Chapter Forty
Forty
Josie
The worst part about having the weirdest, most romantic weekend of your life—you still have to wake up, shower, and drag your ass to work on Monday. Worse, you have to see your best friend in the entire universe and pretend like nothing happened.
There’s no way I’m telling Honor that Axe and I had virtual sex in haptic suits in a mermaid-themed hotel room at Shimmy Beach.
Because then I’d accidentally let slip that it was hands down the most erotic experience of my life, and she’d hit me with the world’s biggest I told you so before running off to tell Strike, who would immediately tell Axe, and… yeah, hard pass on that.
Yesterday Axe and I felt so in sync, it felt like we’d invented a new language, but this morning I woke up alone in my very own bed with the uncomfortable realization that it was nothing more than a simulated dream.
Not only is Axe still my boss, but our night together was literally just work.
Our entire experience was recorded and will be dissected this week by faceless SynthoTech nerds.
All data, no magic. Axe’s first text of this morning sealed it:
Brought the haptic suits in for download. Team was thrilled
Normally, I’d have clapped back with something like Hope they got dry-cleaned, but I couldn’t bring myself to joke.
The words Team was thrilled reverberated in my brain during the whole drive here.
I’m not shy about the team knowing what I was like in bed.
It’s more like I’m pissed that something that felt so incredible, so raw and alive, is now reduced to data points.
And somehow, that kills the magic. Like it didn’t even count.
I drive Gertrude to work because I need the reminder of who I actually am.
Josie Greene. Manager of Grace & Honor, part-time SynthoTech guinea pig, and onetime fiancée of Asshole of the Year Bryan.
I own a car held together by spit and rubber bands.
I’m not the kind of girl who posts Shimmy Beach weekend getaway pics with the hottest man on the planet.
As I pull into the parking lot, my phone buzzes with a text from Alan:
When you ignore your mother’s texts, I’m the one stuck holding her bad mood. At least let her know you’re alive. Better yet, do something nice for her. Surprise her, okay?
I add the world’s most reluctant thumbs-up emoji to his message. The worst part is he’s not wrong—Mom’s texts have been piling up like unopened bills, all quotes about gratitude in glittery fonts and sad-eyed kittens and all-caps memes about DAUGHTERS WHO DON’T CALL.
I slam the car door harder than I mean to. Maybe I’ll send her flowers.
“You feeling okay? Your energy is…” Honor waves her hands like she’s swatting at mosquitoes when she comes in from the stockroom and sees me staring into space, absentmindedly folding and refolding blankets in our new front window display.
“That sounds like something I would say,” I joke, but even I can hear that I’m giving off buzzkill vibes.
“Seriously, though. Did you check your blood sugar this morning?”
Oh, crap! I totally forgot. Not only did I not check my blood sugar this morning, I realize I didn’t check it all weekend. The good news is that if I was going to go into diabetic shock, it would have happened by now. I feel fine, at least physically.
For a second, I let myself imagine that maybe my diabetes is magically regulating itself.
I feel the slightest flicker of optimism—because I’m that person who looks on the bright side, crosses my fingers, lights a candle, slips some crystals in my pocket, and hopes—and then remember I’ve never been the exception to the rule when it comes to medical stuff.
Shit. I really am cranky today.
“I’m good. Really. The new toys I ordered came in, and I put them out. Still not sure how I want to best display them, especially the alien dildos that go with that new alien-sex erotica series,” I say.
“That’s genius. Cobranding books with sex toys so they can be enjoyed together. I wish I’d thought of that,” Honor says.
“I wish I’d thought of haptic suits,” I blurt out, then immediately turn so Honor can’t see my face.
“What?”
“I said, I wish I had thought of, um…Happy Sticks. It’s a brand of incense meant to improve your mood,” I say, and, thank God, she buys it.
“Speaking of mood, why don’t you take the afternoon off and use that massage gift card from Weird-Face Scarf Guy? I’m not needed at DME today, so I’m happy to hold down the fort,” Honor offers.
