Page 12 of Spike

“La, la, la, la,”I sang, then made barfing noises. “Gross.”

“You need to moveout.”

“I can’t afford tomove out,” I said. “I need to find a better paying job—”

“And one without acreep named Dan.”

I shuddered.“Preferably without anyone creepy.”

I was areceptionist at a law firm and worked with an attorney who was an absolute pervand made the most inappropriate comments, including, but not limited to, “Howmany men did you take home this weekend?” and “I bet you clean up at the barson the weekend, sweetheart.” It had gotten so bad, I was forced to make aformal complaint to H.R. this past week. They’d promised to take care of it,but I wasn’t overly confident anything would be done, considering he was afounding partner.

Gemma chuckled.“Want to get brunch tomorrow, you know, since you’re not going to church?”

“Yes. But let mejust tell Mom first then we can confirm brunch.”

“Hmm mm.”

“I’m going to doit. I really am,” I avowed.

“I’ll believe itwhen I see it.”

I wrinkled mynose. We’d been here before, more times than I’d like to count, so her notbelieving me was fair.

“I’ll text youwhen it’s done.”

“Can’t wait,” shebreathed out.

“Wish me luck.”

“You don’t needluck, you need balls.”

“Well, wish meballs then.”

Gemma laughed.“Okay, sister from another mister, good balls.”

“Ugh, now I keepthinking about those truck balls. So tacky.”

“Agreed. Okay, I’mgoing to let you go so you can do the thing.”

“Right. Okay. Talkto you tomorrow.”

“Bye, love.”

We hung up and Isat on the edge of my bed, trying to figure out how to tell my mother I was notgoing to go to church with her the next day.

** *

“So, what did youtell her?” Gemma asked, sipping her second mimosa.

I grimaced.

“You didn’t tellher.”

“I told her Iwould not be attending church this morning,” I replied.

“Mmm hmm,” shereplied, sounding unconvinced. “And did you tell her why?”

“I told her I wassick,” I admitted. “Too sick to join her today.”

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