“Don’t you worry about my sex life. I do just fine. You worry about yourself,” I say.
“Please never say ‘sex life’ to me again.”
I laugh, tempted to point out that he started it. “I’m leaving here soon. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
There’s a slight pause before Lincoln lets out a breath. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
The toy in my hand snaps in half. “Anytime. Always.”
“And if he calls?” Lincoln adds hesitantly.
“I haven’t spoken directly to him since the day I moved out.” Lincoln starts to talk, and I cut him off. “And if he does, I won’t tell him a fucking thing.”
The ever-looming tension with my father causes my jaw to clench tight. Until Lincoln is able to live with me legally, we will never be free of him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
I make a sound that says something along the lines of, “Don’t even worry about it. You mean more to me than that douchecanoe ever will.”
What I say is, “I’m just going to check on one last thing and then I’m heading out. If you’re still awake when I get home, I’ll tuck you in with your teddy and read you a story.”
I can practically hear him roll his eyes and it make me grin.
“Only if you do the voices,” he says.
“Deal.” I laugh. Lincoln can always give as good as he gets.
“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he says.
The words cause a fresh wave of guilt. I should be taking care of him. I should be the person cooking him meals, and yet here I am at work while he’s alone at my house.
“Thanks,” I say, my throat tight with emotion. “I’ll see you soon.”
We disconnect without another word.
After I go back to the lab and check that the initial tests are set to run for the night, I come back to my office and pack up my bag. I rub at eyes so dry I can hardly focus. One day at a time. This will all be worth it. I just need to deliver this contract to the customer and then I can slow down. My team can be with their families, and I can be a better brother to Lincoln.
I close and lock my office door, thinking how in just a few short hours I’ll be back here to start it all over again. I wonder again if I blew it with Julia. Hopefully the team made up for my awkwardness. When I realize I’m just standing outside my door in the dark hallway thinking of her like a weirdo, I shake my head and head out to my car.
“My laser,” I say out loud, and a smile spreads on my face.
6
Julia
“Ginger, I’m home!” I yell, dropping my keys in the dish by the front door.
My roommate doesn’t respond, but what else is new? I head to the pantry and grab him a treat before making my way to his tank. My feet drag with exhaustion. Having to pull back so much and the stress of the day has taken its toll on me.
After meeting with Nathanial, I ended up going back to my office to pack up the rest of my stuff. I didn’t take it out to my Jeep though. I took a few hours to look over some non-classified documents and the statement of work that Nathaniel emailed me “just in case.” I actually found a little wiggle room in their schedule. I typed up a report and decided in the morning I would talk to him about what I found as a thank-you for the amazing offer, but that ultimately, I couldn’t take the position.
At least the regret would be genuine.
“Hi, happy birthday!” I muster some excitement into my voice.
Ginger ignores me until I drop the freeze-dried prawn into his extra-large tank. He swims out and around dramatically as his dinner turns over and over, falling toward the bottom of the tank. He likes to remind me of his beauty as often as possible. The gold and orange hues of his scales flash around the tank.
“Sort of a weird day,” I tell him. “Sorry I’m home so late.”
He passes over the treat, barely deeming it worthy of his attention. He wouldn’t want me to know he’s excited about it.
Grandma Sue gave me my first betta fish on one of my last birthdays with her. She always had more confidence in my ability to keep things alive. Technically, this is Ginger the third; my betta fish haven’t lived more than four years each.
He’s the bright spot of color in the plant graveyard that is my townhouse. Pot after pot of my failed attempts to control my sickness line the counters and bookshelves of my small, pre-furnished home. I haven’t named all of them like I did Ferngully, but I don’t have the heart to throw them away.
Despite the evidence, I can’t help that I’m an optimist. Focus on what’s working.
“I am, Grandma Sue,” I say to the air. I pour myself a mug of chamomile and open my laptop. Ginger swims to the back of his tank, ignoring me and his snack.
“We’ll talk more later. You’re upset. I get that.”
Ping.
Right on cue. The message opens to an obnoxious GIF, blaring with confetti and a half-naked man.
WeepingAngel: Happy last week!!
My smile grows as I read the message. Angel and I have never met in real life and we don’t share too many personal details, but I feel like I know her better than anybody else. We’re there for each other when the rest of the world gets dark. We met in a forum for those with chronic illness and instantly clicked over our shared love of terrible puns and Doctor Who references.
I’ve taken to calling her just Angel for many reasons, the main one being that she literally managed to save my life despite a flimsy Wi-Fi connection and my constant moving. During all the nights of loneliness and pain after I lost Grandma Sue, she was there for me.
DudeWheresMyTardis: Aww, you remembered.
WeepingAngel: Of course I did, you boob!
DudeWheresMyTardis: You can’t call the person you’re supposed to be congratulating a boob. There’s a rule somewhere.
WeepingAngel: Well don’t act like one and I won’t. Actually, you’re right. That’s not fair.
DudeWheresMyTardis: *Skeptical emoji*
WeepingAngel: Boobs are amazing and multi-purposeful. It’s an insult to them.
DudeWheresMyTardis: I need new friends.
