Page 114 of Salty Pickle

Right now, I’m tired. So tired.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay?” Mom’s response is a half-sob.

“Okay,” I repeat.

She jumps up from the sofa to wrap her arms around me, startling Matilda.

Dad stays with the goat, settling her back down.

“I’ll help you pack your things,” Mom says. “Bradley, find an SUV to rent one way to Colorado.”

She wraps her arm around me as we walk to the guest room for me to pack up.

I almost hesitate as we pass the baby’s room. It’s set up.

But we can’t take all that.

I get Mom started with packing my clothes in the guest room. Then I sneak to the baby’s room to take a few onesies, a couple of the fancy ecofriendly diapers, and the teddy bear Stanley gave us.

I leave two things behind.

The goat locket. I’m still not sure what he meant by it.

And the phone. I’ll get my own.

Court and I might have a moment in the future. But my little family needs a different home for now.

34

COURT

I’m useless all day Monday. Devin sees it. The merch team sees it during our staff meeting.

Afterward, Dawn approaches. “Is everything okay with Lucy?”

I refuse to confess anything. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

She waits until the other employees filter out of the room. “You don’t look good. I know the Friday party had its… unexpected moments. And I thought maybe you and Lucy?—”

“Well, you thought wrong. And maybe you should get your boss out of your thoughts all together.” I snatch up my folder and quickly cross the room.

“Mr. Armstrong,” Dawn calls. “You were better, and now you’re not. If something’s going wrong with Lucy, you should fix it before the baby comes.”

I refuse to acknowledge her little speech. What-fucking-ever.

When I’m back in my office, I fling the folder on my desk. It opens and papers scatter across the top, a few of them sailing through the room.

I’m reminded of the first day Lucy was here, when Matilda unexpectedly jumped on my desk. I scoot pages aside and find the scratches where her hooves dug in. My dining table looks about the same.

Offices and New York high rises are no places for a goat. But I have no solution for this. Devin looked into it, and there’s a city ordinance against farm animals. Nobody can keep one permanently on the island.

The only way we can keep the goat for the long-term is to move outside of Manhattan.

I’ve got him searching for a place. See if there’s anything that will work.

People commute from the boroughs all the time. I did it at first until I managed to rent this place. Real estate in Manhattan is hard to come by.

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