Текст книги "Outside the Lines"

Автор книги: Emily Goodwin

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I make it back down in eight-and-a-half minutes.

“Thanks for going,” Jake says quietly to me and hands me the keys to my Malibu. Apparently, I’m the DD tonight too. “I really want Danny to feel like part of the family.”

I smile. “Of course. I want her to as well. And I don’t know her, so it would be a great way to get to know her.”

Jake beams, his eyes glazing over. Shit, he’s in deep. I broaden my smile, hating that a tiny bit of jealousy rolls around inside me. I want to be in love too. I want to plan a shower and a wedding and have everyone tell me how beautiful I will look in my dress.

Someday.

Maybe.

No.

It will happen.

Ugh.

I grab my purse and lead the way through the garage, unlocking the car. Danielle holds a pink Coach umbrella in one hand, the other on her head to keep her hair from blowing wild. The rain has picked up, and so has the wind.

“Hopefully your wedding day won’t be like this,” I say and get into the car. Danielle closes her umbrella, tucking it down by her feet, and gives me a horrified look. How dare I even mention rain and her wedding day?

“It’s usually nice here in July.” I smile. “So don’t worry.” I mentally curse at myself. Way to start a convo. “So,” I begin. “Do you have pretty much everything done?”

Danielle relaxes against the seat. “Pretty much. I have one final fitting for the dress, but that’s not until a month before the wedding. I’m trying to lose a few more pounds of course.”

I raise my eyebrows and cast a glance at her. She is thin enough already. Why brides always think they had to be model thin … I’ll never know. “I think you look great,” I tell her honestly.

“Thanks,” she says and lets out a breath. “I don’t look like the girl wearing my dress in the magazine ad.”

If possible, my eyebrow hikes even higher. I turn onto the main road and head into town. “You do know those ads are Photoshopped as fuck, right?”

She twists, giving me that same startled look. “Yeah, I’m sure they are a bit.”

I laugh. “Not just a bit. They are a lot. I worked a graphic design job for two whole weeks and was given photos to manipulate the hell out of. I felt evil to all womankind for doing that, hence the quitting. And it didn’t pay well. At all.”

Danielle just nods. “Well, whatever. I still want to look good.”

This isn’t going so well. “I’m sure you will. You’re really pretty. And Jake has always been super picky. So knowing he chose you means he thinks you’re really pretty too.”

“Thanks.” She smiles. “So, you program software, right?”

“I used to. I took a new job in Grand Rapids like half a year ago. I build websites.”

She nods. “I’m so bad with computers. I can use Word and log onto Facebook and that’s pretty much it. I couldn’t even think about making a website.”

“It’s really easy,” I say. “Well, for me. But I like that stuff.”

“It sounds complicated to me. Sometimes I have to have my students help me hook up my printer.”

I laugh. “It surprises me how difficult it is for some people. But I guess that’s normal, ya know? It’s my thing. I like taking shit apart and adding new gadgets to my electronics at home.”

“Makes sense. Why’d you change jobs?”

 I shrug. “The new job pays twice as much and it was a chance to get out of this town for a while.”

“Hmmm,” she says and messes with her hair, which managed to stay stick straight and smooth despite the weather. “I have too many friends to leave here.”

I know a backhanded insult when I hear one. “I stay in touch with mine.”

“The bakery is owned by your best friend, right?”

“Yep, Erin. She’s great.”

Danielle smiles again. “I was impressed with everything she showed me.”

“Yeah, Erin is super talented. She’s been into baking since we were kids. That’s how we met, actually. We were paired together in seventh grade Home Economics class.”

“You guys have been friends for a long time.”

“Yeah. She likes the same stuff I do.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. A few more minutes tick by.

“So, uh, what do you like to do for fun?” I ask, trying to keep a conversation going.

“I work out and have the girls over for wine night at least once a week.”

“Wine night sounds fun.” I like wine, and I like the night. “You guys just sit around and drink?”

“Kind of,” she says and laughs like it’s something super naughty. “We take turns bringing a bottle and some sort of dessert. We watch a show, like Keeping up with the Kardashians or The Bachelor, and drink and gossip. It’s a lot of fun. If you lived closer, I’d invite you,” she says with a smile and I know—and hope—she’s lying through her teeth.

A few minutes pass, and I try not to let the silence turn awkward and bother me. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel in tempo with the music. Danielle makes small talk the rest of the way, and the fifteen-minute drive to the restaurant seems to take twice as long. If this girl wasn’t marrying my brother, I’d never talk to her. We have nothing in common.

