When I reach the counter, I can see the patron more clearly, and smile when I recognize Kathleen from my writing group. “Hi, Kathleen! Long time no see.”
“It’s been ages! We’ve missed you at writing group.”
I do my best to keep smiling. “I know, I’ve just been so busy.” So busynotwriting my romance novel. Normally I wouldn’t have minded attending anyway to offer my feedback to the group, but I’ve had a hard time with anything romance adjacent lately. The only things I can really stomach these days are nonfiction and cooking shows.
“I’ve been pretty worried about Wilfred,” Kathleen confides in me, referencing my character—the one whodoesn’tget the girl. “I hope you give him a happily ever after in the epilogue.”
“Maybe,” I say vaguely, keen to change the subject. “What are you reading?”
Kathleen hands me her stack of books. “I read about a new series I thought I’d try. It’s supposed to makeFifty Shades of Greylook tame in comparison. I hear the second book has an alien orgy in it.”
“Oh,” I say, because really, what else can you say to that?
As soon as she leaves, I feel something light hit the side of my head. “Psst. Kimberly.”
Frowning, I look down to see a stray paper clip on the floor. Slowly, I turn to face Erica. “Did you just throw a paper clip at my head?”
Erica ignores my question. “It says on the schedule that you’re off at noon, but there’s this fire sale I really want to go to. Can you stay on and cover my shift?”
I shake my head firmly. “I have an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?” Erica challenges, rolling her eyes, like I’m the one askingherto change her shift. Without waiting for my answer, she begins whining. “Can’t you reschedule?”
It’s my appointment with Dr. Sandra. Truth be told, I’ve been finding ways to avoid it for as long as I can, and I really wouldn’t mind having another legitimate reason to postpone. But it’s the principle of the matter. “Sorry, but no. Maybe you can still catch the sale after work.”
Erica looks at me like I’ve suggested using her bare hand instead of toilet paper. “All the good stuff will be gone by then.”
I really, truly couldn’t care less. Still, I try to be as empathetic as I can. “You never know.”
“Selfish bitch.”
She mutters it under her breath, but still loud enough that I was obviously intended to hear it. And you know what?
Not today, Satan!
I rise to my feet, waiting until she finally deigns to lift her gaze. “You know what, Erica? Fuck off.”
I’m not sure if it’s the swear word, or the intensity in my eyes, or just the simple fact that I’m standing up for myself, but Erica’s mouth drops open. For a moment, she is speechless. Then she rallies. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me, Kimberly.”
She blinks incredulously. “That isn’t my name.”
“Well, it isn’t mine either. So you can just fuck the goddam hell off.”
And we work in silence together for the remainder of my shift.
Look, I know that telling off your coworker and swearing like a sailor aren’t necessarily things to be proud of, but I gotta admit, it felt pretty good. That telling-off has been about two years coming, and I hope it will get Erica off my back. And even if it doesn’t, I now know how good it feels to put her in her place, so I won’t be avoiding doing so in the future if she steps out of line. In fact, I may even be looking forward to it.
Leaving the library, I have a little extra spring to my step as I make my way to my appointment with Dr. Sandra.
Which is a lucky thing, actually, since I’ve been dreading this meeting with my sort-of therapist. That’s why I’ve been avoiding it for the past three months, ever since I got back from New Orleans. I’m sure she’s been able to see through my fibs about why I needed to postpone, although I have gotten a bit better at lying. My first two excuses were fairly normal—needing to recover from the trip, feeling under the weather. But last month I may have panicked and told her my water heater exploded. I’m not really sure why. It seemed like a plausible excuse at the time.
Sure enough, as I spot her on our usual park bench, she brightens visibly and waves me over. “Hey, girl! I thought you might be getting ready to cancel on me again. I’ve been pretty worried about your household appliances all day.”
Smiling sheepishly, I open my Tupperware offering and hold it out for her inspection. “Yeah. These are my sorry-I’ve-been-avoiding-you mini quiches.” I’m pulling out the big guns today.
Dr. Sandra grins and happily takes one. After taking a bite, she chews thoughtfully. “Is that…pancetta and goat cheese?”
