Page 8 of Mistlefoe
“Boooo.” She offers me a glass of wine the second I step into her house.
It’s adorable just like her. Whereas outside is a dry winter landscape without snow yet, inside she has a cozy fire roaring,casting a warm light over boho chic decor she’s been steadily collecting from garage sales for years.
Her son’s sitting on the couch, and even though he doesn’t pause from playing a football video game on the TV, he does say over his shoulder, “Happy Thanksgiving, Tía Sierra.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, you football nerd.” I rub his hair, which he normally hates. He’s so engrossed in the game that he doesn’t even notice, though. “What will it take for you to like a better sport?”
He grunts.
“Please, he doesn’t even like proper football—the one played with the feet that we incorrectly call soccer here. Forget about your boring baseball,” his mother says with a groan from the heart. After all, she once was on track for the US women’s soccer team.
“Excuse me.” I put a hand on my heart delicately, as if this wasn’t the one topic that divides the three of us. “Baseball ishistoric. There’s nothing boring about that.”
She fakes a yawn.
I smirk against the rim of the wine glass and take a sip.
“Anyway.” Rachel motions me to follow her to the kitchen and we take a seat by the counter. “I also have some news for you that I was waiting to tell you today.”
I set down the glass slowly. “Am I finally going to meet your super famous professional soccer player brothers, who keep saying they’ll drop by for the holidays and never do?”
“You know, you could just use their given names, they’re a lot shorter than that spiel.” She shakes her head and the straight hair of her bob bounces all pretty. “No, this isn’t about Reid, Reese or River. This is about work.”
“Oh, that’s way less exciting.”
“I’m doing it.” She claps her hands at her chest. “I’m following my mentor’s advice and applying for that position.”
My joking mood evaporates and my eyes pop wider. “The talent campaign manager position?”
“Yes.” She smiles and tucks her fists under her chin like they’re necessary to prop up her grin.
I release a sound only bats can hear and throw my arms around her. “Oh my gosh! It’s finally happening!”
“I know!”
“Mom? Where are the earplugs?” Adrian asks casually.
“Oh shush, child.” Rachel chuckles and pulls away from me. “Ugh, I started working on my application but I’m second guessing everything.”
“I’ll look it over for you. And surely your mentor will, too?” I ask because I don’t know for sure. Even though Rachel’s been in the mentoring program for almost a year, her mentor, Camila Puig, is still a mystery to me. She’s super intimidating and unapproachable at the office, but Rachel speaks about her so warmly that it almost makes me think they’re different people.
“She will, but I’ll feel so much better if you check it before I send it to her. You know…” She wrinkles her nose a bit. “I really don’t want to send her a garbage application that will make her feel like she’s wasted an entire year on me.”
“Stop, I’m sure everything you’ve included in it is already awesome.” I run my finger down the curved wall of the wine glass. “But I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She bumps her shoulder with mine. “Well, I am. But it’s just one department over.”
“Who’s going to give me moral support when Conor is being Conor, though?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Maybe this is for the best. It’s about time you let go of your grudge against him.”
“It’s not a grudge. You see, a grudge is all the negative feelings you carry some time after the wrong is done unto you, whereas he continually does new wrongs to me.”
“Yeah, that’s a grudge,” Adrian chirps from the living room.
“Keep playing your game, child,” I answer back with a scowl in his direction.
“If by wrongs you mean he took the last cup of coffee from the pot right before you walked in the kitchen, then I stand by my statement.”
