Page 76 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Are we done?” I asked. “Is this meeting over?”

Sheila cackled, her already witch-like laugh exacerbated by the imperfect sound of the video link. I couldn’t help but smile along at her amusement. However, we both still had hours left in our work days. Talking about me going on a date with someone when I had absolutely no intention of doing so was a waste of our productive hours.

“I heard some gossip today,” Sheila switched tack quickly.

“You always hear gossip.” I shuffled more papers. “I think you start the gossip since you’re always the first to hear it.”

Rude,” she gasped. “Well, okay. Sometimes I do. But I’m usually right.”

“Sure.”

“But this time I heard that I might be calling you ‘boss’ soon,” Sheila said.

I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Barton is always talking about promotions. That’s what he does. If you do well, he gives you more responsibilities and money. He’s a great boss.”

Sheila took her turn to roll her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “He’s great. Lick boots some more.”

“He is.”

“I know,” she said. “But you can’t say that out loud. It sounds so brown-nosy. Anyway, I hear that since Luc is leaving for other opportunities, that you are going to take his place.”

I shrugged. “Then you are the first out of the two of us to know.”

“Would you tell me if you actually had been asked to take his spot?” Sheila asked.

“Well, no,” I said with a laugh. “But Mr. Barton has said nothing to me. I’m just a lowly interpreter listening in on conversations and speaking up when needed. Just like you.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “But if you hear anything, you have to tell me immediately.”

I don’t have to tell you anything, you nosy bitch. The thought made me chuckle. I loved Sheila—but it was ridiculous for her to think I’d trust her with a secret.

“Definitely not,” I said.

Sheila made a noise between a groan and a hiss and she disappeared from my computer monitor. Laughing, I closed the app and went back to my main software program to finish typing up notes about my last call. Though it had been like many other calls—exciting information that I was legally and contractually obligated to tell absolutely no one—it was also boring. I liked boring, though. Working for Source Language, Inc. as an interpreter was boring and easy. And it paid exceptionally well.

There was absolutely nothing to complain about as far as my job was concerned.

Over the previous months, living in my new apartment, and working as an interpreter from home, I’d made several new friends. None of them were close friends yet, but I always had something to do on any given night of the week if I wanted. I was invited to dinners at people’s homes, out to movies with groups, and even offered up guys on a platter if I wanted to date.

Life was good.

Peter texted me every day. That was one thing that made my life difficult. He wanted to know if we could work through things. If we could at least talk. He wanted to know what he’d done wrong. He wanted to know why I’d left. He wanted to still be involved in my life however that made sense for us. Somehow, even though I knew I’d made the right decision—our marriage was not working out—I couldn’t bring myself to answer most of his texts.

I didn’t have the answers he was looking for and I didn’t even know where to begin explaining how I felt about our failed marriage. Did I still even love Peter? I found myself asking that question at least a hundred times a day. While on calls. Out with friends. Eating dinner. Watching television. Trying to read before falling asleep in bed.

Yes. I desperately loved Peter.

But when is love enough?

If a relationship is not equitable, if two people don’t know how to communicate and combine their lives into one, love doesn’t matter. It’s a nice little condiment on top of the platter of life, but it doesn’t hold the dish together. It merely completes it once every other ingredient is in place.

Love is like gravy or a sauce. It hides a lot of sin.

After checking my notes to make sure they were clear, concise, and precise, I hit the button to save and file them. It was almost five o’clock, so I automatically tapped my phone to bring up a video call. A routine I’d fallen into nearly every day when my work was almost over.

Alex appeared on the screen after a few rings, and like always, he looked bothered.