Page 48 of Severed Rivalry
“How does that sound?” the surgeon asks.
“Fine.” I’m on autopilot.
“Can you give us a moment please?” Ayla asks, and my brows cinch at her interference.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Barone. I’ll be back in a few.” He sees himself out.
No sooner does the door close as my sister is in my face,snapping her fingers in front of my nose. “Earth to Ci. Are you in there?”
I snap my head back. “Yeah. Why?”
“Did you just agree to an eyelid lift?”
“Wait. What? No.”
“But you did. I don’t know where you are, but can you reenter the stratosphere for a few minutes before you, I don’t know, get a chin implant during your surgery?”
“I don’t need a chin implant.” Do I?
“Don’t even look at that mirror. You need nothing. You’re handsome. Very handsome just as you are. You don’t need to enhance or minimize anything. Reconstructing and setting the bone around the socket is major surgery. It’s enough. You’re here because Dr. Singh is the best, not because you’re in a Nicolas Cage movie.”
“It was a John Travolta movie.”
“Glad you’re back with me. Can you wait on the nip and tuck shit until after your midlife crisis?
“As if I’d need to nip or tuck. I run. And I have Murphy genes.”
“Yeah, you’re back. Good thing too. I’ll get the doc.”
Ayla opens the door to find the surgeon, and I get my head back in the game.
Where the hell did my mind go and for how long?
I know. But I can think about her later.
Sariah
Renée’s right. The stupid game is addictive. It’s like they added crack or nicotine to the screen right there for the taking.
I spend lunch numbly eating a sandwich, missing my mouth a couple of times, while both of my thumbs zero in on the target. At least I found a way to silence the messages. The team wants tochat the whole time. Apparently with earbuds or headphones, those can come through so they’re verbal instead of text, but I can’t read fast enough and keep up with the mission of the game, so I silenced them. I need to go see what the chatter is. Seeing as how this game is similar in demographic to Connect2Coach, I wonder if the team can leverage how the kids chat and maybe use that to funnel to the appropriate coach.
See? I’m working.
That’s my excuse when the user experience team asks about the beta of the UX. Research. Even I don’t believe me. Mostly because when they pull out their phones, I see the app front and center on their home screens or notification centers.
We’re all liars. Or excellent app developers.
I finally turn my phone upside down in my desk drawer, ignoring the siren call of the app’s specific alert tone. Unlike most people my age, I do not have my phone on silent all day. I’ve run too many times, had Renée’s school reach out too often, and have more google alerts set to ping if searches are tripped. I’m loud and proud with the alerts. I might as well be living in two thousand and seven. I regret nothing.
I work through the afternoon and head to my car later than usual. That stupid app distracted me, and I could’ve finished the task at home, but pushed through.
That was a mistake because either the Nuggets are playing or the Avalanche are, or there’s a concert tonight because downtown is packed. Traffic is ridiculous and pedestrian traffic fills every gap any vehicle vacates.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Angel. How was your day?”
“It was good.” I answer, fighting the smile that bubbles up. “Better now.”
