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My mom has another daughter to fill in that role.
“Aside from the time when I said that I was going to ‘oversee’ the project to the literal Project Lead, it’s been fine. Good, in fact. Good and fine.”
Her long silence suggests an eyebrow raise.
I wipe at the raindrops turning my cotton top translucent.
Then I hear a long inhale and a low, “Well well.”
My cheeks burn pink.
“Isn’t this an interesting development. You’re fraternising with my employees.”
I comb my fingers through my soft blow-out as I rush to correct her. “There has been no fraternising, mom. I swear. I’ve just been… admiring from afar.”
I hear her breathe out a laugh. She’s probably also drumming her nails on the top of her mahogany office desk whilst patting her cropped Marilyn curls and shaking her head.
“He wouldn’t want anything to do with me, obviously. I look infantile in comparison to him. And he’s probably at least ten years older than me. And probably also in a relationship.”
I hear keyboard tapping in the background. “What’s his name?”
I shield my face from the rain and laugh, “No, mom, you’re not going to Google him.”
“Too late, I’ve already pulled up the list of men working the project.” There’s a scrolling sound, then, “Ooh, yummy. So much tanned skin.”
I squeal, mortified. “Mom, you aremarried.”
“And? I am admiring from afar.”
I rub the rain off my forehead and mumble, “Touché.”
As I get to the main portion of the town I skirt down one of the back alleys, leading to the small parking lot of a medium-sized supermarket. I jog, water splashing at my ankles as I head for cover under the extended roof housing the trolleys. “I’ve got to go, mom. I’m getting groceries.”
There’s a littletuton her end.
“Think over what I said – you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your life by running from your problems.” She pauses and then adds, “And I expect a name in my inbox by 5pm.”
I laugh. “Bye mom.”
“A name, buttercup.”
I disconnect the call, sliding my cell into the back pocket of my shorts whilst simultaneously collecting a basket from the front of the store. I get a prolonged stare from an employee behind a till. His name-tag reads “Joe” and his age could be anywhere between fourteen to nineteen judging from his gangly limbs and mid-puberty complexion. At first I think that maybe he’s staring because of my cute blonde pouf, as I’ve realised that boys are like magpies and I am a shiny thing. But then I take a look down at my front and I realise it’s because my shirt is now transparent. I give him a withering look before I descend down the first aisle.
The basket was a bad idea but I’m too stubborn to go past Pervy Joe again in order to swap it for a trolley.
Milk, tagliatelle, a small fillet of white fish. I turn the corner and contemplate a medium-sized baguette, then twiddle aimlessly with the fingers on my left hand. This should last me for a couple meals but what else should I get? Life in LA means eating out. Alot.I haven’t been so active in the kitchen since I was in Home Economics class.
As I look down at my sparse basket I think of how I really ought to have got a cab here so that I could have carted more back to the bungalow. I won’t be able to carry much more than this, which means that I’m going to have to doanothertrip here in the not so distant future.
For some odd reason, I don’t actually mind.
I tally up the total cost so far in my head, well aware that after my Uber-insanity three weeks ago I should really try balancing that out with a little frugality. I put my hand in my front pocket to grab my purse but my heart suddenly stops in my chest. I look down at the flat area in my shorts and I squeeze my eyes shut, mentally screaming.
I forgot my purse? Who the hell goes shoppingwithouttheir fucking purse?
I place the basket on the ground in front of me and I rub softly at my temples.Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot–
“Harper?”
