She snorted and pulled out her own phone. “In fact, I am going to sit here and watch you do it so you cannot chicken out.”
I looked down at my phone, then back at her. “You’re a bully.”
“I am a doctor. We are paid to bully.” She took my hand again and squeezed. “I am also a sister who is tired of watching her brother be miserable.” She pointed at my phone. “Text. Now. Do not make me get another bag of chips.”
I pulled up my thread with Brad, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
The professional thing would be to go in tomorrow, ask for a meeting, and explain the situation face-to-face. Regardless of what Priya said, Ishouldgive two weeks and be the bigger person.
But doing the professional thing had gotten me nowhere for seven years.
And Brad had never once been professional to me.
So I started typing.
Me: I quit. Effective immediately.
My thumb hovered over send.
“Push it. Push it real good,” Priya said, breaking into the worst Salt-N-Pepa imitation I’d ever heard while wagging her arms like one of those car sales blow-up figures.
I hit send.
My phone rang three seconds later.
It was Brad.
I stared at the screen, watching it buzz against my palm.
“If you answer that, I will sing and dance all night,” Priya said.
I declined the call.
Immediately, a text came through.
Brad: You can’t quit over text.
I looked at Priya. “He says I can’t quit over text.”
“He is wrong. You just did. Respond.”
Me: I just did.
I stared at that last message, feeling something shift in my chest. Would I regret this? Maybe. Probably.
But I’d regret staying more.
As fast as my fingers could move, I blocked hisnumber, set my phone down on the coffee table, and tried to breathe. Then I slumped back against the couch cushions and let out a long, shaky breath.
“Holy shit,” I said to the ceiling.
“You did it,” Priya said, sounding impressed.
“I did it.”
“How do you feel?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
