Page 79 of The Checklist
“Fine.” She felt her eyes sting and rubbed them with her free hand. She just needed to get through this conversation; then she could go home and crawl into bed for a year and forget everything.
“At least we are on the same page here,” Mike muttered under his breath. “Look, I’m not interested in being a scapegoat or a punching bag or whatever it is you are doing.” It sounded as though he had stopped pacing, and his tone softened again. “I care about you. So how about you call me if you work things out or if you want real help working things out. Okay?”
Her heart squeezed, but she had little to say in response. Luckily, her mind was still storming, and she let that carry her through the conversation. “I don’t need help.”
“All right. Talk to you later,” Mike said, his tone heavy. He waited a beat for her response before hanging up the phone, further irritating her. Even his brush-offs were reasonable.
Worse, Mike had sounded sorry too. Glancing at herself in the rearview mirror again, she scowled. She was still an ashy shade of I-just-got-fired green, and any blood left in her face had made its way to her cheeks, reminding her of sinister clowns in movies. The whole look added to her growing sense of horror. What had she done?
In the mirror, Dylan almost didn’t recognize herself. What kind of person tore into someone for asking reasonable questions? Her heart plummeted as soon as the wordsoptimisticandfoolcircled back to her. Mike didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Hadn’t Jared just shouted at her for pointing out that he was overreacting? Yet here she was, unreasonably angry at Mike for ... what? Being kind.
“Holy shit, that was mean,” she whispered to herself, nausea washing over her as other parts of the conversation came back.One-night stand who is too nice?Those words had come out of her mouth, and she hadn’t even meant them. Those words were so hurtful. They were cruel. She was a lot of things, but cruel? Even at her rock bottom, she never wanted to be that kind of person.
Taking a sip of her cold coffee, Dylan choked back the stone lodged in her throat. Dropping the phone into her lap, she looked out the foggy windshield at the fuzzy gray of the Technocore office and shivered, a sheen of her own body heat coating the windows. After blowing on her hands, she jammed her index finger into the start button and waited for the windshield to clear.
“Damn it!” she growled at the hazy walls. She couldn’t even get out of her soon-to-be ex-client’s parking lot without more failure. Dylan swallowed tears down. Crying was for people who hadn’t pulled themselves together after feral childhoods. Women who drove over flower beds to escape ex-boyfriends didn’t cry when they threatened them. They didn’t cry over disappointing new friends, shitty bosses, bad jobs, or nice-guy neighbors.
Taking another deep breath, she checked her rear windshield and tried to smile at the microscopic patch of visibility opening up. Soon she would be able to safely exit the parking lot and this hellhole of a town. She reached down for her coffee as her phone dinged again. The familiar tone of a text message asking her why she hadn’t turned the thing off already. Reminding herself that she couldn’t go anywhere, she picked up the phone.
Hey! Did you turn in the recommendation letter?
Dylan froze, the icy temperature outside finally reaching her veins. She stared at the little “...” implying there was more message on its way and tried desperately to think her way out of this.
My application page says incomplete and I know everything is in. I’m gonna call. I just wanna make sure my ducks are in a row before I start making demands. LOL!
Stacy had to know she didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. Dylan hadn’t done the letter. Feeling her body start to thaw, she typed out a response.
Holy shit. I had a crisis at work, and I forgot. I am SO SORRY.
Stacy typed back almost immediately.
But you knew the deadline
I reminded you like 50 times
All you had to say was “I’m too busy. No”
Dylan hit send on her half-finished text, eager to get something out there.
I’m so sorry. I’ll call them and explain the whole thing
Stacy’s response appeared immediately.
I’m going to have to wait until next year and reapply
I’m sure there’s something I can do.
Dylan choked on the stale air in the car, willing the vehicle to finish defrosting. She continued typing, afraid to risk another catastrophic phone apology. She needed to ask for forgiveness from Stacy in person.
All my hard work? the stupid standardized tests! my other recommendations? WASTED
I’ll drive over now. We can call them together.
Her head began to spin as she read her friend’s reply.
Don’t
Don’t come over. Don’t call them.
