Page 39 of The Checklist
“Well, yes. But if you think I work a lot, you should see his schedule. He’s a divorce attorney.”
“That would keep you busy. Do you usually spend holidays in Texas?” Mike’s forehead relaxed, but he managed to hold on to the quizzical expression.
“Mostly. His family is there, so it’s easier to skip the whole airport thing. They are big fans of cruises to the Caribbean.” Dylan shivered. She could probably live the rest of her life without setting foot in the Galveston port again.
“And you want to go on the same cruise every year?” Mike asked, the twinkle returning to his eyes.
Dylan waited a beat to answer, squirming in her chair. “Okay, no. I hate cruises. They are like giant, roving, highly orchestrated germs.” Mike’s chuckle seemed to fill up the entire restaurant. “Don’t laugh. They’re weird.”
“Have you ever considered telling him you hate cruises?” Mike said, his lips maintaining a hint of a smile as he crunched more ice.
“God, no,” Dylan said, but she regretted her honesty as Mike tilted his chin at her. She began to circle her hands as she worked through the crashing explanations in her brain. Years of being lost in foreign countries while her parents drove on the wrong side of the road should have made Dylan appreciate a cruise. However, it had had the opposite effect. Worse, Nicolas had no framework for understanding her boredom. He’d probably take it personally, so instead, she spent one week a year trying to convince herself to like cruises. It mostly worked. Looking up from her relationship analysis, Dylan found Mike still waiting. “Meh, it’s not worth the fight.”
“If it works for you, I can’t judge. I’m not seeing anyone, let alone living with them. But I didn’t live with my last girlfriend, and I still met her parents.” Mike sighed, shaking his head and smiling. “In fact, they took the breakup harder than she did. They still send me Christmas cards.”
“If my parents could get it together to send Christmas cards, which they can’t, I suspect none of our exes would make the list.”
Mike fixed his gaze on her. “Before we take apart your parents’ holiday traditions, I want to go back. What do your parents think of him finally visiting? Have you informed Henry he won’t be hiking?”
“Let’s not talk about Bernice’s feelings on the capitalist-industrial divorce complex or the fact that my father may be planning to throw mud at him.” Dylan was pleased to see Mike chuckling at her blatant attempt to change the subject. She laughed, but the thought of trying to get her parents to behave with Nicolas was more terrifying than trying to get Nicolas to book his ticket to Seattle.
“Back to our mission,” Dylan said, rubbing her hands together for extra emphasis. “I have some ideas for getting this sensory room funded. I have a former client who was big into facilitating stock gifts. I can connect you to him. Also, have you thought about a live text-to-donate drive at the fundraising gala?”
CHAPTER TEN
Dylan pulled into the office at 7:15 a.m., determined to answer a few of Jared’s emails before she dealt with Tim’s panicked messages. She was impressed the meme hadn’t reached Tim’s consciousness until early Sunday, limiting the number ofURGENTemails he could send. Dylan had considered writing to him that applying the little red exclamation point to his email and addingREAD MEto the subject line was overkill and part of his perception problem. Instead, she’d simply answered that she was aware of the meme and that they would take mitigating steps on Monday. What those were, she had no idea.
“Morning, Charlie,” Dylan called, breezing through the heavy doors. “Can you do me a favor and give me a call when Tim comes in?”
He arched his eyebrow like she was asking a trick question. “I don’t think it’s against any of our policies. Is it?”
“If it is, I won’t tell.”
Charlie’s manner eased. “In that case, I’ll do it. Although do you really want to be the first person he sees after, you know ...” He shrugged in place of sayingthe meme.
“He’s gonna have to see someone first—may as well be me. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.” Charlie’s voice floated into the elevator bank as she pressed the floor button with the corner of her laptop case. Sure, she had spenther weekend covering herself in little-kid germs, but that didn’t mean she needed to get everyone else’s germs too.
Exiting the elevator, she ran through her plan for the day. Step one: head off any high-pitched emails from Jared. Step two: cut Tim off before he could try another diet-soda stunt. Step three: stay employed long enough for steps one and two. Kaplan was notorious for removing consultants over the weekend and replacing them on Mondays, so she’d decided Mike was probably right when by Sunday evening no one had called her about getting a ticket home.
“Still, there is a first time for everything,” she said under her breath, waiting for her computer to boot up. As expected, she had no fewer than seven emails from Jared, the previews for which all read something like:
Dylan: Things are out of hand ...
Tipping the last of her coffee back, she scrolled through her unopened emails, trying to decide which of Jared’s missives to answer first, until an email from Barb Maisewell caught her eye. She wouldn’t email gossip. Barb was way too savvy for that. But really, what other interaction did she and Dylan have beyond the occasional tabloid article about their favorite guilty pleasure cooking reality show?
Hi Dylan,
I hope you are enjoying your time at home! Quick question for you. Has Jared been up to Seattle since you got there?
Thanks,
Barb
Dylan was disappointed that Barb didn’t include an article fromEWor something but decided answering a work email from Barb was better than dealing with Jared’s. She hit send on a quick “nope” email, complete with anIn Touchlink on the reality chef’s latest dating exploits, as her desk line rang.
“Hi, Charlie, is the eagle on the move?”
