Page 25 of Reclaim

“Do you two really have to both be on the phone at the same time.” I open my top drawer to grab my phone and see I’ve missed a few of their calls.

My parents are the only people in the world who still use landlines. What’s worse is their need to both speak to me at the same time. Usually lounging around in the living room, a cordless phone in each of their hands, they call and pry as best they know how.

Being an only child means a lot of their time is focused on me, and while I don’t always like it, I don’t really know any different.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, we just wanted to know if you were feeling better this week.” Last week’s lie trickled into every aspect of my life. Peopling just wasn’t something I wanted to do. “Will we be able to catch up for dinner?”

“Yes, I’m much better. I think I was just a little run down.”

“Of course you’re run down,” my dad exclaims. “Look at the hours you’re putting in at the office. Your job doesn’t pay overtime, Emerson.” It’s been years and there’s not a conversation that goes by where his disdain for my place of employment doesn’t seep through.

“It’s not overtime Dad, I’m just catching up on work from last week.”

“You know there’s always room for you with me.”

“I know Dad, and if I need a change, I promise you’ll be the first to know.” His constant need to remind me of what he’d rather I do used to bother me. Now I’m secure enough to know I can be successful, even if it isn’t by his standards. “So, what night of the week are we catching up?” I question, deciding it’s the quickest way to pacify them both.

“Can we make it a Friday night?” my mum chimes in.

“Yep, Friday is fine. I’ll come over after work.”

“That sounds lovely, Em. We can order in your your favourite food from Abby’s.”

“Locked it in, Mum.” Shutting down my computer, I grab my bag, phone, and keys, ready to leave. “I’m going to head off home now, I’ll see you guys on Friday.”

“Okay, honey. See you then.”

“And answer your phone when we call please.”

“Got it, Dad. Night.”

Putting the receiver back on the console, I quickly scan my desk and make sure everything is in order for tomorrow.

Standing in the lobby, I slide through my Facebook feed as I wait for the elevator to come. Distracted by my notifications, I don’t notice anyone around me until the familiar ping, and a voice I recognise comes from inside.

“Emerson.” It’s Joe.

I close my eyes and silently beg the floor to swallow me whole. I haven’t spoken to him since our altercation. At this time of night the building is a ghost town. There’s no way to avoid the confrontation. No other distractions, no other people.

“Joe.”

“You’re working late.” There’s a slight slur in his voice, and as he steps off and toward me a whiff of beer and cigarettes surrounds us.

“Yeah. I had a few things to catch up on. What are you doing back here?”

“I just had a few drinks with some friends.”

Walking around him, I get into the cart and lean over to press the button that will take me to the ground level. “That sounds great. I’ll see you later.” The doors begin to slide closed and Joe sticks his foot in between, having them automatically retreat. “What are you doing?”

I just wanted to-” He shakes his head in annoyance. “I figured since we’re both still here we could go for a drink.”

“Didn’t you just come back from drinks?”

“Yes, but-” He lowers his face and scratches his forehead.

Please don’t let this be going where I think it’s going.

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