Options. I need options.
Daycare: closes at three, no exceptions, no flexibility. I already asked.
Neighbours: see previous assessment re: drug dealer and deaf octogenarian.
Friends: nonexistent.
Which leaves...
Asking for time off from my brand-new job.
My stomach twists. I've been there less than two weeks.
I can't lose this job.
But I can't leave my four-year-old stranded at daycare either.
The phone feels heavy in my hand. I pull up Nico's contact.
I'm so sorry for the late message. I may need to take tomorrow off. Personal emergency.
My thumb hovers over send.
This is humiliating. I'm already asking for favours. He's going to think I'm unreliable. Flaky. Taking advantage of his family's generosity.
Just like Jack always said you would.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
The read receipt appears almost immediately.
11:52 PM - Read
Three dots appear.
Why?
One word. No greeting, no acknowledgment of the hour. Just why, like I owe him an explanation.
My jaw tightens.
It's personal, I type back.
That's not an answer.
It's the only one you're getting.
I watch those three dots dance for what feels like an eternity. My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it. This is where I get fired via text message at midnight because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.
Try again.
Excuse me?
You asked for time off. I asked why. "Personal" tells me nothing. Is someone hurt? Sick? In danger?
I want to throw my phone across the room. I want to tell him that my childcare situation is none of his business. That his single-word interrogation style is infuriating.
Instead, I type: My mother was supposed to watch Lily tomorrow. She's sick. Daycare closes at 3. My shift ends at 6. I don't have other options.
