Chapter 6
six
Yes, I checked my messages when I woke up this morning.
Before I got out of bed. Or peed, which is usually priority one due to my minuscule bladder.
Nothing. I checked his account to see if he made a post. Nothing.
There’s a small pinch of disappointment, which I know is nuts because the guy has a life and isn’t living it to satisfy my, apparently, needy ass.
For all I know, he’s on the other side of the world and is sleeping now.
After I throw on a fresh tank and shorts, run a washcloth over my face, wrestle my hair into a ponytail, and brush my teeth, I make my way to the kitchen and the Nespresso and its life-delivering powers.
Benji is already there looking forlorn. He’s holding a small piece of paper in his hand.
Panic instantly spikes. “What’s wrong?”
He hands me the note. It’s Lola’s handwriting:
Shithead came for the Nespresso this morning.
She opened the coffee shop, so she left for work around six o’clock. He was here early. My new white noise, sleep-inducing app must work like a mofo because I didn’t hear a thing. I glance at the clock, and it’s almost seven-thirty.
She’s probably in the middle of a rush, but she’s also a skilled multitasker, so I text.
Chance was here this morning?!?!
The three dots begin to bounce on my screen immediately. And then a voice message comes through with the screeching accompaniment of coffee beans grinding in the background. “I told him I don’t negotiate with assholes. He said it was too early to deal with my shit. The nerve, right?”
I type a response and keep it short.
Right.
The dots return, and then another voice message. “In the end, I accidentally dropped it during the hostage handoff. And by accidentally, I mean I told him you were better off without him and launched that motherfucker like a shot put into the driveway.”
I cringe at the thought of her talking like this in front of customers, but walk to the front window and, sure enough, the carnage is strewn all over the driveway next to my Mini Cooper.
Before I can answer, another voice message comes through. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to clean up. I was on my way out the door and already late for work when he showed up.”
I type back,
No worries, I’ll take care of it.
“Make sure she gets a proper burial. She served us well.”
I agree.
Legend.
A meme comes through of a guy in formal military garb, and “Taps” is trumpeting through my speaker.
“Amen,” Benji says. He’s agnostic, but it sounded more solemn than sarcastic. We’re all in mourning over the loss.
“Rest in peace, old girl,” I add, and look at my nephew. “Any ideas? I need to log in in five minutes for work.”
“I could walk to Jonesing For Java,” he suggests. It’s the cute indie coffee shop Lola works at a few blocks away. The coffee is good, but it’s expensive, so I rarely go.
I flip my phone over and slide a credit card from the elastic pocket on the back and hand it over, because desperate times call for desperate measures. “Surprise me. Make it a large.”
Twenty minutes later, Benji delivers lifeblood to me in the dining room, where I’m reading and responding to emails.
“Thanks,” we both say.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, but I must look confused when I see there are still two cups in the drink holder in his hands.
“It’s for Mabel. She had a long day driving yesterday, and she’s probably tired. I’ll pay you back this afternoon when she pays me.”
Mabel and Benji bonded immediately and became the unlikeliest of friends when we moved in years ago.
I think they get along so well because they’re both curious by nature.
Mabel’s eccentric and has lived life to the fullest in ways that are unimaginable to most. It feels like every day we find out something new about her, and I love the influence she has on Benji.
On all of us, really. We keep her young, and she makes us wise.
She’s the friend we never knew we needed, who turned into family.
“Keep your money. Mabel’s is on me today.”
“Thanks, Aunt Soph.” He hugs me with one arm, to balance the drinks, and I kiss him on the cheek while I’m typing. “I should be back in an hour or so. I’m helping her set up a webcam. I think she wants to use it to talk to her family and friends and make videos for them.”
“Cool. Tell Mabel hi for me and that we’re glad she made it home safe.”
“I will,” he says, as he disappears out the back door.
My cell rings, and because I haven’t fully woken up due to the delay in caffeine intake, I startle. It’s Mark. Of course, it’s Mark. “Why can’t you text like a normal fucking person?” I whisper, before I tap and answer. “Hi, Mark.”
“Have you read the email from Omar Walker?” Mark doesn’t indulge in pleasantries before he begins a conversation unless you’re in a higher pay grade than he is. It’s irritating.
My email pinged a minute ago, but I’m in the middle of a chat with an agent to answer a question he had about a project we’re starting today and haven’t opened it yet. I switch screens and open Omar’s email. I answer, “Yes,” as I scan.