We get to the restaurant at 6:23 and hurry through the rain. Five well-dressed women are already seated. I guess they had more than ten minutes notice of this event. Supposedly I did too, and really, I probably did. I’m spacey like that.

“Sorry we’re late,” Danielle says and I can see her side-eye me, letting her friends know it’s my fault.

I slide into a chair, glad there is already a glass of red wine in each spot. I don’t consider getting somewhere seven minutes before a reservation “late.”

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Jake’s sister.”

The women murmur “hello” and go through introductions. I sip the wine and nod along, trying to remember everyone’s names. I’m not really a shy person, but sitting here with a group of girls who’ve been friends for years makes me retreat inside myself a bit. My cheese ravioli is good, and I get out my phone and Google costume ideas when the conversation turns to sharing sex stories. I have no recent sex stories to share, unless my adventures with the neon-pink Silent Knight count.

“What about you?” a pretty blonde asks. Her name is Chloe. Or Zoey. Hell if I know. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment,” I respond.

“Oh, well, never mind then.” She doesn’t look surprised by my response.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask.

“I just got rid of mine,” she huffs. “Total pain in the ass and so clingy. I want to date casually for a while, ya know, just for fun. You’re only young once!”

I smile and go back to looking up costumes on my phone. This is going to be a long night.

*

Since my parents have the worst internet connection in the whole wide world, I ended up going to bed early and waking at eight, which is early to me when I don’t have to be at work. I eat breakfast with Dad then go for a walk on the sandy path from their house to the lake. The rain has gone and so have the clouds. The morning still holds a chill, but as I look at the dawn light reflecting off the choppy water, I know it’s going to be a good day.

The sound of the small waves crashing against the rocky shore soothes me, and takes me back at the same time. I spent more hours than I can count out here as a child, sitting on the dock, playing in the woods and water, pretending, imagining, fantasizing that my life was grand and adventurous and I was someone else, someone important destined with a world-saving task.

Losing myself in fiction and fantasy was my escape then, and it is now. There were many, many times when Mom and Dad sent Jake down to the water’s edge to check on me, making sure I hadn’t fallen asleep and rolled off the dock into the water. That happens once and no one forgets about it. I’d be down here with a book, and often times Erin was with me doing the same. Jake teased us a great bunch, though he ended up joining in on our reenactments a few times.

That led me to the world of Cosplay and finding solace in fandoms, in knowing there were other people like me who longed for more, for adventure, for feeling like more than a tiny ant on this planet we call earth.

Not everyone gets it, especially hormonal teenagers who were still trying to figure their own shit out. Erin and I weren’t the only geeks at our high school, but we were one of the few, battling between being ourselves and being what was expected. I had my moments of “fuck societal norms” that quickly passed, and it wasn’t until I was in college that it really stuck.

I’m not and never will be that girl. I tried and hated it, then hated myself for wasting the time and energy for trying. Fitting in didn’t make me happy. Pretending to be someone I’m not makes me feel dirty, like I’m cheating on myself with Fake Felicity. Embracing my weirdness makes me happy.

I walk to the end of the dock and sit down, taking off my Toms and letting my toes dangle along the surface of Lake Michigan. I lean back on my elbows and let out a breath as the sun hits my face.

If I’m so happy, then why am I feeling a ball of dread in the pit of my stomach? It’s deep, and I don’t want to acknowledge it. I lay back on the dock and rest my hands on my stomach. My mind goes to my happy place, filling the day with something grand, something that makes me special, and something that’ll never happen.

I shake my head, knowing I can’t cover up this feeling forever, and at some point I need to come to terms with the fact that me—the older sister—is still as single as an individually wrapped slice of American cheese with no prospects in sight. And yeah, it does bother me. I’m not in a rush to get married, but I want someone.

Someone who loves me and all my flaws. Someone who can’t live a day of their life without me. Someone I can give myself to completely and love as much as I can.

Someday, I’ll find that someone.

CHAPTER THREE

I unroll the last curler from my hair and carefully pull it apart with my fingers before blasting it with hairspray. After adding another coat of mascara, I scrutinize my reflection for a minute before nodding at it with approval. I don’t wear a full face of makeup very often because it takes too long and I’d rather sleep than get up an hour earlier for work.

