Glenn would have made sure I had sustenance if he were here. If he still liked me. He might even have worried about why I left early. Be that as it may, he has zero concern for me now.
Gods, I’m such a loser. I really have no place attempting to be with anyone. Just like Vince said.
“You’re impossible to love.”
Yeah. Yeah, it seems I might be.
“I’m calling out sick today, Jericho.” I haven’t moved from the couch. My scent is absolutely foul now. I spent Saturday and Sunday oscillating between fitful naps and regretting my life choices. None of it is anything I want to admit to my boss. To him, I just have a cold, and I’m definitelynotengaging in a very self-centered existential crisis. “I think Mr. Barrett can handle everything while I’m recovering.”
“I’m sure he can. Have you notified him yet?”
I say nothing, and Jericho clicks his tongue. “Right. I’m sure you just overlooked this. Give him a call or shoot him a text. Let him know what’s going on.”
That’s the last thing I want to do, but I realize I’m going to have to.
I take about twenty minutes to gather up the courage to pull up his number in my phone. By this time, it’s past the start of the workday, and I wonder if he’s concerned about me.
Probably not. I need to stop thinking that. I barely know the guy. He has no reason to think of me at all.
Holding my breath, I call him. Much to my disappointment, he doesn’t answer.
So, I text him.
Me:
It’s me. Arbor. Calling out sick today.
I see it go through, see he’s read it, but I get no response. Well, not a rapid response. He sure as fuck takes his time responding.
Glenn:
You okay?
My chest constricts, and I realize that no, I’m really not well. Not that I’m going to tell him that.
Me:
Fine.
Glenn:
I’ll take care of the site, Mr. Wren. Get better soon.
I can’t help it. My fingers tap before I can contemplate it.
Me:
Stop calling me that.
And that is that. I say nothing more. He says nothing back. I just toss my phone onto the floor and stare up at the ceiling. Right. I can’t stay like this forever. I need to kick my ass into gear.
I take the rest of the day to get up, shower, and order myself something to eat. Something light, something my stomach can handle.
By the time it arrives, I’m faltering, spooning the soup into my mouth as I force it down.
I may not want to eat it, but doing so makes me feel a lot better. By the time I finish the bowl of soup and wash it down with a glass of water, I realize I need to take better care of myself. I had my days of sulking. Now I need to get on with it.
Glenn doesn’t want me. I have to accept it and move on.