“Or any real-life friends,” I say out loud to myself. “Sorry, Ginger.” A flash of tail and he’s gone again. “That’ll cost me another frozen prawn.”
DudeWheresMyTardis: Actually, about this being my last day. Something weird happened today …
WeepingAngel: Good weird or bad weird?
I glance up at the tank to find Ginger delicately nibbling his birthday treat. He’s a little jealous of Angel but I don’t feed into that.
“That good, huh?” I say to my fish.
He zips back to the other side, his fins full on display. His fabulous tails swishes and ripples through the water as he makes a quick turn around the tank, like the flowing chiffon of an elaborate dance costume. It was until Ginger Jr. that I learned that only male bettas had the impressive plumage, not females, but the name had already stuck.
DudeWheresMyTardis: I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. Bad, I think.
WeepingAngel: Oh no, why?
DudeWheresMyTardis: I was offered a position on a new contract. Here, locally. More money. The team is amazing. The project is fascinating. (I can’t tell you more about it. If I do, I’d have to kill you.)
WeepingAngel: God, you’re right. This all sounds terrible. I’m glad you made it through the day.
DudeWheresMyTardis: Har-har
WeepingAngel: Talk me through this. How is this bad weird?
DudeWheresMyTardis: I was just about to take a break before I moved again. See some of the country.
I hesitate. I almost ask about meeting her but chicken out.
DudeWheresMyTardis: It feels like time for me to move on.
I have stayed in El Lugar two years already. Usually that’s my max. I know a few weeks don’t seem like a big deal, but Grandma Sue and Grandpa knew best.
WeepingAngel: Is that what you want? Really? Because the way y
ou talk about that town makes me think you might like it just a little.
I do like it. That’s the problem. I like it here too much.
DudeWheresMyTardis: I just don’t like to get too attached to people. You know what I mean.
WeepingAngel: How much longer would you have to stay?
DudeWheresMyTardis: Just a few weeks.
WeepingAngel: And you think in that amount of time something would change from the last two years?
DudeWheresMyTardis: I don’t know …
Here comes the part I didn’t want to talk about, but I need help fleshing out at least one part of my hesitation.
DudeWheresMyTardis: There is one other thing. The chief engineer of this project is this guy I have a sort of crush on.
WeepingAngel: Nathaniel? The super genius hottie?
I blink at the screen. Heat burns my cheeks.
DudeWheresMyTardis: Oh. Have I mentioned him before?
I didn’t think I’d ever named names…
WeepingAngel: Once or twice. The Coffee Shop Incident. *eyeroll emoji* But this makes sense. You got it, you got it bad …
DudeWheresMyTardis: Ugh. I sort of do, yes.
WeepingAngel: Listen. You have to do what you feel is best, but this opportunity sounds amazing. This team is the one you’re talking about all the time too, I assume? It would be great for your career and it would be super interesting work. You like your house and your town. It sounds to me like there are a ton of pros and one sort of vague con. It’s just a few weeks. You could hang on for a little bit longer.
She’s right. Well, except for the list of cons. My control over the illness is wobbly but I can keep going up to the mountain to discharge. I’d just need to be extra careful. I could make it work.
DudeWheresMyTardis: UGH. I’ll think about it.
WeepingAngel: Atta girl! After all, what’s the worst that could happen?
I groan out loud. “I wish people would stop saying that. It’s just asking for trouble.”
Instead, I change the subject.
DudeWheresMyTardis: How’s today?
WeepingAngel: 4. U?
DudeWheresMyTardis: 2
Every time we check in, we track each other’s pain levels for the day on a scale of one to ten, ten being we probably wouldn’t be online at all. There are many of us chronic pain sufferers. Undiagnosed. Ignored. Made to feel like we are crazy or melodramatic. And while I understand that going too long without releasing the sickness causes my pain, I still don’t exactly understand how. I used to spend hours every day scouring online forums looking for anybody like me. When I met Angel, I understood that this was the hand I was dealt. At least I had some control in life. So many of the people I met along the way have no control. Pain in their bodies without anybody believing them. It’s a tragic population of the country swept under the rug. Angel is undiagnosed as well and shies away from talking about her own problems too much.
WeepingAngel: Good! Listen, I gotta run. Still on for Friday?
DudeWheresMyTardis: You know it. :D
My check-in with my only friend is over too soon, which means I have to face the rest of the evening alone. It’s a little after ten p.m. I wonder if Nathaniel is still at work. What does he do when he’s not being cute and funny and saving the world one brilliant idea at a time? Going home to a family of chubby-cheeked happy children and a wife with a big garden?
I shake my head and sip my tea, pushing thoughts of him away. No more of this silly crush nonsense. No point in dwelling.
I queue up some movie I’ve seen a dozen times and watch until I’m sleepy enough to trudge to bed.
I fall asleep telling myself the plan for the next day, thinking about more holes in the schedule for the Lite-Brite contract that may need clarification. My last conscious thought is of a dimpled smile and captivating hazel eyes. Then all too soon I’m ripped awake.
“No,” I gasp out.