But I like it, and it surprises a lot of people to know that I am good at doing makeup. I picked up a lot of tips from doing Cosplay makeup. Putting all my gear back in a travel bag, I pad into my bedroom to get dressed. I pull on the white and blue polka dot dress, so thankful the slightly padded top is supportive enough to go sans strapless bra. Petite, slender Erin never understood my woe when it came to strapless bras. Those suckers never stay up.

Dressed and ready with half an hour before we have to leave to set up for the shower, I grab the Best Buy bag from my dresser and go downstairs.

“What are you doing?” Jake asks me when I kneel down by the TV stand in the family room.

“Hooking up HD cables. I don’t know how Mom and Dad live, watching everything in standard def.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re such a nerd.”

I make a face right back. “You had me help you pick out a new TV and rewire everything last year. You know it makes a difference. This has nothing to do with being a nerd. I’m just helping Mom and Dad keep up with the times. They probably don’t even know the difference between SD and HD.” I turn off the TV, ignoring Jake’s protests that he was watching some motorcycle show, and get to work, muttering to myself that getting Mom and Dad to upgrade their cable will be a whole other feat.

I’m just about done and getting everything put back into place when Danielle comes through the door. Her hair falls in soft curls around her face, and she’s wearing a pale pink dress and tall white heels. I catch the smile and faraway look in Jake’s eyes when he sees her and resist the urge to throw up in my mouth. It’s weird seeing my kid brother so in love.

I stand and smooth out my dress. Danielle’s eyes land on me, and her brow furrows.

“Oh, Felicity,” she says, blinking. She holds onto the banister and pauses when she steps off the last stair. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Hopefully that’s good?” I inquire.

Jake laughs. “You clean up well, sis.”

“Thanks.”

He gets off the couch and goes to Danielle, linking his arm through hers. “I loaded everything in the car. I’ll come with to help you carry it, but I don’t need to be there, right?”

Danielle’s eyes widen as she looks up at Jake. Even in heels, she’s a good few inches shorter than him. “I’d really like you to be there, but you don’t have to. Most guys don’t go to the shower.”

“Well,” he says and leans down to kiss her. “I’m not most guys, am I?”

Her full lips pull into a smile. “That’s why I said yes.”

They kiss again and the vomit I was holding back threatens to come up again. I turn to get my purse. Mom, who’s still frantically getting ready, calls to me, making sure I’m ready. The house is pure chaos for the next ten minutes with people bustling about, checking the cars for all the supplies, a temporary freak out when the caterer calls and says one of the cooks is sick and they might be running late, and Danielle chipping her “chip-proof” nail polish.

Maybe I don’t want to get married anytime soon. All this seems like too much work for just one day, and fuck, it’s not even the wedding.

Finally, we load into the cars and drive half an hour to the country club, pulling around to the back to unload everything. The shower is starting with a cocktail and appetizer hour in the garden, before moving inside for games, lunch, then finally opening presents and cake.

Are all showers this fancy? I’d only been to a few, and they were for my cousins who came from families as laid back as my own. They were Mom’s sisters’ kids, after all. The wedding planner is already here, and greets Danielle like they’re longtime girlfriends. The other bridesmaids arrive within minutes, and soon we’re all gathered around the wedding planner so she can assign us “tasks.”

Along with two other bridesmaids who I met at dinner last night,—Michelle and Chloe or Zoey or whatever– my job is to carry the vases of fresh-cut flowers from the car and put them on the high-top tables in the garden. We each take a cardboard box and go through the well-maintained courtyard.

“Don’t blink,” I say when we pass a statue of an angel, her head turned down and covered by her hands.

“What?” Zoey says, looking behind her to see me. There is something familiar about her blonde hair and heart-shaped face, but I can’t recall ever meeting her. Still, I swear I’ve seen her around before. I probably have, actually. Mistwood isn’t that big of a city.

I motion to the angel statue. “Weeping … you know what, never mind.”

“Uh, okay,” she says and keeps walking. I shake my head. Remember who you’re with. We set up in silence. Half an hour later, things are in place and I’m wondering if they will let us have a few early appetizers.

I sit in the shade and pull out my phone. Erin is on her way with the cake, and the party starts in an hour. It’s going to be a long day.

“Thanks for helping,” Jake says and takes a seat across from me.

“Of course,” I say, smiling. “You’re my baby bro. I’d do anything to help you, you know that.”

“I do. And you have,” he says quietly, referring to the times I bailed him out of trouble when he was in college and never told Mom or Dad. Or maybe it was the time I paid his accumulated parking tickets, or helped him beat a level in a video game. Whatever it was, he’s grateful.

