30. Glare
30
Glare
I stared at my laptop, not sure when one gameplay video transitioned to the next. My phone pinged and broke the trance.
My heart rocketed. Was it Sal?
He’d wiped his mouth and excused himself from our conversation at the bar. I’d stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before leaving because I had no idea if he’d come back, and I had no intention of standing there while Janice frowned at me from a distance. Maybe he liked judgmental girls. It balanced his puppy dog tendency to like everybody.
Victor: How’d it go?
I scowled and chucked my phone onto the bed. It went exactly as I should’ve expected: a mess.
His advice sucked. So did love. Or whatever this was. An unrequited crush?
Loneliness hadn’t killed me, but seeing Sal tomorrow might. He knew I liked him. He also knew I wasn’t right for him. He’d probably pity me, be gentle.
Ugh.
I brushed my teeth, clenching at the memory of scrubbing the scratches off the True Tech window. What was the point of putting myself out there? Had I even gotten better? Made friends? No. I got a fuck-buddy and a manager who was too cool for any of us. Now, even my fuck-buddy couldn’t be bothered to send a text.
“Fuck.” I went to bed. No point stewing about what might have been.
Still, my mind churned with different choice branches: what if I hadn’t confronted him about the turkey plush? What if I’d been more affectionate? What if we waited to kiss until he’d gotten this breakup out of his system? What if I’d made it clear I didn’t want women, I just trusted them more than men?
Part of me wished I didn’t want anything to do with dick: silicone or human. Stupid programming. Stupid needs.
After a fitful night of sleep, I woke up to an email from my parents.
'Good morning. Please RSVP to our colleagues’ dinner party ASAP. We know you’re still sensitive about being in town, and though we doubt you’d run into anybody unsavory, we wouldn’t want to derail your progress, assuming you’re making any. We just need to prepare for proper seating. Happy Thanksgiving.'
How nice. They also sent recommended reading: self-help books and psychology articles. They also shared a video lecture from some social media guru whose brand banner was 'Heal Yourself.'
I declined the invite. Now, they could talk about their avoidant, traumatized daughter with their friends. Write a fucking paper about it. After all, according to them, maybe this was ‘meant’ to happen. Maybe winning all that money in the lawsuit was worth losing my faith in everyone outside my brother. Now, I had financial freedom. And no passion.
I scowled and stomped my way into work.
Ash didn’t say anything beyond a generic hello, so presumably, Sal hadn’t talked to her about me. Although, if he had, it would’ve been about his shitty friend-with-benefits. I sighed.
This was so stupid.
The rattle of gates in the mall shook up my stomach.
Was that Sal opening his store? I gripped the edge of my keyboard.
Don’t look at him.
We could be friends. Friendly. From a distance. Right across the way.
The whir of a motor buzzed nearby, a reminder of the first time we met. Was he using a drone again?
I peeked out the window and caught a flash of a heavy security guard on a scooter.
Sal, in a low-key blue shirt with white wiggly lines on it, waved to him. “Hey, Hoynes. My turn next?” He smiled wide, then his gaze slid to True Tech.
I froze. His smile faded.
Shit.
We weren’t friends. I tugged my cap down and opened a million tabs on my computer.
My first appointment of the day was late, and I needed a distraction, so I read up on last-minute Thanksgiving recipes and traditions. Maybe I could find something to do solo, or just me and Victor.
Apparently, some places held turkey races. Would they eat the winner or was it more a celebratory thing? My mind wandered to the semantics of modding Craft Cove go-karts into turkeys. It’d be popular. Fun. But not real, like so much of my life lately.
An older woman jogged into the store, her coffee sloshing in-hand. “Ooh, excuse me. I’m here for the ten-thirty.”
I checked my schedule. “Cassandra?”
She set her bag on the counter with a thud. “Yes, honey. Now, I need help with my photos. Let me just get this thing.” All her maneuvering jostled her coffee-cup.
“You can’t have liquids back here. ”
“Oh, I’ll be careful.” She winked, then flopped into the seat beside me, accidentally rolling it two feet away. “Whoops. Okay, now, I wanted to figure out those filter things like my stepdaughter uses. We’ve got a lot of family memories to make, and I don’t want to be all wrinkly.”
Sure, because women needed to be young and blemish-free as well as happy, loving, and sweet. “Which filter does she use?” I struggled to keep my tone neutral.
“I’m not sure.” She jabbed her phone with two fingers and tilted her head like she’d never seen her gallery icon before.
“Couldn’t you just ask her?”