“Has he contacted you directly?” He sounds rattled, though I know he’s trying not to. Mark always tries to appear in control but rarely is.
“No,” I say, as I continue to read. Omar is COO and Mark’s boss’s boss, and he’s only been in the position for less than a month. This email is addressed to Mark, the department higher-ups, and me, requesting everyone’s availability on Tuesday. There must be a mistake.
Before I can finish the thought, Mark does.
“This is obviously a mistake. I mean, this came from Omar.” Royalty-level reverence is placed on his name.
“I’m not sure why you were included, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.
There’s no need for you to contact anyone.
” The hushed snort of condescending disbelief that was nestled in amongst all the superiority in his delivery was unnecessary.
Dick.
“Okay. I’ll get back to work then.” The chat box on my screen from Seth is blowing up, and I need to get to it. I’ll come back to this email and address it in a bit.
“Don’t respond to the email, Sophie.” The repeating has begun.
“I won’t,” I reassure him. It’s a lie. I will definitely respond.
“It’s probably best if you delete the email.”
“Mmm.” I hum skeptically because I don’t delete emails from upper management. I keep them squirreled away in a folder because you never know when you’ll need to cover your ass with the shady group I work with.
“It was a mistake.”
Jesus, wrap this up, Mark. “If you say so. We’ll talk later.”
“I’ll call Omar’s assistant now and get this sorted.”
I mute the phone so I can take an aggressively loud breath.
And then, because I have work I need to get back to, I unmute and agree with him because that’s what he’s waiting for.
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.
His assistant probably sent out the email for him and made a random mistake including me. ”
“Exactly,” he says, almost triumphantly, as if he’s finally gotten through to me.
He hasn’t and never will.
“Bye, Mark,” I say, but the line’s already gone dead on his end, because fuck pleasantries.
There are two voicemails on my cell. One from HR and one from Seth. Seth always uses the chat feature online or texts, so a phone call is rare, which is the reason I listen to his first.
“Hey, Sophie. Can you please give me a call as soon as you get this?”
I hit the call icon without a second thought.
“I know we’re probably not supposed to talk to each other given the circumstances, but I’m freaking out,” is how he answers the phone.
“Why shouldn’t we talk to each other?” I ask.
“Did you get a call from Mark this morning?” he asks.
“Umm, yeah,” I answer, vaguely.
“I mean, I never would’ve left my old job and taken this one if I knew the company was selling out and merging with Noble.
And knowing I’m going to have to interview all over again to keep this position is nerve-racking.
I’ve got student loans to pay, and I need the health insurance. ” I can hear the panic in his voice.
“Merger with Noble?” I ask. Noble Insurance is the largest insurance company in the country. Larger companies acquire smaller ones all the time, but this would be a merging of two giants in the industry. How has this been kept secret?
Seth doesn’t realize this is the first I’m hearing of it.
“It’s wild, isn’t it? My chat box is blowing up since HR sent out the layoff email a few minutes ago.
I mean, I understand notifying hundreds of people they don’t have a job anymore would need to be done simultaneously, and email is probably the only way to efficiently do that, but it’s so impersonal. ”
I open my inbox, and a new email from HR is gleaming like a neon sign. My heart spasms. I do not need this. “So impersonal,” I agree with a slight tremor in my voice.
Seth must pick up on my dismay. “Oh shit, you’re safe, right?
I mean, you’ve been with the company for years and know more than anyone else on the team, by far.
They’d be insane to let you go. Mark said half of us were being laid off, but that the rest were either being retained due to tenure or would have to interview again if performance reviews were inconclusive or incomplete, like mine, because I’m new. ”
Hope springs eternal. Maybe that’s why HR called? “I’m so sorry, but can I call you back? I need to call HR.”
“Of course. Good luck.”
“You too. Bye.”
“Bye, Sophie.”
Numbly, I hang up.
While the line is ringing with HR, I open the email from them. I’m reading the words, I regret to inform you, when a professional, but mechanical-sounding voice answers, “Hello, this is Mindy Collins.”
I know I should say hello, but I can’t speak. I’m stunned. This is not how my Friday morning was supposed to go.
“Hello?” she repeats.
“Umm, yes, hello. This is…this is Sophie Wren,” I manage.