He looks across the courtyard at Danielle, who’s throwing a mini-fit about the mimosa bar not being how she wanted it.

“She’s a bit of a diva,” he blurts, then looks embarrassed to have admitted that out loud.

“Just a bit,” I say and nudge his foot under the table. “But so are you. You were always the high-maintenance sibling.”

“That is so far from the truth.”

I laugh. “No, that’s how it is in my mind. Diva or not, Danielle seems great.”

“She is. I wish you got to know her more. Maybe you guys could go out or something. Have some sister-in-law bonding time.”

I have to work to keep my face neutral. “Yeah, maybe. That’d be fun.” I push my hair over my shoulder. “Is she always like this or is the diva-ness an offshoot from being a bridezilla?”

Jake laughs. “Bridezilla. She likes things to go as planned.” He shrugs. “It’s her day. You know I don’t care about weddings and whatnot. But I want to give her this, make her happy, ya know?”

“Don’t make me cry,” I say with a smile. Really, though, I’m so proud of Jake for growing up and changing from pain-in-the-ass younger brother to a man. Someone walks over to the mimosa bar and begins setting up. “Oh, booze!” I say, perking up. “Can the husband-to-be score me a mimosa, hold the OJ?”

“You just want a glass of champagne?”

“I do. You know I don’t like orange juice.”

He puts his hands on the table to stand. “I’ll see what I can do. Then I’m going in to sit at the bar and watch some ESPN until it’s time to open presents.” He makes a face and rolls his eyes.

“Lucky,” I say, even though sports aren’t my thing. “I’ll be here, uh, sitting and having fun.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Be a good sport.”

“I think I am.”

Jake goes over to the little bar, talks to the lady behind it, turns to me and shakes his head. Dammit. I lean back in the chair and look around the garden. Other than the creepy statue, everything is perfect. Flowers in full bloom outline the stone patio, and little crystal ornaments glisten in the sunlight on the surrounding trees. It looks like something out of a fairytale, and I kind of love it.

Weddings are all about coming together and celebrating love. They should make me happy, right? I let out a sigh. So why do they make me feel so lonely?

I get up and ask Danielle if there’s anything else she needs me to do—there isn’t—and then wander around until Erin gets here. I help her carry in the surprisingly heavy cake and set it on the table at the front of the banquet room. The event planner swoops in and puts decorations and candles on the table, giving it the “finishing touches” that it requires.

Erin and I sit in the back, chatting and watching everyone buzz about. Soon, family and friends filter in and the party gets started. I come back to my table with a plate full of appetizers and another mimosa, sitting next to Erin and across from my grandma and a few cousins.

“How’s work?” my grandma asks.

“It’s good,” I say and hope she doesn’t ask me what I do again. I tried explaining what an internet browser is to her before and that convo only ended in confusion and frustration. “Keeps me busy, but I like it.”

“That’s good, honey. And how’s that guy you were dating, Mike? Or Matt?”

“Mike,” I say and internally shutter. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh, what a shame,” my grandma says. “He was such a nice guy. But you’ll find someone else, someone better.”

“I’m sure I will.” I flick my eyes to Erin. She picks up her glass and smirks.

“Can I ask what happened?” my grandma asks.

“We just weren’t compatible,” I say, making Erin snicker into her mimosa. Grandma was right about one thing: Mike is a nice guy. But he has particular sexual interests that I just couldn’t deal with. I need a drink just thinking about it, and feel the need to hide my feet under the chair cover.

Mike is nice all right, but he has a foot fetish. His dick spent more time rubbing against the soles of my feet than it did actually inside me, blow jobs included. I gave it my all, kept my toenails manicured and polished, and went months without any actual penetration before I called it quits.

“Good thing you found that out before you got in too deep,” my grandma says.

“Yes,” I say and take another drink. Though there was little getting in deep with Mike. “It’s a good thing for sure.”

The event planner calls everyone’s attention, and we start playing the typical bridal shower games. Not knowing Danielle, I think it’s safe to say I lost.

Once the shower ends, we help my brother and Danielle pack everything up to take back to their little house by the water. Danielle doesn’t officially live with Jake yet, and she tries to pass off as a virgin to her parents and my own, but I know my brother and know he wouldn’t stay in a relationship if he wasn’t getting some. Because he’s a pig like that. Then again, I wouldn’t stay in a relationship like that either.

