Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
He gazes at the photo. “That is just incredible. I’m happy to see that.” He hands back my phone with sigh. “If I wasn’t so pushy last year I might be getting those photos, too.”
Okay, awkward. I keep my mouth shut, because I refuse to weigh in on the boss man’s parenting in an elevator full of coworkers.
“At least he’s coming home soon,” he says. “Just two and a half weeks more.”
My stomach lurches, and it isn’t because of the elevator. I knew Keaton’s summer excursion was shorter than my internship. But I can’t believe it’s only two and a half weeks. How do I become a completely new man in two and a half weeks?
I can’t, obviously.
The elevator reaches the executive floor, and the doors part, and we both step out. “Better give that sandwich to Bo before he expires at his desk.” Mr. Hayworth puts a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for showing me the photo.”
“Anytime, sir.” Depending on the photo.
Honestly, texting Keaton was some of the most fun I had all year. And then I let my fucked-up life ruin it.
I deliver food and drink to my grateful colleagues and take care to give them their change.
Then I go back to my desk with the sandwich I bought for myself. I set the bag on the desk. I take a photo of the bag and open up the app on my phone.
I’m going to text him back. He deserves that, and so much more. I’m still a wreck. And we’re still complicated. But at least I can reply to a fucking message.
He said I was stingy with love, and he was right. I am really not sure that will ever change. But if there’s anyone in the world I could change for, it’s certainly him.
Dear Lobstershorts, I saw your dad today. He asked me if I’d heard from you. I hope you don’t mind that I showed him the photo you sent me. He was really happy to see it, and honestly a little mopey that you haven’t been in contact.
He also told me that you like Lenny’s sandwiches. I’m definitely a fan.
TL;DR: My pics aren’t half as cool as yours, but I want you to know that I’m pulling myself together. Mostly. Well, I’m probably still the same disaster you always knew. I know you deserve better than what I gave you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be boyfriend material. But I’m working on my outlook.
I’m going to eat this sandwich now and then compile a report on interest rates of senior debt across the yield curve. Which is fun, I promise.
You take care. Keep the photos coming. Even if I’m hopeless at relationships I still look forward to every one of them.
I hit Send, and then eat my sandwich.
An hour later I’m composing a beast of a spreadsheet when my phone buzzes with a new message. My greedy heart immediately thinks: Keaton!
Hi there, tortured psyche. It’s me again.
It’s not him, though. But it’s almost as good. Mr. Grant, my lawyer, has sent me an email exactly one line long. Charges officially dismissed today. It’s over. Take care!
He doesn’t say whether Joe was convicted or not. Before leaving Darby, I was interviewed by a detective, who took notes about my brother’s visit to the frat and about my stolen ID. And Jako had to do the same.
I don’t know if my brother is behind bars or not right now, because I blocked both his and my mom’s phone number. That feels...shitty, honestly. But I have to stay strong. If I let them into my life, they’ll bleed me dry—emotionally and financially.
And if I don’t cut them out completely, I’ll spend the next twenty-one years waiting for some kind of epiphany that never comes. We’re sorry. We love you.
It’s embarrassing how much I want to hear that. And never will.
But I have interest rates to console me. I make a few more entries on my spreadsheet, and then I get stuck and have to pop into Bo’s colleague’s cubicle and ask a question. “Hey, Jim? Do I put the double-A and the double-A-minus on the same column?”
“Yup,” he says. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Bailey?” the younger man calls as I am about to leave.
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna apply to come back after graduation, right?”
“I really don’t know.” I’d need a job opening, for starters.
“You’re gonna get a lot of offers,” Jim says, tugging on his necktie. “Just don’t forget our number, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” A lot of offers. That’s such a foreign concept to me. “How does the recruitment program work, anyway?”
“I’ll check,” he says. “I think there’s some kind of signing bonus for guys who lock us in before New Year’s.”
“Really,” I say slowly. I could have a job five months before graduation? And a signing bonus? “That could knock some serious hours off my work schedule second semester.”