Skye
Untitled
"That's how I'm able to call you, Mom." I press my lips together to stop from saying something that will get me into trouble. I hate when she uses my full name. It’s so cringey.
“Oh, you called me? I thought that maybe it was your AIT.”
“My what?”
“Your AIT.” She stresses the T like I’m slow.
“Do you mean AI?”
“Yes,” she snaps. “That’s what I said.”
“Mom, I don’t have an AI. Or any sort of robot that is able to make phone calls for me. If I did, I’d have them working all these shitty jobs.”
She gasps at my use of the word shitty, and I try not to roll my eyes.
"How can I help you, Mom? I am on my way to work, and I'm already running late. But I saw you called me a million times earlier today so I wanted to ensure I called you back.”
"Can a mother not call her only daughter to see how she's doing?" She’s affronted, and I know my dad will call me sometime this weekend to tell me to be nicer to my mother. I’m already annoyed at the emotional manipulation coming my way.
"Mom, you know I am busy. I’m fine."
"You're always busy, Skye. You're busy in the morning." She pauses and takes a deep breath, and I once again realize where I get my flair for the dramatic.
"Yeah, because I'm on my way to work in the morning when you call."
"You're busy in the middle of the day."
"Because I'm at work." I hurry down the road, avoiding trash and people as best as I can. I wish I had a driver that could drop me off everywhere I wanted to go. That’s one perk of being rich that I could really get behind.
"You're busy in the evening."
"Because I'm going to my second job."
"You're busy on weekends."
"You know I volunteer and have another job."
"Exactly, you're always busy."
"I know, Mom, but I have a lot of debt. And you know I really want to go to Australia."
"I thought you said you wanted to go to Africa or Asia."
"I guess I want to go to all of the A continents. Africa, Australia, Asia. I want to hit up Europe too. And I wouldn't mind going to South America. You know I've always wanted to go to Peru and climb Machu Picchu and…"
"Yes, dear, but it's not like you're going anytime soon, is it?"
"What's that supposed to mean, Mom?" I snap because I hate that she never supports my dreams. She thinks I’ll get kidnapped or trafficked as soon as I step foot on an international flight.
"I mean, it’s like you said, you don't have the money. And you know Dad and I don’t have a trust fund for you. We’re Reddings, not Kennedys."
"I know that, Mom. That’s exactly why I'm working so hard because we come from a long line of ‘we work hard, but don’t have two brass pennies to rub together’ folk and—”
“Money is not everything.” Mom sounds offended and I know I need to tread carefully so as not to make her anymore upset.
“I’m just working hard right now so that I can save."
"Or you can move back with Dad and me. You won't have to pay any rent. And then, you can—"
"Mom, I'm not moving back to Florida, and I don't want to live with you and Dad.
I'm twenty-five years old now. I can take care of myself.
I need to take care of myself. I know what I'm doing.
" I sound like I did when I was thirteen and begging my mom to let me go to a high school party with my friends.
It irritates me knowing I sound like a whiny teenager again.
Why is it that mothers always make us feel like kids, no matter how old we are?
"Well, you can't say that you don't want to live rent-free because aren't you living with Elisabetta for free?" Mom knows how to dig in the knife and remind me I'm not as mature and self-sufficient as I'm making out.
"Yes, Mom." I stifle another sigh. I will not pout.
"She's not charging you any rent, is she?" My mom presses on. She knows she's got a winning ticket right now. If she reminds me that she told me that my college boyfriend, James, was a pompous jerk before I realized, I will scream.
"No, but that's because her dad bought the condo for her, so there is no rent."
"Exactly. She's letting her dad pay." My mom's tone is cutting. "So technically, you're not taking care of yourself."
"Yes, Mom, I know that, but I just—"
"You're not sleeping with him, are you?"
"Sleeping with who?" I ask in confusion.
"Oh Lord. Billy, come here," she calls out to my dad loudly. "Billy, you need to talk to your daughter. She's sleeping with her friend’s dad to—"
"Mom!" I shout into the phone in shock. "Stop it. I am not sleeping with Elisabetta's dad. Are you crazy?"
"Why then, is he letting you live in his condo for free?"
