Page 89 of The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss

I grunted. I wasn’t in the mood to share my feelings or my troubles.

The older woman held out her hands, and I placed the vase into them. She gave me a shrewd look with her dark eyes before saying, “Call your aunt.”

Before I could ask her how she knew my aunt, she turned and walked away.

Aunt Mei and I had been sending photos since we’d made our agreement, and I’d thought briefly about calling her, but I didn’t reach out to people to divulge my problems. I worked through them logically, then tackled them as needed.

However, after almost a day of spinning, my brain was tired,and I hadn’t come to any solid conclusions.

Maybe it was time to call in reinforcements.

My phone buzzed.

Was that Auntie Mei?

Not my aunt, but my friend.

Tyrell:It’s movie week. Are you actually out of town?

I sighed. Tyrell had been very kind to me at the activity, and I owed him. I had no desire to be with more people, but I would make an exception for him.

Peter:I’m here. When and where?

Instead of a destination, Tyrell sent something unexpected.

Tyrell:You could bring a friend if you wanted to.

I frowned and swiped the message away. I refused to think about that right now.

Muscle memory kicked in, and I went to drop my phone in my pocket, then I remembered Mrs. Santos’ directive.

Hopefully Aunt Mei was on the road, and I’d be able to leave a message. Then I could say I tried. I grabbed my earbuds and dialed her number.

She answered on the first ring. “Peter?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

She growled. “Watch it, kid.” Then she laughed.

I couldn’t even chuckle. A band around my middle was constricting the air in my lungs, and I barely had enough oxygen to breathe.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I steeled myself—I’d actually had a version of this conversation in my head last night—and spoke. “Are you somewhere we can talk?”

“What happened?” The concern in her voice was palpable.

“Can you talk?”

“Yes. We’re driving, but it’s a nice, flat, straight road with no one but Harold around.”

The cowardly, shamed part of my brain wanted to tell her I’d call her back, but the truthful part knew I wouldn’t and that then she’d keep calling me until I spilled my guts to her. So I took a breath and told her more or less what had happened. I censored the more intimate details of the interactions between Jessica and me, but I did share how I thought I felt about her. Then Marissa.

As I spoke, I finished one bouquet and started another.

When my tale came to an end, Aunt Mei took a moment to process before she answered.

To some this might be a nail-biting moment, but I understood and gave her as much time as she needed.

---