Page 117 of The Invitation
Me: Four days without seeing you is killing me.
Georgia: Charmer.
Me: Are you okay?
Georgia: Truth or a lie?
Me: Truth.
Georgia: No. I’m not. But I will be.
Me: Tell me how to fix this. How can I help you?
Georgia: I got it. I have to do this on my own.
Me: No, you don’t.
Georgia:
Me:
I stare at the screen for a long time. Then I turn my camera on and press record. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. So I turn it off.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Georgia
“No,but I see what you mean,” I say. April my new coworker stands on the other side of my desk, showing me a draft for a promotional packet we’ve been working on this week. “I don’t like it either. It doesn’t grab attention or evoke any kind of emotion.” I look up at her. “I think we can reject it and have the art team try again.”
“I agree.” She sighs, smiling at me. “I love having you here. My gosh, it’s so nice being able to collaborate with someone this easily. They usually hire men who think they know it all, and then I’m left doing all the work—and then redoing it the way it should’ve been done in the first place if they would’ve listened to me.”
I fold my hands on my desk. “I’m really loving it here, too. Everyone is so nice and welcoming.”
“You’re a perfect fit.” She taps the paper against her hand. “I’m going to officially reject this design and then grab lunch from the sandwich shop on the corner. Want anything?”
“No, thank you, though. I brought my lunch.”
“Suit yourself. See you in a bit.”
“Hey, will you close my door on your way out?” I ask.
She nods and pulls it shut behind her.
I put my desk phone on Do Not Disturb and grab the applesauce I brought for lunch. It’s all I’ve been able to keep down all week.
I’m stuck. I’m stuck and I don’t know how to get myself unstuck. I can’t force myself to reach out to my mother, which is completely childish and immature. But if I call her first, she’ll come to the conversation with a victim mentality, believingshewas in the right all along. If that happens, I might really snap on her.
No one needs that.
But I’m not sure if she’ll ever come to me first. It’s never happened before. She’s never apologized to me for anything. I don’t even think she’s ever acknowledged that she was wrong. I don’t need a big production made of it, but I do need her to accept some responsibility—both for herself, and for our relationship.
I simply can’t, and won’t, do it anymore.
I peel open the applesauce and find my plastic spoon in my bag. As soon as it’s in sight, my chest squeezes and tears fog up my eyes.Ripley and his Dora backpack.
A solitary tear streaks down my face, rolling over my cheek, lips, and off my chin.
My God, I miss him.
