Page 20 of Grumpy Boss of the Year

“I said what I said. You’re such a dirty ho.”

“I’m not a ho. Thank you very much.”

“Would you prefer a whore?”

“Romeo!”

“I know. I know. Sorry. You don’t call your sister a whore.”

I giggle. “Oh, my gosh, I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, bitch. When are you going to come to Paris to see me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when I’m in Italy.”

“You are going to go to Italy?”

“I mean, I think my dad is going to make me. Doesn’t mean I’m going to marry anyone, though.”

“True. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and you can always live with me.”

“You live off my dad’s money.”

“Yeah. And?”

“And if my dad cuts me off, he will likely cut you off, too. You know that, right?”

“Then you have to get married. I cannot live the life of a pauper.”

“Romeo.”

“What? I’m just saying. Who is going to keep me in the lifestyle I’ve been accustomed to?”

“Romeo.”

“Okay, fine. If you really don’t want to get married, I guess we’ll both live on the streets.”

“We won’t live on the streets. I still have a trust fund from my mom, you know.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “That was your mom’s money, and I wouldn’t feel right taking any of it.” He’s being sincere now. As much as Romeo and I love to laugh and joke about money, he knows how much not having my mother in my life affected me and how much I’d always wished that she’d been around.

“Do you ever think about your dad?” I ask him.

“That jackass? No,” he says, but I know he’s not telling the truth. I know that Romeo is devasted by the fact that his father left when he was four years old and never came back again.

“I’m sorry. I’m always here to talk about it with you if…”

“What is there to talk about? The fact that my dad said he was going out to get me ice cream and never came back?” He lets out a deep sigh. “I mean, hey, maybe I was a brat of a kid. Who knows?”

“You weren’t a brat of a kid. I mean, maybe a little bit, but not so much of a brat that your dad should’ve left.”

“Yeah. I think it’s worse for you. Your mom died, and you can’t even remember her.”

“Yeah. I miss the memory of what things could’ve been, but you miss the memory of what things were.” There’s silence on the phone for a couple of seconds as we both just sit there in our feelings.

“We’re two hot messes, aren’t we?” he says.

“I like to think of us as very hot messes,” I giggle. “I’m beautiful, and you’re handsome. Who cares if we’re messes, right?”

---