"I was just being friendly. Clearly, you know him better than you let on. So I assumed something was going on with you two. You didn't tell me anything about board games and book discussions. Or how handsome he is."
"We were looking for ways to pass time at the cabin," I insisted.
"And the handsome part?"
"Seemed inconsequential."
"Oh, honey, a man who looks like that is never inconsequential. I know, I know, it's not about looks. But he is also charming and sweet."
"You talked to him for fifteen minutes."
"Which was long enough to know what I know. And inviting him to brunch will only allow me to get to know him better."
"To what end?"
"To make a new friend."
"Mom."
"Fine," she said, sighing. "You two kept looking at each other like you had unfinished business."
"Well, we don't," I told her, shrugging. "It's finished. It is all finished."
And that was my intention.
Life, it seemed, had other plans.
EIGHT
Rush
Work was slow.
I mean, my job had been slow a lot lately.
But it was especially slow now.
Meaning I hadn't had a call in days, not since I came back from the woods.
I would sit at my desk at night waiting for a phone that never rang, a call that never came.
Not even her.
My regular.
A woman who called, but rarely spoke. If she did, she did so in a small voice, barely audible. Instead, she had specified in her notes that we asked callers to fill out, describing their preferences, that I talk to her. About "anything" she'd said. So, sometimes, I talked to her about the weather, something I was watching on TV, some news story I'd heard about that wasn't too controversial. And she just listened.
I guess that should have been weird. But lonely people just wanted to not be so alone sometimes, to hear a voice. Some people could go whole days without speaking to another human being. It was good to get relief from that. Even if you had to pay for it.
Sure, there were nights when I was a little heated from some book I'd been reading when the call came in. And those nights, the stories turned into dirty talk.
She would be on the other line, quiet for a while, but her breathing would get fast, ragged. Then, as things got hotter, she would make these quiet little mewling noises.
Now, the nature of the job was detachment.
The women did it with ease, knitting while taking calls, doing color-by-numbers, painting their nails.
I figured, when I first started, that it would be difficult to detach. Sex was sex. Hell, even phone sex counted. It could get steamy. The body reacted.
But, in the end, Fiona had been right about there being a wall, that it wasn't like real life. Because you knew it was a job. Because you knew you were getting paid. Because you knew at any point in time, someone at the company could listen to your call for quality control, to know things were appropriate.
All that helped.
I never did get turned on during a call. Not even when the older women with a shitton of sexual confidence got on the phone and said filthy shit I wasn't sure I'd ever heard a woman say before.
But then there was my regular girl.
She'd put her name as Katherine, had given her age, but hadn't given out any other personal information, not even interests for me to play off of when we talked.
But even knowing less about her, something about her calls did something. They penetrated the wall of professionalism.
Maybe it was just because she was such a regular caller, on the other end of the phone often enough that I felt a connection with her.
All I knew was her little whimpers and moans actually made me get hard some nights. Fine, most nights.
I was unexpectedly concerned about the absence of her name on my caller ID.
My mind went in several different directions. Something had happened to her. She ran out of money. She found someone.
It was irrational to be annoyed about that prospect, but it was there—a coiled thing under my ribcage—regardless.
"Slow lately, huh?" Fee asked when I came in for my shift the next day, feeling a little more listless than usual. I found myself wanting to hop in my car and take a trip somewhere, anywhere. Get my mind clear. Even though I'd just gotten back.
Because this fucking mind of mine kept going places it had no business going.
Like back to those woods.
To the things I wanted to happen there, but didn't let.
To how much of a dick I'd been in the end.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Feel like I'm cheating you out of money," I told her, shrugging, going to her coffee bar to help myself to her personal coffee machine. We had the one in the main area, but Fiona kept a couple special pods for herself that I liked to steal when I was in a shit mood. Stuff like salted caramel or mocha or Kahlúa.
"Wait, sit," she demanded, brows furrowed, when I tried to rush right back out.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, dropping down into her seat, laughing at the pussy flower statue she had on her desk.
"Pretty, right? Aimee, remember her? She left like a year ago when she got married, she took up ceramics, and made that for me."
"Nice," I agreed, hearing the solemness in my voice, not caring enough to try to mask it.
"What's going on, sort-of-little-brother?" she asked, taking her seat.
"Nothing. Just... frustrated," I admitted, shrugging.
"You know what I find interesting?" she asked, turning a golden pen in between her fingers.
"I'm sure I don't want to know," I told her, lips twitching, "But I know you well enough to know there's no stopping you either."
"Smart boy. Well, I think it is interesting that before you left to go to the cabin, you were happy as a clam. And now, you're all mopey. I find that interesting."
"Fee, don't," I demanded, shaking my head. "Haven't you done enough?" I asked, hearing a rawness in my voice that I didn't like having there, but I didn't know how to stop it either.
"Oh, but I thought it was "no big deal," just the "principal of the thing," she said, air-quoting the things I'd said to her over the phone. I never knew someone to have a better memory than a woman determined to make a point.
"Remember that text you sent me six years ago? On that day where it was raining and the neighbor's dog came barreling into the back door to get out of it? And I took his picture to send you. And then you told me that you thought my interest in photography was a waste of time. Well, look at me now, supporting the two of us with that money. I was just thinking about that, randomly. Funny huh?"
"Fee..."
"I think for all the brushing off you've given me, that I was a little bit right. Something happened in those woods. And you are all pissy about it for some reason," she concluded.
"I'm not pissy," I objected, taking a sip of my too-hot coffee, regretting it as it burned down my throat.
"I raised three daughters, Rush, I know pissy when I see it."
"Look, I don't know what it is, Fee. I'm just feeling restless. Maybe it will pass."