Without looking at me, Chris gets up, with one swift motion to open the door then dropping back into his chair to return to his phone call. His voice edged with disdain to whoever is on the other line.
“I am telling you that the numbers are wrong! None of this is adding up!”
My smile falters as I stand there, frozen, forced to hear the rest.
“Tell them!” he snaps. “If we don’t get first dibs on the talk show interview this upcoming Saturday night, we will sell a story toLenz and Vinethat Chasity Rhodes is a racist who cherry-picks her guests. If I don’t hear from you by noon, I’ll know exactly what your team has decided.”
The call ends abruptly. A new shouting match down the hall starts up.
His blood pressure must be through the roof, so much so that I should buy Tums in bulk with how his voice strains with every word and the vein in the middle of his forehead pulses.
I’m going to add that to my shopping list this week.
“What do you need?” Chris says, clearly annoyed.
I don’t answer, shaking my head from left to right, letting the paper slip from my hand before hurrying out of the room.
At least the boardroom was a win. I focus on that until all my work is finished. I leave the office at nine p.m.
Another twenty-dollar rideshare and another thirty minutes spent watching the streetlights and neon signs pass by on my ride home. All I want is a bubble bath and a nice glass of wine. I don’t want to talk about my day. I don’t want to think about the fire or our new client. No, I just want to drop my things on the floor and sink into a tub of bubbles and hot water.
Aidan walks out of the bedroom when I walk in, beaming with energy. And I can barely hear a thing. The words feel like Woodstock talking to Snoopy. All his words are meshed together as exhaustion seeps in, sleep deprivation hitting me all at once. My brain is only able to process the words “going on a trip” as I open every cabinet in the kitchen.
My stomach growling more intensely, trying to find anything appetizing or even edible in my whole apartment. It has been hours since I ate a real meal.
Opening my fridge, there’s only one pint of milk, some eggs and a container of three-week-old Chinese. Has it been that long since I went grocery shopping?
Aidan trails behind as I move through the kitchen, sorting through the expired snacks and rotten food.
“It’s our big annual trip and so far, you barely reacted to anything I’ve said all day.”
I cross my arms, trying to brace against the exhaustion, locking my jaw to keep myself from yawning. I know admitting that I wasn’t really listening isn’t going to help, but still, I say it anyway.
“I’m sorry, can we please restart this?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes. “I said, do you still want to go to the Hamptons to see my family?”
I stared at him blankly. While this trip was annual, it was never easy to endure.
Purebred and prepackaged, with cold eyes and colder smiles, the Whitmores exist on another level of reality entirely, somehow making Aidan seem the most normal out of them all.
From the moment I step through their pristine doorway, I can feel the quiet judgment settle in.
His mother scanning me like a clearance rack. “That’s an interesting dress—vintage?” Translation: You look cheap.
His sister, Greer asking if I’d “ever thought about a nose job,” as casually as if we were trading skincare tips.
His brother, Jonathan only speaking when he had an undeniable point to prove in every conversation, keeping score so that he was always ahead.
And his dad? Silent, watching, like he was mentally photoshopping me out of their family portraits.
Anytime Aidan wasn’t around me in their presence, my chest would break out in hives, stumbling on every word I should or shouldn’t say.
I spot a can of Pringles hidden in the back of the cabinet, like it’s been waiting for me. I pop the lid, shoving several chips in my mouth with urgency, crunching through them in one bite.
“Sounds… relaxing,” I mumble through the chewing, masking the spike of irritation in my chest.
Another weekend of Let’s Pretend I’m Worthy for the Whitmores.