"Mom. Elisabetta is the one letting me—"
"So, if Dad and I lived in New York, you'd want to live with us? If we moved to New York, you'd move back home?"
"No, Mom," I say, exasperated by this conversation. "That's not it. I want my independence." I can hear the panic in my voice. "Please do not move to New York. Look, I love you and I will try and come to Florida for Thanksgiving, but I’ve really got to go. Okay?"
"Fine," she says after a long silence. I will definitely be getting a call from Dad later to tell me off. "I guess I'll just go and sit next to your dad, watch hockey, and crochet."
"Okay, Mom. Enjoy," I say and hang up. I'm not going to let her take me on another guilt trip today. Those seem to be the only trips I'm getting to go on these days. I feel bad about how I ended the call, but I've already got way too much going on.
I hurry down the street toward the restaurant.
I'm running ten minutes late now, and I know if Fabricio catches me walking in late, he's going to write me up.
He's already given me a verbal warning. I don't know what it is about the guy, but he makes my skin crawl every time I see him.
My phone rings again, and I'm about to tell my mom off when I see that it's my main boss, Kingston Chase.
He's an attorney at the law firm I work for as an assistant.
Even though I find him annoying as well, he doesn't make my skin crawl.
My heart races as I debate whether or not to answer.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I answer on the fourth ring.
"Hello?" I say breathlessly as I'm practically running down the street now.
"Is that you, Skye?" He sounds confused.
"Who else would it be?"
"I don't know." He pauses. "I didn't catch you doing something reserved for later at night, did I?"
I roll my eyes at his comment.
"No, Kingston. What do you want?"
"I was wondering if we could meet up for dinner?
" he asks, and I frown. Why on earth would my new boss want to meet me for dinner?
For a few moments, I think it's because he wants to take me on a date, but then the thought immediately flees my mind.
Kingston Chase has not given me any reason to believe that he wants me.
In fact, I was shocked that he'd even hired me in the first place.
"I need to speak to you about something important. "
"Nope," I say, looking at the time on the screen.
"And honestly, I have to go. Can this wait until Monday?
" My brain is screaming at me because I want to know why he wanted to ask me to dinner and what he wants to talk about.
Though I'm not going to let my inner thoughts run away with me like my friend Lila did when she first met her boss, Max.
"No, it can't really wait till Monday," he says as if I've asked him to wait to eat for seventy-two hours or something. Men can be so dramatic. "I saw the stack of files on your desk this afternoon. And it concerns me that you're not getting through the work as quickly as I think you should be."
"What?" I can hear the irritation in my tone, and I don't care if he hears it as well. "What are you talking about?"
"I told you that I needed you to get through all the files by this evening. And it appears to me that you didn't even make a dent."
"You gave me over a hundred files, Kingston," I snap. "I'm not superwoman."
"Obviously," he drawls, and I swear that if I were with him in person, I'd give him a look so fiery that he'd melt into the ground like a snowman when the sun comes out. "In fact, I think you should be in the office right now working if that's what it takes."
"Really? If a free dinner wasn't possible for me, do you think working was going to be."
"What do you mean it's not possible?"
"Because I have plans this evening, and they don't revolve around you. Not having dinner with you and certainly not working for you."
"Where are you off to?" he asks innocently, but I don't trust him.
"None of your business," I say. I don't want to tell him about all my jobs because I don't want him to ask why I'm trying to make so much money.
I have a feeling he's not going to want to hear that I want to take a year off to travel around the world.
Not after I told him in my job interview that the law was my life and that I wanted to be a legal assistant as a precursor to applying to law school.
Yes, I lied, but I could hardly tell him that I had no interest in the law and only came to find a job because I'd met a girl on the street on the way to an acting audition.
I fully believe that little white lies are okay if they are for the greater good.
And the greater good, in this instance, is my bank account.
"Is this your way of trying to make me jealous, Skye?" He sounds amused.
"What?" I screech and stop dead in the middle of the street. Is he serious?
"Watch where you're going, lady," a middle-aged man shouts as he nearly bumps into me and then trips. He glares at me and mutters something under his breath, and for a moment, I'm nervous he's going to hit me.