Erin stays for dinner at my parent’s house, and we spend the rest of the night sketching out our costume ideas and ordering materials online. I hug her and my family goodbye, take one last look at the remaining twilight glistening off the lake, and get in my car to start the drive home, reminding myself not to speed. I have Mr. Silent Knight and a DVR’d episode of Game of Thrones waiting for me, after all.

*

“You should dress up like this more often,” Cameron says, scrolling through Facebook. “You’re hot.”

I look up from the computer and make a face. “Would you pay me more if I dressed up?”

He raises his eyebrows. “No, but I—”

“Then it’s not worth it.” I quickly type out a code, press enter, then save my progress. “What do you think?” I ask and push my feet against the floor, causing my rolling chair to scoot away from the desk. I yawn and grab my coffee at the last minute, before I’m too far to reach it. It’s Monday morning. I need all the coffee I can get today. Cameron leans in, clicking through the website.

“It looks great! Way better than what the client paid for,” he only half jokes. “Seriously. You’re good, Lissy.”

“Thanks. And really, it was easy.”

“I don’t know why you’re here,” he says quietly. “As much as I don’t want to lose you, I feel like you’re wasting your talents here.”

I shrug off the compliment. “When the CIA seeks me out to be part of a top-secret hacker group, I’ll quit.”

Cameron rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you apply? You don’t have to be kidnapped in a black windowless van to get a job with the government, you know.”

“I do,” I say. “And I’ve looked into it. I’ll think about it.” I’ve opened the online application many times. Not just the CIA either. The FBI or Homeland Security would work too. And I’m sure there were other even more secret groups out there too. I wouldn’t exactly be Black Widow, but fighting cybercrime would be badass enough for me.

“So,” I say with a sigh. “Do I have to go to that appointment now?”

Cameron checks the time. “You got some time. What do you want for lunch? Thai food?”

I smile. “Aww, you know me so well.”

“More than I wish I did,” he shoots back. “Your usual?”

I nod and log onto my company email to message the art director about the garden website. Assuming he approves the graphics I added this morning, I’m done. I grab my phone and scroll through Pinterest, pinning fan-made memes of my favorite shows until Cameron texts me to tell me lunch is here.

No one really cares that I’m friends with the boss, but Cam worries about his boss coming down hard on him for being so casual with me. There are no official policies against it, but it’s “frowned upon” by the guys upstairs. Whatever. Buying me lunch as a thank you is harmless, if you ask me. I sit in the breakroom, half paying to the Steve Wilkos show as I eat my spicy noodles until I have to go.

I tell the people at On Star the address and get directions sent over, then drive halfway across town to a fancy art gallery, owned by a Mr. Hartford. I park and pull down the mirror, running my hands through my hair, which had gotten messy from the wind blowing through the open windows.

A little bit of dread goes through me when I get out of the car. I take a breath, finding my resolve, and think about Black Widow again. I push my shoulders back and walk into the lobby. Cold air hits me, making goosebumps break out over my arms.

I’m standing in a small foyer-ish lobby, with dark wooden floors and what I guess is the original tin-tiled ceiling. The lights are dimmed and weird; abstract art hangs on the walls. There are teeny-tiny handwritten price tags under each painting. My eyebrows hike up and I shake my head. Those things each cost my month’s rent.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, and walks out from behind a satin curtain that’s hanging by a desk.

“Yeah,” I say and turn. “I’m here to—” I cut off when the familiar face of Mindy fucking Abraham comes into view.

Her brows push together. “Felicity?”

Dammit. I can’t lie about who I am now, even though my first thought is to switch to a British accent and call myself Emma.

“I’m here to help you with the computer issues you’re having. Customer service and all,” I finish, bypassing her question again.

She blinks a few times. “Right, right.” She smiles pleasantly and turns, waving me to follow her. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a perfect French twist, not a strand out of place, and her pencil skirt is the perfect combination of tight and work-appropriate, as well as the gray satin blouse she has on. There isn’t a single run in her panty-hose, and her tall black heels click on the floor.

I shake myself, digging my nails into my palms. I’m not standing in the high school cafeteria, cheeks burning from the heat of embarrassment as she points and laughs at how my Spiderman lunch box matches the patches of red skin on my arms.

I internally grumble and take a step forward. Fuck you, Cameron, for making me do this. I close my eyes, inhale, and channel my inner Hermione. She never gave two shits what anyone thought of her and she ended up being even more badass than Harry, even if the books don’t admit it.

