Page 64 of The Keeper
The question takes me by surprise, mostly because I thought I was the only one here. The storefront closes at 5pm, so I assumed I would be working alone when I entered through the back door at 7pm.
“Hey, CC.”
I try to infuse some brightness into my voice as I take an inventory of the scrapbook stickers we have sorted in the back, but my happiness sounds strained. Mechanical almost.
“Things are good. Just busy. The usual.”
She plops down at her desk, which sits in the corner of the warehouse-style back room, and begins shuffling through paperwork. Her wild blond curls bouncing all over the place as she shakes her head slightly.
“That wasn’t very convincing,” she replies, glancing at me over the rim of her glasses. “Try again.”
I mentally groan. CC has been a sort of mother-figure for me over the past few years. I’ve been working for her since the middle of freshman year when I realized that my scholarships covered school and housing, but not other important things like food, books, money to buy tampons, etc. She took a really quick interest in my life.
She comes to some of my soccer matches and we try to get coffee every few weeks. She’s in her mid-thirties and single, and lies through her teeth every time she says she isn’t interested in settling down or having kids. I know she wants them, and her interest in me has become a way for her to express some of her innate nurturing personality.
A big part of that personality is being able to read people like the top letter of an eye exam chart. I should have known she would be able to sniff out my faux-cheeriness.
I huff out a breath.
“I just have a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” I grab a box cutter and turn back to the boxes in front of me, prepping them to be unpacked and sorted.
CC laughs behind me.
“It’s been quite some time since you’ve snipped back at me. Whatever it is, I hope you figure it out soon.”
We both work in silence for a while. I know she’s waiting for me to spill, but what am I supposed to say?
Oh I’m just having an emotional affair with my coach and he might get fired so I’ve accepted a date with a player on the men’s team that likes me even though I don’t like him. On top of that, I’m pretty sure my psychology grade is beyond saving, which could mean I lose my scholarship, and my brother and I are in a fight for the first time in years. Same old stuff. No big deal.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” she says softly from behind me.
I jerk back from the cardboard boxes and see that I’ve gone a little Jack-the-Ripper on them. Sliding the box cutter blade back into the plastic, I place it on the workbench next to me and take a seat. CC takes a seat next to me without saying anything. After a few minutes I turn and catch her eye.
“Have you ever intentionally hurt someone to do the right thing?”
She raises her eyebrows.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, honey.”
“Well, there’s this guy…”
“Isn’t there always?”
We share a small laugh, and my chest feels lighter. Talking to CC almost always does that. I take a breath and launch right in.
“Well, this guy… we technically can’t date, because he works for the college. But we’ve been… flirting, I guess, with the boundaries of what we can do. And now his job is in jeopardy and I can’t let him get fired over me when he has worked so hard to get his life to a good place. But honestly, I also don’t want to have to deal with the consequences in my own life if we’re caught. So I accepted a date with another guy. And I feel terrible about it. Like, really, horribly awful.”
CC leans back against the wall and crosses her arms over her chest.
“That’s quite the predicament you’re in.” I nod. “Did you ever think about justtalkingto the guy and explaining that you have to take a break until youcandate? More often than not, communicating is the best way to work through a problem.”
“But I heard him say he would give up his job for me!” My voice comes out high-pitched, incredulous.
“Why is that so shocking to you?”
I pause.
“What?”