“I’m really fine! Promise!” I say, feeling guilty that Honor thinks I’m so out of it she needs to do my job. I don’t like to be the one gunking up someone else’s aura.
“Honestly, I kind of miss being here. Please, go to the spa and relax. You’ve earned it,” Honor says, and beams. It’s amazing how much happier she’s been since having Strike in her life. The two of them are like lovesick teenagers, and it’s adorable.
“Thanks, boss,” I say, and now a plan forms. I’m gonna surprise my mom at the nail salon. Maybe a bit of girl time will make things less…tense. I squeeze Honor in a quick hug and grab my bag. “You’re the best.”
“Josie?”
“Yeah?” I ask, one foot already out the front door.
“I hope you know that if and when you’re ever ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’m here.”
“I do,” I say, and I find that for the first time since Axe’s text, I feel a little less alone.
—
Nailed It is still tucked into the corner of Shelton Mall, exactly like it was when I was a kid.
The smell of Auntie Anne’s pretzels hits me as soon as I walk in, along with the sight of teenagers flirting over Taco Bell and toddlers clinging to the same old rusty animatronic pony.
I haven’t been here in years—partially because I’m on a tight budget and malls are temptation central.
But the nostalgia is hitting hard. I had my first kiss at the theater here.
Mom bought me my first box of pads at the CVS.
And I shaved my head for the first time before chemo right here at Supercuts.
Nothing like watching your long curls hit the floor in public to make cancer extra fun.
But enough of that. Today is about mother-daughter bonding, maybe even a massage.
I walk into Nailed It, and it’s like stepping into a time capsule.
Same cracked leather chairs, same eye-watering acetone fumes.
“Josie? Is that you?” Barb, my mom’s boss, rushes over and pulls me into a bear hug. I’ve always loved Barb—tall, bosomy, smells like vanilla, and gives hugs like she’s trying to absorb you into her ample chest.
“How do you look exactly the same?” I ask. She’s gotta be in her sixties but doesn’t look a day over forty.
“I’ll never tell.” She laughs. “But you look fantastic. Healthy and glowing!”
“Thanks! Hey, is Mom here? I wanted to surprise her with a massage.”
Barb frowns. “Your mom? She hasn’t worked here in years.”
“Wait…what? She works Mondays. She always has.”
Barb gives me a sad look. “Baby girl, she quit about six years ago, after your last relapse.”
My stomach drops. What the hell? I rack my brain, trying to remember if she ever mentioned quitting, but no—Mom still tells me work stories. Stories about Barb, even!
“But this makes no sense,” I say. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Barb chews the inside of her lip, clearly deciding if she wants to say something. “Well, we had a falling out.”
“Oh my God, Barb, I’m so sorry.” I feel sick. “What about?”
“This is really difficult, and please know I love you. But I refused to donate money to your GoFundMe. My little one had just started college, and we didn’t have much extra to go around.
And I’d given so much through the years.
” Barbs eyes fill with tears. “She threw coffee at me and stormed out. We haven’t spoken since. ”
I knew my mom leaned on friends and family for help during those treatment years—mediocre health insurance is about as much help as a paper condom—but I had no idea it was that bad. Now I’m stewing in horror and shame.
Did I seriously just…not notice? Was I so busy being the sad cancer kid I didn’t even realize what my mom was really doing?
I think about Axe and how he’s spent his entire life living out a middle finger to his dad. Well, if he can do that, I can work my ass off to pay back every single person who ever threw a dime at one of my fundraisers. Hell, I’ll start making and selling friendship bracelets if I have to.
“You said that this happened six years ago?” I ask.
Barb nods. “Yeah, back when Penny was a freshman at Penn State and Ollie was a junior. Double college tuition…They never tell you to space your kids out better.”
I’ve got to go. I give Barb a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for telling me. I’m sorry that happened. It was so great to see you, Barb.”
“Wonderful to see you, baby girl…” she starts, but I’m already halfway out the door, waving her off.
I need to find Mom. Now.