Page 39 of Work with Me

I hadn’t fucking criticized her. I’d only asked her why she hadn’t told me. Yeah, maybe I’d gotten a little loud. That was what people did when they—

Blotting the sweat from the back of my neck with a spare napkin, I slumped back in the chair. Fuck, I’d done exactly what she said. At least from her perspective, I’d been an asshole. Maybe I’d been an asshole from any perspective.

The waitress approached and scanned our table of uneaten food. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…would you mind boxing this up for us? Please?”

“Sure thing.” She hefted my plate and Alicia’s tacos. “Anything else?”

“An iced tea and a lemonade to go, please.”

When I got back to the office, I set the sweating styrofoam cup of tea at Alicia’s right hand. Leaning down, I said softly, “I put the rest of your lunch in the fridge. Your name is on it.”

Without looking up from her screen, she said, “Thanks.” Her tone was frostier than my cup of lemonade.

That night, after Alicia had left for her Thursday-evening commitment, when I went to grab my leftover enchiladas, I found the styrofoam box markedAliciain the garbage.

16

ALICIA

During dinner on Friday night,the doorbell rang.

Esmy wiped her mouth and scraped back from the table. “I’ll get it.”

“Maybe it’s a guy with a giant check,” Noah said, his eyes wide.

“Or one of those shirtless men in a kilt from the romance novel covers,” Mom said.

“Cute.” I smirked. They were all trying to cheer me up after my craptastic week at work. Monday: reaming-out by Cooper Fallon; Tuesday and Wednesday: working late to fix the code; Thursday: overreacting and bailing on the best tacos in the world because Jackson Jones had toppled off the pedestal I’d put him on with my fangirling.

Finally, Friday, the cherry on top of it all, Jackson had bugged me all day, trying to talk about God knew what, probably some other problem he was having with his code that he wanted me to fix and then yell at me after.

I knew I should’ve apologized for going off on him. Or at least heard him out. But with all the stress—not only work and Noah but also bookkeeping, taxes, and insurance for my new business—I was afraid I’d blow up at him again. I’d gotten a headache and left the office early, which meant I had more work to do this weekend. I balled my hands into fists under the table.

Esmy walked back into the kitchen carrying a white paper pharmacy bag. “Alicia, if I’d known you needed something at the drugstore, I’d have picked it up for you when I went after school today.”

“But I didn’t order anything from the drugstore.”

“The kid said it was a delivery for you. Had your name and everything.”

Weird. Had I ordered something a while ago and forgotten? I’d been so focused on work and Noah lately that I supposed I could have. “I’ll check it out after we do the dishes. I’ll wash, and, Noah, you dry.”

“Aww,” he groaned. “Weekends are the only time I get to play computer games.”

“You can play after we put away the dishes. Now, show me your homework folder.”

I waited until after we’d done the dishes, after Mom and Esmy had watched a show on TV while I finished up my daily report and emailed it to Cooper, and after I’d taken away Noah’s gaming controller and sent him off to bed. Only then did I carry the package into my room.

It was the same room I’d slept in since we’d moved into the house when I was six until I’d left for college. And after Melissa died, leaving me, the occupant of a one-bedroom apartment in a downtown high-rise, as Noah’s guardian, we’d both moved back in. I’d upgraded the canopied single bed to a double, but the white-painted dresser and nightstand were the same. The posters of boy bands were gone, replaced by botanical prints I’d picked up from a local art gallery. Noah slept next door in Melissa’s old room, now decked out in superhero movie posters and aStar Warsbedspread, with a Jack-and-Jill bathroom separating his space from mine.

I flopped onto the bed and set down the drugstore bag. Popping the opening free from its staples, I peered inside. The bag held two items, plus a piece of paper.

I pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen first. I usually bought the store brand, and this was a name brand. It didn’t seem like something past-Alicia would buy. The second item was a cardboard carton of hemorrhoid cream.Thatcertainly didn’t seem like me. Someone else’s order had gotten mixed up with whatever I’d ordered. Someone with a burning butt and a headache was probably wondering what he could do with a box of tampons and a tube of Great Lash.

Maybe the receipt had the true recipient’s contact information, and I could get the items to their suffering owner. I pulled the sheet of paper from the bag. It wasn’t a receipt but a note.

Sorry I’ve been such a pain in the butt. You’re a kick-ass programmer.

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