I shoot up in bed. The room is filled with my ethereal glow. I’m panting. The sheets are twisted around my legs. The comforter lays in a pile on the floor. My chest heaves up and down and I’m embarrassed to find I’m tender with desire.
What was I dreaming about? But I know. A small room, a warm body pressed up behind me. Naughty words murmured in my ear. I need you.
“No.” I groan. I take deep breaths in and out, counting them until the glow is gone from my hands.
When I’m calm enough, I close my eyes and swallow. A new thought occurs to me.
“Ginger!” I scramble out of bed and into the hallway, slipping on the carpet.
Please be okay, please be okay, I chant over and over as I bolt toward him.
His tank bubbles quietly in the dark room, the dim green light a beacon.
“Ginger?” I call, frantic.
His tail floats unmoving and I can’t swallow.
“Ginger?” my voice cracks.
He swims out and gives me a decidedly pointed look before flicking his tail and going back around the plant he likes to sleep behind. I woke him and he is not pleased.
I slump forward in relief, gripping the counter. “I’m so sorry,” I say.
I can’t stay. Things are getting worse. This has to be part of the reason Grandma Sue never allowed us to stay in one place too long. I have to turn down Nathaniel’s offer. In the morning I would go and tell him thank you, but no. It was for the best.
* * *
My hands shake as I grab the short report I typed up for Nathaniel from the printer. I could have just emailed it, but I owed him a face-to-face conversation at the very least. This report should help his team even if I can’t stay. I hardly slept last night and I’m a nervous wreck.
Saying no to his offer may be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
I grab the last box of my belongings to take out to my Jeep and drop the report on top. Just as I’m rounding my building—my former building—I stop in my tracks.
It’s plastic-smile billboard man, William Moore. He’s standing a few yards away with his arms crossed over his chest and fake concern written all over his frowning face, talking to another man I don’t recognize. They are similar in height and build, both with salt and pepper hair, but William’s shiny hair is blaring in the morning sunrise.
In the light of day, he’s just as insincere as on his billboards. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. Bad energy, Grandma Sue would say.
They don’t notice me as I pass but when I hear “Nathaniel” followed quickly by “Lite-Brite.” Something about their hushed voices and furrowed brows tell me they aren’t exactly singing Nathaniel’s praises. I stop. I can’t help myself. Maybe I’m a little nosy, but I’ve met the team and instantly felt protective of them.
I retreat into the opening of the building, blocking me from being seen. Don’t mind me just examining this wall. Definitely not eavesdropping.
“Listen, I like the kid,” says William. “He seems like he’s going places. But I just don’t know that he’s ready for this sort of responsibility.”
The other man scratches at his chin. “I have had similar concerns.”
Someone passes out the doors and I busy myself pretending to look through the box I’ve set on the ground. When they pass, I prick my ears to continue listening even though I dislike everything I’m hearing.
“Seems like they’re doomed to failure. I mean, I know we aren’t allowed to talk like this—it’s not PC or whatnot—but the little band of weirdos aren’t going to sell their ideas looking like that,” the other man says without a hint of shame.
I grind my molars and flare my nostrils. The morning sun, combined with the exertion of carrying the box and holding back my rage, causes sweat to collect on my forehead. I take a steadying breath.
“Oh yeah. Man or a woman. Pick one,” William says.
Oh HELL NO. Anger surges up in me. My hands glow as I ball my fists.
“Well. Nathaniel was given a chance. When this fails, it won’t be the lab’s fault.�
�� This from the other man, who I don’t recognize.
“No. It won’t come back on the labs. The customer will probably pull the contract. Shemesh-Tek … I mean, what sort of name is that anyway?”
“It’s like I said. If they can’t get their shit together … well, they’ll learn how the real world works. The hard way,” William says. As though he is so old and wise. As though life hasn’t always made a way for men like him.
I’m shaking with anger. I think of the team. How this project could actually help make the world better. And these men, these snooty businessmen who probably don’t even understand the brilliance of Nathaniel and the team … GAH! It makes me so angry.
Fine. They don’t believe in Shemesh-Tek, but I do. I have rooted for the underdog most of my life. Just like Nathaniel. Just like Shemesh-Tek.
I won’t let these suits ruin that future. Anger pulses through me as I snatch up my box and stomp to my Jeep. I look down at my hands to find they’re glowing. Too bad if I went off now. I’d take these guys out.
How dare they talk like that? The gall. Nathaniel’s team doesn’t deserve this. Nathaniel doesn’t deserve this. Hell, nobody does.
“I should go and find HR,” I say to the picture of my grandparents.
If you think that’s best.
I can just imagine how that would go. Reporting that I was eavesdropping on the guy who owns half the town.
“Ugh.” I squeeze the steering wheel and throttle it, causing my upper body to shake back and forth. “It’s not fair. They’re good people. It’s a good project.”
Grandma Sue gives me that same patient look.
“Frick. Frick.”
I start the engine and drive to the other side of the base. All the while my brain is spinning. More and more anger bubbles on the surface as I go through security.
The Untouched: THE UNSEEN SERIES, #2 Page 5