I sigh, knowing I won’t win this argument. Still, I have to find some way to help.
My mom stirs the hot chocolate, grabs some milk from the fridge, and adds it. Before she brings it to the table, she puts some more lotion on her hands and spreads it around.
“What’s with all the moisturizing?” I chuckle.
“My hands and my arms have been so itchy lately. I’m wondering if something in the garden is irritating them.”
“Do you have a rash or hives?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, but that’s the only thing I can think of. I’m used to having dry skin during these Wisconsin winters, but it doesn’t usually bother me going into summer.” She laughs and sets my hot chocolate in front of me.
“Thanks, Mom.”
We chat for a while, and I stick around until my dad returns so that I can say hello to him. Eventually I return to my apartment, and as predicted, the only thing I can think about is how next week will be the last time I’ll see Bastion.
11
HATTIE
Iwoke up feeling sad this morning. It’s Tuesday, which for a few weeks meant I would wake up excited and looking forward to that night. But now, knowing it means I’m losing the only person I’ve really felt connected to since we moved to Wisconsin, my mood is a one-eighty from where it was.
It’s ridiculous, I know. I haven’t known Bastion that long, but it feels as if I’ve known him forever. From the moment we met, it felt as though he knew me. I’ve grown comfortable already, and last week, I felt myself starting to shed the shy exterior I have with any new person I meet. The only other person I’ve really been able to do that with was Taylor—and to a lesser effect, Rich.
I’m going to miss that feeling of connection once it’s gone.
I tell myself I can find it again with someone else, but will it really be that easy? Since I met Bastion, it’s felt as though we have some kind of connection I can’t explain even though it doesn’t make sense, even to me. A wealthy businessman thirteen years my senior who has clearly lived a much less sheltered life than me? But somehow, the connection is there.
I walk into work, saying a quick hello to some of my coworkers before taking a seat at my desk. I go through my usual routine of putting my purse in my drawer, turning on the computer, and checking for any voicemails before I get started on my tasks for the day.
But before I can really get going, my coworker Marwa swings by my desk. “We’re all supposed to meet in the conference room in ten minutes. The big boss has called a meeting.”
I frown. “What’s the meeting about?”
She shrugs, sending her long black hair behind her shoulder. “Not sure. I’m just spreading the word.” She flits off to tell the next person.
By big boss, I know she means the owner, Mr. Fitzpatrick. He’s not in here very often because he’s essentially half-retired, so it seems odd that he’s called a meeting.
The next ten minutes pass as though each second is an hour. I grow more anxious as I stand from my desk and make the trek across the office to the conference room. It’s standing room only when I arrive and look around. Everyone is gathered in little circles, whispering about why we’re having this meeting. Theories are thrown out from everyone.
A couple of minutes later, Mr. Fitzpatrick enters the room with his son Tim, who runs the day-to-day operations now that Mr. Fitzpatrick has taken a step back. Mr. Fitzpatrick is dressed as though he’s stopped here on his way to the golf course, and I relax a little. If this were bad news, he probably would have dressed more professionally.
“Thanks for coming, everyone.” Mr. Fitzpatrick’s booming voice fills the room, and everyone quiets. “Sorry for the short noticeand the impromptu meeting, but I need to speak with you all about something that has recently transpired. I’m going to cut right to the chase.” He looks around the room and sets his hands on his hips. “I’ve sold the company.”
It’s as if he’s lobbed a grenade in the middle of the room, and everyone is too in shock to say or do anything at first. It’s quiet for a few seconds before rapid-fire questions are directed his way.
Mr. Fitzpatrick raises his hands. “I know you all have questions, but rest assured, it will be business as usual. The new owner isn’t looking to change anything.”
“Who’s the new owner?” someone calls out, though I can’t see who it is over Ned, the tallest guy in the office who never has the courtesy to stand in the back.
“The new owner wishes to remain anonymous and will not be involved in the day-to-day operations. Tim will continue on in his role, as will all of you.”
Mr. Fitzpatrick’s gaze snags on me. Did I imagine that? No, he definitely paused for a moment. Oh jeez, I can’t lose this job.
“The truth is, I didn’t have any plans to sell, but I was approached with a good offer. When I was assured there wouldn’t be massive layoffs, I couldn’t refuse. Now I can really go enjoy my retirement.” He laughs, but no one joins in, all too scared of what this means.
Even though he’s assuring us that no mass layoffs are coming, everyone knows that the sale of a company means change. Surely this new mystery owner plans to do something differently.
“Tim, do you want to say a few words?” his dad asks.