Mindy scoots a big leather chair out from behind the dark oak desk. There’s a picture of her holding a toddler, smiling up at the camera. Of course she’s married and has the world’s cutest kid.

“I thought someone named Marissa was coming out,” she starts and enters her password into the computer.

“Yeah, she’s having a baby or something,” I say. “I’m just filling in.”

She nods. “Do you remember me? I’m pretty sure we went to high school together.”

Of course I remember her. She, along with her popular friends, made my life hell for a few years. I turn and look at her, as if I have to recall her face, as if she hadn’t impacted me as she did.

“Mindy,” I say like the name suddenly came to me. “Yeah, I remember you.”

She smiles. “Thought so. And I did totally see you at that store the other day.”

I keep my eyes on the computer screen, wincing at how outdated everything is. Seriously, Windows XP? I shrug. “Maybe. So, what’s the problem you’ve been having?”

“I think it has a virus,” she says. “We bought some sort of Kasper-something or other but I don’t think it works. Everything is so slow and I can’t get onto the internet without clicking on this a million times.” She points with a manicured nail to the Wi-Fi icon on the screen. “The website you guys made won’t load, and I can’t update it. So you can get rid of the virus and put new protection on then make the site work?”

I laugh. “It’s not that easy, but let me run a few checks and see what’s going on.” I scoot the big chair closer and after a few clicks know one of the problems is the lack of memory and the old systems the gallery is using. It’s not compatible with the website. The server can’t support pretty much anything done in the last five years.

“When did you move to Grand Rapids?” Mindy asks. She’s hovering over my shoulder, watching me work. It’s fucking annoying.

“About half a year ago,” I say.

“I’ve been here for four years,” she says, like I care. “My husband got a job at the hospital here.”

I nod, trying not to notice the way she accentuated the word “husband.”

“And I’ve been here for a while. I just needed something to do, and Ben is so talented.”

“Ben?”

“The artist,” she says. I catch her rolling her eyes. “He owns the gallery.”

“Gotcha,” I say.

“He has a computer in his office that has the same virus. Same issues. Slow, bad internet connection.”

“That doesn’t mean a virus,” I say. “Where’s the router?” When Mindy doesn’t answer, I turn to look at her. Her eyes are wide open.

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be able to figure that out? You’re the expert here. Maybe in ‘my documents’?”

Thank you, Mindy fucking Abraham, for reinforcing the pretty and stupid stereotype.

“It’s not in the computer,” I say. “It’s a little box-looking thing. What other computers do you have?”

“There’s this one, and one in Ben’s office.”

“I’d guess the router is in there. Is he in there too, by any chance? I can go take a look at it now.”

She looks at me like I just asked for free backstage passes for a sold-out concert. “No. He’s busy, and he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s busy.”

Sounds like a nice guy. “Uh, okay. You don’t have a virus, but your computer is horribly out of date. It can’t support the site, which is why you can’t get it to load.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “You can tell that already?”

“I’ll run a full diagnostic test,” I say. “But I promise you that’s the issue.”

“Is it going to take long? Because I have stuff to do.”

“I’m not sure how long it will take yet. Your computer needs a lot of updates, and the lack of memory is going to make that hard. I’ll see what I can do.”

Mindy leans in. “Can you put more memory on it? I have a Google Drive thing.”

“That’s not really the same,” I say and feel like I’m talking to my grandma. “It can help if you delete things from your hard drive, but it would have to be a substantial amount.”

Mindy straightens and crosses her arms. “So you have no idea how long this will take?”

“No, I don’t,” I reply and remind myself to stay professional. I’m working a job, not catching up with an old high school nemesis. “You’re way overdue for an upgrade. I’ll do that and try the site again. Well, update if I can.” I click through a few more things, growing annoyed and irritated with Mindy hovering. “I’ll let you know when I’m done,” I inform her with a smile.

“Okay,” she says and turns, only to return a minute later with another chair. “I need to sit at the desk.”

“Makes sense.”

She’s still too close, and I feel her eyes on me, not the computer. “I haven’t seen you since college,” she begins, pausing to see if I’d say anything.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you without that skin issue. It seems to have cleared up.”

I freeze. Seriously? I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or pissed. It took a while to find a good combo of creams and meds, but I’d finally gotten the red flakey skin from psoriasis to go away. I’d have to stop taking the medication if I ever got pregnant, but I figure if a man loved me enough to intentionally knock me up, he’ll be okay with the red spots for a while.