Nudge 23 The Messages
The Messages
‘Did you get my email?’
‘Which one?’
‘The diary request for next week.’ Pippa sounds annoyingly chipper even with the shoddy call signal.
I flick through to my inbox. There in blue sits an unopened email from three minutes ago.
Diary Request
Title: Mads x Pippa :)
Date and Time: Thursday 15th April, 15.00 – 16.00
Location: Boardroom, Abbingtorn House
Comments: Empty
‘Yeah, I just got it,’ I say in a tone that I hope reads please wait more than three minutes before following up.
‘Perf – that works for you, right? I never know any more with how busy you’ve been with Evie,’ she says.
I ignore the passive aggression. ‘Would you mind clarifying what it’s regarding?’
‘Mads x Pippa smiley face’ doesn’t paint the most descriptive picture.
‘I just figured, with how busy you’ve been with this event, I’d book some time for us to catch up and discuss your progress,’ she says innocently.
‘Oh, you’ve rescheduled my appraisal?’ I ask.
Since my last attempt in January, Pippa promised that she’d reschedule asap. Then Evie entered the picture and Pippa’s saltiness rose to levels that could fill an entire ocean, with all my hopes of me ever getting recognition at Abbingtorn sent there to drown.
She coos. ‘Let’s not call it that. There’s no need for us to put labels on it – makes it far too formal.’
Of course there isn’t. If she calls it what it is, or formalises it, then I’d have reason to argue for the pay rise and promotion I deserve.
‘It’s more of a catch-up,’ she continues.
‘Where we talk about my progress?’
‘And other things. All good things, of course!’
‘Thursdays are an Aiden day – I’ll have to move him to one of my Abbingtorn days – are you OK with that?’ I ask. ‘I can see when he’s free and confirm with you over email.’
One perk of remote working is supposed to be the minimal contact with Pippa. The quicker I get her off the phone, the quicker I can get on with my work.
‘God, you two never miss a beat, do you?’ She giggles awkwardly.
If I’m not mistaken, there’s a tinge of jealousy in her tone. I just don’t know whether it’s triggered more by the running of the Summer Splash, or the alone time with Aiden.
‘We’ve got a pretty strict timeline, very little room for missed sessions.’ I am only half engaged as I start typing out a message.
Can we do Tuesday & Wednesday next week? Pippa drama . . .
He views it instantly, typing before Pippa’s even finished her faux-cheery response.
Already blocked out Wed & Thur in my planner in ink. But for you? Anything.
I chuckle involuntarily.
‘Maddison?’ Pippa asks.
Looks like I managed to tune her out to a point where even she noticed something other than the sound of her own voice.
‘Sorry,’ I say, hoping she didn’t hear my little giggle at Aiden’s message. ‘Yes, Thursday’s all good. Anything else?’
‘Well, actually, while I have you here . . . My dry-cleaning? It’s urgent. Sent you an email this morning . . .’
‘Already arranged for me to pick up tomorrow lunch,’ I say instantly.
‘You’re a star,’ she says, before hanging up.
A star that is overworked, underpaid and growing duller by the day, sure.
Thank you!! Pay u back with another trip to Dizzy Days? We never got to ride the Flumes of Death . . .
I vow it will be the last message I send before I get back to my serious work-from-home work. But then he replies, again, almost instantly.
Let’s just call it even.
I write back at once.
Thought so. See u Tuesday.
‘Who are you smiling at?’ Mum asks, making her way through the living room faster than I have time to pray for schools to go back already.
‘No one. I’m working.’ I hope it’s enough of a clue that she should, once again, leave my makeshift office.
‘That wasn’t a work smile.’ She purses her lips in a smug, telling way that only a mother can pull off, then makes herself comfortable, nestling into the sofa and switching on the TV before I can stop her.
Usually I’d protest, or take the remote for myself, but between Pippa’s recent attitude, Evie’s promise and all my Summer Splash work, I’m pretty tapped out when it comes to regular Abbingtorn days anyway.
So, I leave her to it, stealing glances at her show as I half-heartedly click away at my laptop.
‘Was it that boy you’re seeing?’ she asks, feigning a casual air that I know is nothing but a thinly veiled front. ‘The one who took you out for drinks?’
She’s been dying to know more about Benji since I first brought him up – a thing I only did because she coaxed it out of me. I needed some sort of explanation for that first late weeknight, and the one that followed last Friday after his 11 p.m. U about? text.
I leapt out of bed, donned the most cleavage-heavy top I owned, and showed up at his friend’s gig with Kimi.
We played it cool, letting them know that we were ‘just swinging by’ after our own ‘fun and significantly better’ night out.
The whole thing went over well, just as I expected.
He couldn’t take his eyes off me, and, later that night, his lips.
But I still jumped in a cab with Kimi because he didn’t deserve to go home with me after it had taken him over twenty-four hours to respond.
When I wandered through my front door at 3.
30 a.m., my mum, ever the night owl, was shocked at my return, and incredibly eager to know everything.
Thanks to the copious amount of alcohol in my system, I was more than happy to sit down and share with her.
She keeps pushing. ‘It seemed like a boy smile.’
‘I’m working,’ I say as I focus myself on my screen once more.
‘How is he anyway?’ she asks.
‘He’s OK – we just needed to swap days next week.’
This is why I don’t tell like to tell my parents about men. If she gets too happy, then I will too and I’ll convince myself that it has potential before I know if it does.
‘What days? Were you planning to meet up with him again?’
Benji. Not Aiden. She’s talking about Benji.
‘I meant work, that is a work thing. You’re distracting me!’
‘Understood.’ She mimes zipping her mouth and tossing the key behind her shoulder. ‘But I like him if he’s making you smile like that. That’s the last thing I’ll say on the matter.’
She’s right, Benji should be making me smile.
And he does . . . I think. At least he does when we actually talk.
Which, frankly, isn’t enough, and is mainly in person thanks to his stupid week-long text intervals.
But I’m done waiting around. If I want this to stand any sort of chance, maybe I need to make more effort to drive us into something more serious.
I reach for my phone once again, work laptop a prop at this point, and pull up our thread of spaced-out, barely-there messages. I type, pressing send before my brain can stop me. This is diving. This is acting without thinking first.
U free tonight?
To my surprise, he responds thirty-three minutes later. A personal best at this point.
Yh, kinda tired tho. U can come round mine if you want?
Not exactly what I expected, but a sign of interest nonetheless.
I push back my chair, ready to run to my room and grab my list journal for a quick pros and cons session, but I stop myself in my tracks, pulling it back in and taking a deep and much-needed breath.
Don’t think, just do.
I like this guy and we were leading up to this anyway, so why not just get it out of the way now?
It has been more than a while for me and I have needs just as much as anybody else does.
Plus, as much as I hate to admit it, I have been feeling a fair bit of pent-up frustration since that weird moment with Aiden at the water park.
That forehead wipe awakened something in me that had been dormant for far too long.
Something one night with Benji could sort if I were to actually give him a chance.
Everyone has casual sex nowadays, so what’s stopping me having it with someone I mostly like? Someone I have been on multiple dates with! That is, if you count our Friday swing-by as a date.
Don’t think, just do.
I’ve already thought too much and if I carry on, I know I’ll talk myself out of it.
Send me your address, be over around 7 x
Seven would give me enough time to shower and shave my entire body.
His next response comes even quicker, leaving a mere five minutes between my message and his.
A thumbs-up.
Followed by his address.
Let’s hope he’s saving his enthusiasm for when I get there in person.