Page 11 of Keeping It Professional

I guessed that was as close to an apology as I was going to get. “Okay,” I said. “See you Monday.”

“He’s a bully,” I said. “A self-righteous dick.”

Mom chuckled. “You said that.”

“Well, it’s still true.” I wiggled my toes in the bubbling footbath. In the chair next to mine, Mom stretched out and sighed.

“Maybe he just needs a nice mani-pedi.”

“Maybe he just needs a kick up his butt.” I blew out through my teeth, but I couldn’t stop fuming. I’d been so excited coming on my first shift, and then Miles had hit like a shot of cold water. If he had a problem, why not say so? Why go and badmouth me to the rest of the squad? Now Jones wouldn’t trust me, and who knew who else? Had he been to Clive, dripping poison there too?

“It’s the weekend,” said Mom. “We should make a new rule, no work talk on weekends.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Friday’s not the weekend.”

“If work’s done, it is.”

I stared at my feet, all red in the footbath, sore from the week I’d had. Red, blistered heels. I didn’t feel done with work, but Mom was right. This wasn’t me, this sour, sullen mood. “He did say I was all right, and I should relax.”

“Youshouldrelax. Soak in the bubbles.” Mom checked her chipped nails. “I think I’ll go red this week. Or maybe some nail art.”

I tried to picture Miles’s face if I showed up with nail art, cute little sparkles or rainbow decals. Bright smiley faces in yellow and black. He’d hate that so much. His whole face would twist up.

Mom raised a brow. “What are you smiling at?”

I chuckled. “Nothing.”

“Come on, share the funny.”

“It’s stupid.” I bit my lip, holding back giggles. “I was picturing Miles, if I showed up with nail art. The look on his face, if he saw something cheerful. Like the Grinch seeing Christmas, before his heart grew.”

“You should do it,” said Mom.

“I can’t. Health and safety.”

“What, no nail polish?”

I smiled as the bubbles tickled my feet. “It could flake off and contaminate wound sites, or chip, and then dirt can get in the cracks.”

Mom frowned for a moment, then her smile came back, impish. “How about your toes? You can still do those, right? I mean, you’re in boots when you’re out on a call.”

I laughed. “Well, I guess I could. But Miles wouldn’t know.”

“Butyouwould. You’d know you had cute, sparkly toes, and no mean old grump could dull down your shine. Whenever he snipes at you, you can wiggle your toes, and let his bad mood slide right off your back.”

I pictured myself doing that and couldn’t help laughing. “All right, I’ll do it. Bright yellow smiles on all ten of my toes.”

Mom made a humming sound, and her smile softened. “You know what this reminds me of? Me and your dad.”

I’d chosen that moment to sip my cucumber water, and now I spluttered and nearly choked. “I’m sorry.What?”

“The way you two bicker. It’s like me and Dad.”

I set down my water. “Okay, no, it’s not. Dad was a good guy, and Miles is a jerk. Dad was funny and silly and he made me laugh. He took me go-karting. He made us French toast. Miles is the anti-Dad. He’s mean. He’s an ass. And we don’tbicker. He monologues at me, and once in a while, I stand up for myself.”

Mom held up her hands, a gesture of peace. “All right. I don’t know him. You could well be right.”

“But?”

---