Page 72 of Mr. Big Shot

My solemn tone gives her pause. I can see her weighing her next words, trying to decide if she wants to put in an order for some wooden barrels or not. She owes me nothing. I know that. I’ve thought a lot about Saturday night, and I regret so much. But the crippling guilt I felt immediately after sleeping with Scarlett has given way to a convoluted, tangled mess of longing and regret and remorse and, worst of all, desire. I know I should stay away from her. I should right this wrong, and yet here I stand, in her apartment, my hands fisted at my sides, my attention pinging off every one of her delicate features I wish I could touch. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold my breath and stay quiet, giving her a moment.

She looks away and frowns at the TV. Then, with a sigh that seems to originate from the very depths of her soul, she reaches down, grabs the remote, and turns off the show. I listen to her mumbling under her breath as she walks away. She’s really not happy with me, but she relents to my request, and by “relents”, I mean she gets ready and allows me to lead her downstairs without causing a scene that would draw the attention of local authorities.

“I don’t have a gift,” she says, crossing her arms in the passenger seat. As if that will be the thing that finally tips the scales for me. Oh, in that case, get out.

“I have more than enough.” I nod toward the pile of presents in the back seat. Lucy helped me order a few things online, and I think she got click-happy at one point when I excused myself to use the restroom. I don’t remember buying my mom and Lucy matching Louis Vuitton bags, but Lucy assures me that I did. “And next year, you’ll be getting us—I mean her, the matching wallet.”

Scarlett’s brows shoot up when she looks back at the gifts, but she doesn’t say anything. I pull away from her apartment building and join the traffic.

Scarlett folds her hands neatly in her lap and looks out the window, seemingly lost in space until she feels the need to inform me, “Just so you know, people are gossiping about us in the office.”

I’m not surprised. I expected there to be speculation the moment Scarlett and I started working out together in the Elwood Hoyt gym. I didn’t make a point of staying away from her at the Christmas party either, and we’ve eaten lunch together a time or two down in the food court. Our friendship was going to invite gossip no matter what.

“So you shouldn’t talk to me or look at me or bother me anymore,” she continues, keeping her gaze out the window. “Not if you want your precious promotion.”

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I want to say so much. A novel’s worth, really. Instead, I offer a simple “Noted.”

“To practice, I think we should start now.”

I smile.

God. Even now, I like her so much.

I flip my blinker on and change lanes, trying a normal conversation on for size. “My mom is turning 62, but she’s going to lie and tell you she’s turning 52.”

I pause for questions but don’t get any.

“My sister will be there too. My brother-in-law is on call and will be late if he can make it at all. He’s an emergency medicine doctor and his schedule can sometimes be erratic.”

She hums.

“You’ll also meet my nieces and nephews, all seventy-five of them.”

This catches her attention. She whips around to face me.

“Kidding. There are only three of them, but sometimes the noise level makes it feel like there’s a whole lot more, and another one is on the way. My nephew just started potty training last week, so sorry in advance if he pees on you. My oldest niece will ask you if you have any makeup she can use. Do not let her. She’ll never leave you alone after that. I’m warning you.”

Scarlett crosses her arms and turns her attention back on the road.

I don’t push my luck. For the rest of the drive, I crank the radio and stay quiet in an effort to keep this intensely fraught peace intact. It feels like at any moment, we’ll implode.

My mom lives in a one-story house in a suburb near Chicago with tree-lined streets and bikes littering front yards. I come here on Halloween and pass out candy with her. Last year, we had so many trick-or-treaters we ran out of candy, and my mom started giving out the cash I had in my wallet. I’ve considered what it would be like to move out here one day. The commute into the office wouldn’t be too bad.

“Oh, I like that house,” Scarlett says, more to herself than to me. It’s a two-story colonial with red brick and neat hedgerows rimming overflowing garden beds. I’ve always liked that house too, but I don’t dare agree with her because I know it’ll only piss her off.

A minute later, I park in front of my mom’s house, and then I open the back door. I’m prepared to Tetris the gifts in my arms in lieu of making two trips, but Scarlett starts loading her arms up too.

“Thanks.”

She ignores me and closes the door. I lead us up the front walkway knowing without a shadow of a doubt that my mom has already clocked our arrival. With her motherly intuition, she probably knew the moment we exited the highway. The front door is flung open before we reach it and—oh god, her eyes are welled up with tears.

“Hudson! Who do we have here?!”

She ignores me and goes straight for Scarlett, pressing her hands to either side of Scarlett’s cheeks and looking her over. Personal space does not exist for my mother. I wince and expect Scarlett to wrench away, but she laughs and smiles.

Scarlett and my mother are about the same size, though my mom is all blonde—“It hides the grays!”—and dressed in bright pink.

“Hi, Mrs. Rhodes.”

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