Page 195 of Time Stops With You

“Are you better now?”

“I’m getting there,” I answer politely.

“What exactly was wrong with you?”

I lift my newly freed wrist. “I hurt my arm.”

“Really?” She arches a brow. “But your face…” She gestures, “it looks like you got run over.”

I pretend not to have heard that and get to work.

Thankfully, there’s a lot to catch up on. I throw myself into the tasks before me with gusto.

A few minutes before lunch, mom calls.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you Nardi.”

“It’s alright, mom. Everything okay?”

“I was looking through your documents and I saw that your lease agreement is almost up.”

“Is it?” I murmur, tucking the phone between my chin and shoulder blade as I continue typing.

“What do you think about not signing a new lease and moving from that building?”

“Moving?” I’m so stunned that the word escapes louder than expected.

The office falls silent.

I unleash an apologetic smile and tiptoe into the hallway. Shifting the phone to my other ear, I ask, “Mom, that’s so sudden. Why would we move?”

“The place really needs an update. There’s not even a fully working stove. And aren’t you tired of walking up all those stairs?”

“The elevators are almost finished. Cullen—” Simply saying his name makes my chest squeeze, but I’m not ready to deal with those emotions. “The landlord already paid for the renovations. Plus, it’s convenient to get to work and to Josiah’s school.”

“I’m sure there are other convenient apartments.”

“Not for the price we were, I mean, wearepaying in rent.”

Mom goes quiet.

I fiddle with the button of my work blouse. “Can we discuss this later? I’m busy.”

“No need. It was a silly thought. Nothing serious. Have a good day.” Mom hangs up brusquely.

I stare at my cell phone in surprise. What wasthatabout?

“Nardi!” One of my co-workers calls. “Are you finished with the file I emailed you?”

“Coming!” I sprint back to my desk and work like a madman until lunch.

I’m in deep focus when I see a shadow over the picture frame of mom and Josiah. I glance up and startle. My coworkers are crowded behind me.

“Do you want to come to the cafeteria with us?” the second office assistant asks.

I slick my thumb down a document, reading carefully. “I’m not hungry.”

My peers give me long, pitying glances.

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