Page 22 of Hate You, Maybe
“Nah. You don’t know her.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Okayyyy.” The word is drawn out, and I can practically see the smirk on her face.
Her. Yeah. Don’t get any ideas, sis.
“So what’s up?” I ask.
“Did Mom call you yet?”
“No. Was she supposed to?”
Jo’s sigh fills the car. She’s back living with our folks right now, while pursuing her master’s in social work. This makes her the reluctant boots on the ground as far as disseminating information. “Man. Our parental units. Always so excellent at communication.”
I grip the wheel, hard, and glance at Sayla, wishing she weren’t here. Everything about her body’s gone still. She doesn’t even look like she’s breathing. There’s no way she’s not listening.
“What’s going on?”
“First of all, Dad’s fine.”
My shoulders tense.Fineis not my favorite word. Our family’s got a real bad history withfine. But Jo was only six back then. Too young to remember that detail now, twenty years later. “What’s going on?”
“He started to feel dizzy doing yard work yesterday. Raking leaves. Pulling weeds. Stuff like that. Mom got a little panicky, like always. So she took him to the hospital. Turns out he was not having a heart attack. He’s just super dehydrated. And he has a UTI. Which is common with old dudes. Apparently.”
“He’s sixty-five.”
“Yeah. Like I said. Old.”
When she snickers, my shoulders relax a bit. Jo wouldn’t be laughing if something was seriously wrong. “So what did they do for him?”
“Gave him some fluids and antibiotics. Sent him home with strict instructions to be better about drinking something other than coffee. Mom bought out an entire aisle of electrolytes.”
“Yeah. Good. Okay.”
“I figured she wouldn’t tell you herself, but I wanted you in the loop. Just carrying out my duties as keeper of the Michaels family intel.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah, well, we kind of suck at sharing stuff besides funny TikToks and memes.”
“True story,” I say. “Thanks for the update.”
“Speaking of not communicating, why haven’t I heard about this coworker you’re traveling with?”
Sayla lets out a little snort from the passenger seat.
Totally listening.
“Wilford’s sending me and one of the other directors on a retreat in Asheville. Camp Reboot. You’d know this if you’d bothered to go to pizza with us after the game. I told Landry all about it.”
“Polly Warner? I definitely know her.”
“Not the activities director. The performing arts director.” I take a beat. Might as well introduce them. “Sayla Kroft? Meet my sister, Josephine Michaels. We call her Jojo. Or Jo. Or Jehoshaphat.”
Sayla looks up from her play as if she hasn’t been eavesdropping all along. “Hi there.”
“You’re the pretty one from the theater department,” Jo says.
I glance at Sayla. Arch a brow. “You think she’s pretty?”
