“Good God, you’re a morning person.” She snorts. I enter the kitchen more slowly, trying to avoid the chirpy atmosphere. I don’t need it to rub off on me. “So, Paige?” I make her name a question, and she answers with equal cheer.
“Hey gorgeous. How do you feel?” She finishes whatever she’s doing at the stove with a flourish, adding some spices and removing the pan from the heat. She’s graceful even while cooking eggs. Wipingher hands on her pants, she takes a deep breath. Then, she comes over and gives me a hug. I figured it would be one of those quick, friendly ones with a slight back-patting, but instead, she lingers. I allow myself to fall into the hug and melt a little into her soft, gentle, goodness. “You’re going to be okay.” She whispers it, not loosening her hold at all, and damn her. My eyes prickle with heat, but I lock that shit down.
Her arms are so tight around me that I consider maybe this hug isn’t only for me. So, I hug her a little tighter. “I know. You’re going to be okay, too, Paige. Whatever it is.” She gives me one more squeeze and backs away, keeping her hands on my arms.
“He told me. The night that you shut him out? When he showed up? He ended up at my house, again. Except, he only made it to the front porch.” Her face is apologetic, and a mirror of heartbreak.
“He told you?”
“Yeah, he told me. I’m so sorry, Becky. I want you to know I’m here, if you need to talk about it, okay?”
I simply nod my head in response. I don’t know what to say.
With a small, sad smile, she turns and grabs something from the counter, and then a strange drink gets thrust into my hands and a sweet, “Here baby, drink this,” is uttered before she’s back to the stove.What is even happening?
A change of topic sounds perfect. “I know I drank too much, but how much did I miss last night?” I ask, partly to Paige, partly to the void. Paige laughs.
“Okay, so I love Vicky,” she starts, turning back to and flipping the omelette like a pro.I guess it’s not done.“She told us to show up a bit before you, and we had a chat.” She looks up to find me staring at the strange liquid in my cup. “Drink your weird drink, it’ll help you function.”
She is such a mom.“Okay…?” I take a sip and scowl.Disgusting.
“Drink it!”
“Jesus, okay, Mom.” The glass is barely cold, and the drink is thick and green. “Are you sure…” I start, but she’s already glaring a mom glare in my direction, so I just pray my nausea doesn’t come back, and gulp it the rest of the way down. “Oh. That’s awful.” I say it under my breath, but the quiet chuckle from the stove is indication enough that she could still hear me. I can’t help but notice my coffee maker is fully loaded, so I grab the first mug I can reach to save my soul. A wrench handle sits awkwardly in my hand. I pause and stare for a second, and put it back in favor of a punny one—I need a latte coffee.
“Anyway, we decided you needed to release an emotion beyondquietresignation, so we decided to feed you some booze to lighten you up.” She says it with a slight smile.
“Speaking of releasing emotions,” I start, and wince, because that was a horrible segue.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.” She grabs a plate and expertly slides a delicious looking omelette onto it. My mouth waters.
“Okay, fine.” I’m not going to push it, yet. “Feed me, Seymour.”
With a tinkling laugh, she puts the plate in front of me and starts to clean up.
“You don’t have to do that. You cooked! Also, doyouwant one?” She gives me a look. “Okay, yeah, you don’t want to talk about it. Sorry, sorry.” I’m pretty sure I’m spot on with my assumptions, but she doesn’t seem to be in the place to discuss it. “So, can you tell me why you’re here?”
She stops at that and says carefully, “We agreed someone should stay with you to make sure you made it to work today.” She smirks. “Besides, you don’t have a car, doll.”
I hurumph.
An omelette, one weird drink, two Tylenol, three cups of coffee, and a cheerful farewell from a hilarious Paige, and I’m walking into the school, determined for my day to only get better.
A familiar shrill voice dashes any hope of that fantasy, plummeting me back into reality. “Ms. Duchamp!” Jill calls again, her voice climbing higher.
Shi—takke mushrooms.
I stop in my tracks, take a deep breath, and turn back to the office to face her.
“Yes, Jill?”Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.“How’s the peacock?”Dangit, I have no control over that thing.
“He’s fine.” She’s silent for a second. We both blink at each other. Her, looking always angry, me, probably looking quite hungover. “You have a delivery. Please remove it from the office.” And she buries her head right back behind the computer.
I look around, but all I see are Taylor’s flowers.Okay, that’s low even for Jill.My stomach drops at the callousness of the move, and I want to get out of there before I finally give into my tears.
“Ahehehehem.” Jill over-exaggerates clearing her throat and nods toward the flowers again.
I follow her nod and see that the flowers aregorgeous.Wait a second.I step closer. That’smyname.
