the screen, with only about a third of my dad’s in view. “We heard you’re sick. How are you feeling?”
I roll my eyes. Lena must’ve called them. “I’m okay.” As the guilt of my lie burns in my throat, I decide now seems like a good time to start being honest with people before the news spreads any further. “It was more of a mental-health day, really.”
Mom sticks her bottom lip out. “Oh no. What’s going on?”
I abandon the cooler and walk to the couch, tucking myself into my favorite corner and pulling my weighted blanket over my lap while I tell them about yesterday.
