Page 16 of The Chosen Two

My adolescent poetry includes comments like, “Is this girl stable enough to take this on?” And I roll my eyes when I see, “After reading this, I’m a little concerned she’ll sacrifice herself unnecessarily.” Oh, George, you try being a thirteen-year-old girl sometime. Jerk.

Then, on photocopies of my junior high yearbooks’ activities pages, George wrote, “One year of softball. One year of basketball. One year of track. Not a lot of perseverance.”

Oh, fuck this asshole. I have always hated sports. That has nothing to do with my perseverance. At least I kept trying new ones when it turned out I hated the last one.

Focus. This is not the point, Miranda. He’s actually proving your point with his stupid, immature commentary. “I am so not the Chosen One. No way! No how!”

Only, saying that aloud makes me sound like Jake. I decide to try calling him again. Even if my so-called destiny is obviously a mistake, I need to win this fight. Both fights, actually. But first, I need Jake to admit I’m desirable, as an employee… I need him to see I’m more than his kids’ mom.

The phone rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. So, I call back. This time, he picks up on the second ring. “Jesus, Miranda! Don’t you know what time it is here?”

I look at the clock, and do some math. “It’s 7:30. You’d have been up for an hour already here. Get over it. We need to talk.”

“Really? Yeah, if I was home, I’d have been up at 6:30, but I’m not home. I’m in Vegas, Baby! I went to bed only three hours ago.” His voice is gravely and his words slur a bit.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m here taking care of our four kids, and you’re staying up until 4:30 a.m.? What were you doing? You know what, I don’t think I want to know. I need to talk to you about—”

“Yeah, right, your job opportunity. What kind of awful pyramid scheme do you want to get into?”

“Ex…Excuse me?” I feel like he punched me in the stomach.

“Isn’t that the employer you’re talking about? What else could you possibly be qualified for that someone would be so insistent on hiring you to do? You haven’t been in the work force in well over a decade.”

“You know what? Go to hell.” Silence divides us, but I can hear his angry tired breathing. “You’ve made it clear many times that you think being a mom should be enough for me, but you’ve never been such a flat-out dick about it before! Enjoy Vegas. Let me know when you book your return trip so I can let the kids know.”

I hang up before he can say anything else. I hate that so many of his trips are open ended. I never know when I can depend on him and when I can’t.

I stand up and begin to pace. I’m fuming. How dare he think so little of me, of what I’m capable of. How dare he stay out partying and doing god knows what with god knows who while I’m dealing with Jinn and little dragon man birds and blond guys and our children! I mean, not that dealing with our children is the same as the rest, but they definitely have their own set of challenges that exhaust me.

I return to the folder. My folder. George’s folder. What did I do with that address he gave me? I wasn’t going to go, but I must have thrown it out by mistake. So now I have no way to contact the weirdo if I even wanted to. That may be for the best, really. I definitely shouldn’t reach out to him now, when I’m so angry at Jake. I might do something I’ll regret, like agree to be this Chosen One.

Instead, I shove the folder into my oversized purse, grab my keys, and jump in my car. I need to go shopping, so I drive to the mall, but not the everyday reasonable mall. Nope. I’m going to the super posh mall where I always feel uncomfortable in my own skin. How’s that for us not needing anymore income, Jake!

I’m pulling out of my driveway when my phone rings. I push the button on my steering wheel and hear Bluetooth pick up. “Hey, Eliza. What’s up?”

“Did you find anything out from your folder?” She sounds like she’s chewing.

“Just that George also thinks this is a horrible mistake.” I hear the anger in my own voice.

“Oh, okay. I found our red bat birds.” She sounds totally calm, as if this is an everyday research mission I sent her on.

I am obviously not as calm. “What? You could have led with that! What are they?”

“Imps.”

“Imps?” I don’t realize I’ve effectively parked at a stop sign until a honk behind me startles me back to the real world.

“Yup. Imps.”

“Okay. You have anything else for me there, Oracle?”

She pauses before asking, “Matrix Oracle or Batman Oracle?”

“Um, Batman Oracle?”

“Okay, thank god. So, imps are generally considered to be more mischievous than dangerous.” She’s in writer mode, all business.

“Well, that’s a good thing. Yay, some good news!” I am all emotion.

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