“I don’t hate him.”
“Okay, sure.” She laughs. “Bri was trying to get him to admit he’s proud of you. Talking about you like you’re the most perfect person in the whole world.”
My heart does a little flip in my chest. “She was overcompensating. Bri knows how I feel about him and why I feel that way.”
“Because he left?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Because he came back for me and Mom and never apologized to you?” The way she whittles massively complicated issues into toothpick-sized sentences is a skill. “I keep hoping he’ll treat you better—or at least notice he treats you like you barely exist—and he doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
I never expected her to say something like that. “There’s no reason foryouto be sorry.”
“Well, I think you should tell him you hate him,” she says. “It will make you feel better.”
“That’s what Bri said too.”
May snickers. “You’re so obviously in love with her and yet you call each other friends.”
“Wearefriends.”
“Please. You’re about as good of friends as Synclaire and Overton, you just have more than a hallway between you.”
“Who?”
She sneers at me like I’m stupid. “Living Single?”
“Yes, Bri and I aren’t together, and we’re not planning to live together either.”
“That’s not—” She gives up on her sentence and lets out a heavy sigh. “Get some culture. Jesus.”
Whatever she’s talking about doesn’t change my mind. “Long distance doesn’t work. The two of us know that better than anyone.”
“Then get closer.”
Yeah, no shit. “Thanks for the helpful and not at all obvious advice, head-ass.”
“You’re welcome. Now stop breathing down my neck and go have some phone sex or whatever you and Bri do.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I press a kiss against her temple as a goodbye.
“Ew! You’re kissing me now?”
“Oh my god, May. Let me love you.”
“Can you do it less lovingly, though?”
~
Monday comes and goes, and I feel sick. We let fifteen people go today.
I say “we,” but all I had to do was sit there and nod with a frown while Sai did the messy work. We look like a bunch of assholes, obviously reading a script rather than talking like humans. If they let us say what we really wanted, I’d spiral into a rant about billionairesbeing the root of all evil and a plague to society. I’m pissed, this is trash, and I can’t complain because the same shit is happening at almost every other tech company in the country right now.
When we’re finally done, I go home with the weight of fifteen grudges on my back. The short walk to my apartment makes me regret my decision to live so close to the office, but there’s only a few months left on my lease anyway. The elevator takes forever, and when I’m finally in my apartment, I don’t care that it’s only eight o’clock, I strip down and flop into my bed. Without even thinking about it, I call Bri.
“Hey, Hoodie,” she says, her tone lackluster.
She’s in bed too, tucked beneath a blanket, her brow cinched. She was set to start her period sometime within the last three days, and it looks to be a bad one. Yes, I track her cycle. Like I wouldn’t use a simple data set to monitor when she’ll be in pain? How else am I supposed to know when to send her chocolate and scold her for taking on too much work?
