Page 24 of No, You Hang Up

No matter how long it takes.

Sitting at my desk with my legs folded under me, I find myself distracted. Not that I’m too surprised by that, but it’s hard to get any extra work done when I’m too busy spinning my office chair in slow, lazy circles with my earbuds in.

“Yeah, Violet,” I sigh, as my boss continues to outline her newest set of concerns. “I’m sure your schedule isn’t overlapping. You’re going to be great.” Being a virtual assistant has really been a food job, for the most part. Sometimes, though, I feel more like a therapist or babysitter instead of the assistant I was hired to be.

Some days I really spend my time listening to any of my three clients rant about their personal problems instead of scheduling, emailing, or taking care of accounts and websites for them. Instead of drafting up press releases, I end up finding them the closest bar or the closest place to get the coffee they prefer.

“I’ve got it all outlined for you,” I go on absently. “Did you check the email I sent you earlier? I cc’d Aaron on it as well,” I add, naming her husband, who she prefers to keepinvolvedin her day-to-day activities as a small beauty company owner.

“I haven’t had time,”Violet admits guiltily from the other end of the phone. “I umm…”she trails off, and I roll my eyes, knowing she’s going to hit me with another excuse. “Could you maybe just take care of it? You know—the stupid details and the rest of the scheduling?” she asks nervously, almost self-conscious about the request.

After all, this isn’t exactly part of my job, going by the guidelines she laid out for me when she hired me last year. But I’m also not the kind of person to tell her no or demand for her to hire someone else to do the other work she hadn’t thought to put in my contract.

She always gives me nice bonuses, and there are many worse bosses in this world than Violet.

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” I assure her, stopping my spinning so I’m facing my desk again. “I’ll just call you later when I have all the details sorted out?”

I hear the relief in her voice when she agrees, and know I’ll be getting about four emails with all the information I’m missing to do this for her. But again I remind myself there are so many worse jobs to have. When we hang up, I rest my chin on my hand, fingers tapping my mouse as I look through the documents I’ve already gone through. It might end up being a long day, given that this is only my first call out of six, but it could be worse.

That knowledge is what’ll get me through the day. As long as Patrice doesn’t come banging on my window wanting to discuss something or fine me for some imagined slight, my day could absolutely be worse.

I make it through, then finally sit back around nine pm with a groan and my head aching. I didn't mean to work so long, but given the fact this was my first day back since being in Florida and tomorrow is Saturday, meaning I’m off work, I just wanted to catch up with as much as I can. My back is sore and stiff, my neck hurts, and I feel like I’m eighty-two. When I push to my feet and my knees pop in disapproval, loudly enough that I’m sure the entire neighborhood can hear my crispy-crunchy joints.

“Gosh, you’re a catch, Kai,” I tell myself as I head into the kitchen. I’m not particularly hungry, but I grab a small container of strawberries I cleaned and cut up earlier, along with a cup of chocolate-flavored fruit dip. This is my new obsession, and it’s only the fact that strawberries go bad a bit quickly that’s saving my fridge from being stocked with a lifetime supply of berries and chocolate dip.

I don’t bother to get a drink, so I swallow a few Tylenol with the aid of a sip of water straight from the tap before snatching my food off of the counter to head for the patio door. It’s cold enough that I’m wearing a hoodie, and I wonder when Lexington will realize it’sspring, and therefore the weather should act accordingly instead of continuing to dip into the forties at night.

Not that it bothers me enough to even put on shoes. I seat myself on the chair close to the door, not bothering to turn on any of the outdoor patio lights. I like to sit out here without my phone, and enjoy the nice, anti-screen time where I can just…decompress after a day of dealing with people and generally existing upon my mortal coil.

A sigh leaves me as I yank open the lid of the chocolate dip, and in seconds I have a chunk of strawberry in my mouth that’s drenched in probably too much fruit dip to be legal. But since I’m a single, independent adult, who’s going to call me on it?

My phone vibrates in my pocket, causing me to contort awkwardly in my seat to reach it. Something in me clenches, expecting to see Huxley’s name popping up with some vaguely threatening text message that may or may not be funny.

Instead, I see Em has messaged the group chat with me and my two friends, and I’m surprised to see she’s canceling our plans for tomorrow.

Normally I’m the one to decide that home and isolation seems like a much better idea thanpeoplingfor any length of time. But she apologizes over text, telling us she’s caught something from her little brother.

Told you that you should’ve faked having work to do and said no to babysitting, I say, shooting off the message with a few upside down smiley face emojis for flair.

She responds with a written out SIGH and a face rolling its eyes.

I can’t cancel when it’s their date night. You know if they have to skip it, they get crazy for the next two weeks because they weren’t able to follow their schedule or whatever.

My nose scrunches in pity for her, then I watch the conversation between Mads and Em without chiming in much. While I’m not upset at either of them, my brain feels just a touch fuzzy tonight. I’m a little bit off, even though I don’t quite know why.

Well, that’s not true, is it?

The question comes from that part of my brain I usually prefer to ignore, and I bite my lip at the knowledge that I know exactly what’s up with me. Not only was this my first day back, I’m coming off of a week spent in Florida with my absolute least favorite people.

They haven’t even asked me how I am. The most I’d gotten was a text from my mother making sure I’d gotten back okay, but nothing after that. Part of me can’t help but wonder if she really cares.

The other part of me wonders if they’re disappointed I didn’t have some tearful, dramatic reaction where I took back all the blame ever placed on my shitty uncle for hurting me as a kid.

But where were they when I was in the hospital, having surgery for a fractured arm that was pulled out of socket?

Where were they when he told my parents they were raising me to besoftand that they didn’t need to listen to my bullshit about what did or didn’t happen?

Anger rises like nausea in my chest, and I shift in the chair until I have one leg thrown over the arm and my toes curled in irritation. Absently, I eat my strawberries, the chocolate tasting just a little less sweet with my brain in a less than helpful place.

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