“I’m breaking,” Babushka replied, not moving her focus from whatever was on the pages of her death book.
“I think she means she’s on break,” Roman murmured.
Sadie rolled her eyes at him. “Got that much.”
“Maybe you should take the phone,” Roman suggested to his grandmother. “Before Sadie loses her mind.”
Babushka sighed dramatically and took the phone. “Hello?”
Sadie pressed her hands against her cheeks. What was happening to her life? Everything had tilted sideways. She rubbed at her temples. Roman came up behind her, gripping her shoulders in a way that righted things and made her feel oh so much better about the world in general.
“Ven?” Babushka asked. She paused, listening intently to whatever the guy with the deep voice was saying. “Yes.” Then she put the receiver back in the cradle.
Okay then.
“Maybe I should stick around awhile?” Roman suggested, his voice soothing.
“You have clients,” Sadie replied.
Unlike her.
“Not for a while.” Roman didn’t lift his hands from her shoulders. Instead, with the precision of a military man, he steered her toward her personal office that was now not only beige, but also pink with brown polka dots. The lightheadedness was starting to take over again.
They’d nearly made it out of the reception area when the door opened and a second elderly woman fluttered through.
“Hello,” she called. “I’m late, I know. But I’m here now.”
“Etta?” Roman asked, confused.
Sadie was processing all that was going on in her life—and all that wasn’t going on in her life—and in the midst of all that processing, she was beginning to think that maybe some of her circuits had shorted out.
This woman, Etta, had blue hair. Not the kind that was trendy now, but the kind that implied she’d tried to add color herself and it’d ended badly. Her polyester blouse and slacks matched her hair in a tone-on-tone ensemble that looked like she spent her days with a certain monster who enjoyed cookies.
The woman gave Roman a wide smile and a carefree wave and then grabbed hold of one of the upholstered wooden chairs in the waiting area. Slowly, oh so very slowly, she pulled it toward the reception desk, dragging the legs against the Berber carpet.
Roman dropped his grip on Sadie’s shoulders, moving toward Etta and the chair situation. “Can I help with—”
“You cannot come in late,” Babushka admonished.
There was that lightheaded feeling in Sadie’s head again.
“I forgot today was Monday,” Etta said like that was the reason she was here in Sadie’s office moving furniture.
“You forget this. You forget that. You have one job.” Babushka stood and rolled her chair to the side, making way for Etta’s.
Like a rubber band snapping back into place, Sadie resolved that this was her office—she did pay the rent after all—and these women were in her space.
“Who are you?” Sadie asked, attempting to keep her voice calm but unable to manage the trickle of panic at the idea that there were possibly two Babushkas now. What kind of fresh hell had she unleashed on her life if there were now two of them?
“This is Etta.” Babushka waved toward the blue-haired woman. “She is here to answer your phones.”
Sadie’s stomach dropped straight to her knees. Nope. Nopers. Nope.
“No.” Sadie shook her head with a little too much exuberance, given that she was lightheaded not thirty seconds earlier. “Absolutely not. I am calling an agency right now. They are going to send someone who will answer the phone correctly, and greet clients, and get me coffee.”
“Is there something wrong with your coffee?” Babushka asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
No. But that was really not the point now, was it?