She waved me off. “No, she’s busy. And I’m no good with technology. Now, I do have this young coworker, but I’d be too embarrassed to ask her to show me. She’s a model. Prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Well, except for my grandbabies. Want to see?”
No.
But she showed me.
I exhaled sharply through my nose as she tilted her phone at me, sliding through her gallery. This had nothing to do with her question. There wasn’t even a ‘fix’ here.
Why would a stranger care about random chubby-cheeked grandbabies and a blonde girl’s selfies? In one shot, the blonde coworker almost kissed the cheek of a smarmy guy with frosted tips. They were both looking at the camera. It was the fakest love I’d ever seen, but Cassanda beamed at them.
“That’s her boyfriend. He’s a model too,” she bragged.
“Bet they’d make beautiful kids,” I droned.
“That’s what I said.” She finally lowered her phone. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Something in my chest screwed painfully tight.
“What about a girlfriend? Non-binary thing? I forget the words for it. ”
“Partner. And no.” I was alone.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find somebody. You know, I didn’t meet my boyfriend until I was forty-three. Speed-dating, of all things, at that bar down the street. Maybe you’ll meet somebody there, especially if you doll up your hair.” She tittered, touching my arm.
Her familiarity sent a shudder through my very core. I had met somebody. And he didn’t want me. I recoiled and kicked to propel my chair away. “I don’t need to meet some baby-crazed guy who drinks and expects me to play happy family with everybody.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think–”
“Hey, if you want to erase who you are for the sake of some guy in weird society standard, far be it from me to stand in your way.” I snatched her phone and jabbed the screen. “As for your actual question, this icon means edit. This sparkly thing is filters. This one’s the most popular for making you into a Stepford stepmom.” I handed the phone back to her. “Play away. Make an alternate reality. I save mine for video games.”
“Oh…” She fumbled for her bag and grasped the armrest on the chair as if she wasn’t sure she should stand or stay.
“Have a nice day,” I said loudly, then turned to my computer.
Ash’s low-heeled boots hurriedly clipped across the tile floor, and she stopped in front of my desk. “Excuse me, is everything okay here?”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and tugged the edge of my cap.
“I was just leaving,” the lady said sweetly, standing and gathering her stuff. “My question was probably too easy.”
Guilt twisted my chest. Why was she being nice to me?
Hot pain tugged the back of my eyeballs. “Sorry. You do know how to filter things now, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You wanna see me use it on a selfie?” She took one and showed Ash. “She taught me to do…this…and these things…oop, wait, not that one, and…there we go. All set for Thanksgiving. I better go before I’m late for work too. Thanks, honey.”
She power-walked off with her stuff, and I stood, wiping my hot forehead.
“What the hell was that?” Ash asked.
“I don’t know. She was being rude.”
“Didn’t sound that way to me.”
“Well, she didn’t have a reason to be rude to you. You’re not a lonely freak who’s supposed to fix everything: your hair, your personality, your family. God forbid she actually show up on time and hand me the cell phone. How am I supposed to work like this?” I gestured to the windows, then my stomach dropped.
Sal was out there, shaking turkey-themed clapper toys to greet people. There was no turkey plush or hug waiting for me over there. He might as well have been smacking me across the face with that thing, and I was going to see him every fucking workday. Smiling. Laughing with people who had no idea what he meant to me.
He must’ve sensed me looking, because he awkwardly glanced my way, his throat bobbing and smile tightening.
All he must’ve seen was that scratched fucking glass between us: a reminder we were a disaster waiting to happen.
Ash crossed her arms and frowned. “I think you’re overreacting. You should apologize for the lack of customer service. Or I will.”
I snapped my gaze to her. “And say what? You’re sorry you hired me?”
She sighed and looked away. “Listen, I know you have a thing for Sal, but just because he’s seeing someone doesn’t mean you can lash out.”
“He’s not seeing someone.” I shook my head, and tears leaked out, coating my cheeks. “He was seeing me.”
Ash took a step back and touched her hair. “Oh, yikes. ”
I clenched my fists around the mouse. Of course it was horrifying. He dated me. According to them, I was incapable of a decent relationship. The one who overreacted to everything. Well, this job clearly hadn’t changed anything. “You’re probably happy he dumped me. I wasn’t loving enough, remember?” I stuffed my laptop into my bag and wiped my face on the fleece. “How about I do you both a favor and let you find someone else?”
“What?” She frowned.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, popped my soundproof headphones on, and flipped the power switch. “I quit.”