My jaw tightens as he continues.
“That being said, whoever ends up in the less than optimal position, you’ll be sent with a letter of recommendation signed by Mr. Truitt and myself. I have no doubt you’ll be able to find an opening with one of the other thriving companies in the area with ease. Now, unless either of you is willing to drop out, I’m going to be honest with you. It’s a tight competition. You’re both very qualified, and I’m confident that either of you would thrive if given the opportunity. We have an interesting pair of projects you’ll both be working on that require a great deal of research in the upcoming weeks. Once you’ve presented your data to a few key players here at Montague Enterprises, we’ll make a decision. As far as the project goes, we need you to look for––”
It takes everything inside of me to ignore the buzz in my ears and focus on Greg’s instructions.
Once he’s finished delving into the specifics, he stands from his chair. “That’ll be all, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing how you both apply yourselves.”
Dismissed, Conner and I exit Greg’s office then make our way to the break room.
“Shit, man,” Conner mumbles once we’re out of earshot. “I don’t know how I’m going to get all this done on top of my current workload.”
“Neither do I,” I admit before grabbing a black mug from the cupboard and filling it with some dark, rich coffee. It might be later in the afternoon, but I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a while, and I’ll need the caffeine.
It scalds my tongue as I suck down a quick gulp, but I don’t really care right now. There’s too much to do, and I can’t think through the cloud of discouragement that accompanied the previous conversation.
“I’m gonna get back to work. I’ll see ya later.” Conner slaps me on the back then leaves me alone with my shitty cup of coffee and the overwhelming fear that I won’t be able to take care of my mom if this falls through.
I can’t let her down.
“Hey, Mom!” I call from the doorway. I might have a key to my childhood home, but I know how much it freaks her out to hear someone in her house if she doesn’t know who it is.
“Levi?” her quiet voice echoes through the hall. I follow it to see her lounging on the couch with her knitting needles and a ball of yarn in her lap.
“What are you doing here so late?” she asks. The soft glow of the TV bounces off her pale skin.
“Just wanted to check in.”
“You checked in yesterday.”
“Yeah. And that was yesterday. What? Is there a problem with your only son wanting to come see you?” I razz before plopping down onto the couch next to her while resting the Get Baked box from Charlie on my lap.
She smiles. “I guess not. There are some leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat them up.”
“Alright, I’ll grab some in a minute. But first, I wanted to see how you’re doing?”
“I’m doing good. Charlie stopped by earlier—”
“Which reminds me,” I cut her off before I can forget and give her the pink box from Get Baked. “She wanted me to give you this.”
“She mentioned I’d be getting a treat tonight.” Bouncing her brows up and down, she takes the box from me, lifts the lid, and grins. “My favorite. One of these days, you’ll have to ask her how to make these.”
I cover my amusement with a closed fist to my lips and a fake cough. “Charlie doesn’t know how to do anything but ring up the orders and frost the cookies, Mom. But I’ll let her know you have a hell of a lot more faith in her than I do.”
The sound of her light laughter makes my chest ache. The question of how much longer I’ll be able to hear it forces its way to the front of my mind, but I shove it aside.
“How’d your appointment go?” I ask, nearly choking on the words.
Her dainty little hand sets down her knitting needle before she cups my cheek. The warmth from her touch seems to spread through me, melting a bit of the ice around my heart.
“It was fine. They scheduled an MRI for next week. Then we’ll figure out a plan and move forward from there. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
She could be right. But she could also be very wrong. Statistically speaking, twenty percent of breast lumps are cancerous, and the doctors are worried this one has been there for a decent amount of time, which raises the chances, though I know she’ll never admit that to me.
I pat her knee then head to the kitchen in an attempt to mask my emotions under the pretense of leftovers. My chest tightens when I see my options in the fridge. Not because I expect a five-course dinner anytime I come over, but because I know how much my mom loves to cook, yet her fridge is nearly empty. She says she isn’t feeling any different since she found the lump. In fact, she insists she feels fine, which means she’s too anxious to cook and, therefore, too anxious to eat.
Grabbing the first Tupperware I see, I shove it into the microwave then hit start. My ass rests against the Formica countertops as I take in my childhood home. The small kitchen has a dining table tucked into a corner, laminate floors that have seen better days but are mopped religiously, and a bin for mail, which is usually kept in order. Not today, though. It looks fuller than ever. Releasing a sigh, I thumb through its contents. None of the white envelopes have the angry red past due stamp on them, but the papers are still worn as if my mom has used her fragile little hands to worry over them more often than once. Bills. Five of them, and I’m afraid it’s just the start. A weight bears down on my shoulders before the microwave dings, snapping me out of my funk.
I drop the mail back into the organizer on the counter. Grabbing a fork and my lukewarm dinner, I head back into the family room then sit down to watch old reruns of Law and Order with my mom, who’s always been more of a superhero than anything else.
Chapter Five
Charlie
I’ve only been at Get Baked for a few minutes when the bell dings above the front door. A grin spreads across my face when Rhett and his dog, Harry, mosey in.
“Hey, guys!” I greet them.
“Hey, Charlie. How’s work going?”
“Meh. I just walked in. What are you guys doing up so early?”
Bending down, Rhett rubs Harry’s head affectionately as he replies, “Indie’s a brat and always wakes up Harry. Sometimes I can get him to go back to bed, but today he wasn’t having it, so we went on a walk. Figured we’d stop by for a quick cup of coffee and a cronut. You know how this big mutt loves his mama.”
“Speaking of which….” I turn around and call into the back of the store, “Hey, Indie! You have a few visitors!”
Seconds later, Indie walks through with a white apron strapped across her waist and her long, blonde hair tied into a messy bun on top of her head. It’s the smear of flour across her cheek that makes me laugh.
“Harry!” she squeals, her hands fumbling with her apron. Hanging it up, she rounds the counter and starts cooing, “How’s my big guy? How’s my buddy? Did you have fun on your walk? I bet you did! I bet you did!”