“Oh, shit. I did. I wanted to take some things off your plate.” But I had forgotten to look at them again.
“Things you had absolutely no idea what they were?”
“They seemed more important than junk mail but less important than bills.”
“Well, one of those things was tickets to an invite-only vendors’ market I was going to tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’ll overnight them.”
“You thought I was neglecting the tasks on the desk, didn’t you?”
“I mean…” That was what I’d thought, wasn’t it? Why else would I take the mail without properly looking at it? The mail had been my chore in the past, and I obviously thought she wasn’t handling it right. “I just thought maybe you were overwhelmed.”
“Iamoverwhelmed, Sutton, but I’m doing a damn good job.”
“I agree.”
“But you thinkyou’dbe doing it better.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“From you. I spent two hours reorganizing the desk. I had a system, and you just sweep in here and don’t even bother to ask me what it is? Just assumed nothing in the office had been touched since you left? Way to trust me.”
“I’m sorry, Raya. You’re right, I’m a shit business partner and I’ve been a shit friend.”
“Ugh,” she said. “Don’t. Just, just send the tickets. I’ll talk to you later.” With those words, she disconnected the call.
I stood there for several minutes, composing myself, then opened the door and walked inside. My mom had wheeled herself back to the couch.
“Hey, Mom, I have to run to the shipping store real fast.”
“Seriously?” she said. “I just told you I’m not feeling well.”
“I know. What can I do for you? And can I do it when I get back?”
“I need a refill on a medication and some good food in this house.”
“Great, I can do both of those things while I’m out.” I tossed my toiletries bag onto the bed in my room, put the box of plants on the chair, and went to the kitchen. “Which med, Mom?”
“The empty one, obviously.”
I picked up each bottle and shook. “They all have pills in them.”
“By the toaster,” she called.
I raised the empty bottle in the air to show her I had found it, shoved it in my purse, and left.
Only two people stood in line at the shipping place in front of me. I studied the wall organizer of envelope options to my right until I found the flat-rate express one. I dug a pen out of my purse and filled out the front of the envelope with the shipping and return addresses.
“You ready?” I heard and looked up. I had been so focused on my task that I hadn’t realized it was my turn.
“That was fast,” I said, stepping up to the counter.
“She was a drop-off only.” The woman nodded toward the lady leaving the shop.
“Right. I need to send this.” I placed the envelope in front of her.
She picked it up and turned it over, noting that it wasn’t sealed.
