Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(12)

Chapter 6





“I could have died last night and you don’t even care.”

My mother’s overly dramatic voice in my ear feels like someone is driving nails right through my skull. Pressing my palm against my forehead, I close my eyes and lean back in the computer chair behind the reception desk at EdenMedia. Thankfully, it’s been a quiet morning so far. A few narrators were already hard at work when I got here an hour ago, and I made sure they had everything they needed before running away from the sound booths and back to the safety of the reception area before they started recording.

I know better than to drink on a work night. The empty box of wine on my kitchen table this morning, along with the podcast equipment strewn all around it, tells me I made more than one poor choice last night, but all I can remember is sitting at the table talking to myself. And watching a really unhealthy number of episodes of Fuller House.

“Mom, if you would have died last night, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have called me twelve times and sent eight text messages.”

“Your father could have been using my phone to tell you I died. I went through eighteen hours of labor with you, without the comfort of pain medication, and you don’t even care that I might be lying here right now, dead. I would have died without my daughter even telling me about her job interview.”

I silently mouth the whole “eighteen hours of labor” spiel right along with her, since that’s always her go-to way of making me feel guilty.

“I’ve already gotten three phone calls this morning asking how your interview went, and I had to pretend like I have a thoughtful, loving daughter who cares about her own mother and tells her about what’s going on with her life,” she continues.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was a long day, and I was exhausted when I got home. Didn’t you get my text that I got the job and everything was fine?”

Yes, I took the chicken’s way out and sent her a text instead of calling her back. I was in no way prepared last night to explain to her what they do here at EdenMedia. The fact that I picked up her call a few minutes ago without giving it a second thought is just a reminder that I’m not running on all cylinders this morning, because I’m still not prepared. I doubt I’ll ever be.

Sheesh, how much did I drink last night, and what did I do with that equipment?

“How was I supposed to know that text was even from you? You could have been abducted on your way home and that was your kidnapper sending a text just to throw me off. That happened to Karen Mendleson. You remember Karen Mendleson’s daughter from high school. Alicia Mendleson. You two always had lockers next to each other, because it was alphabetical order. Pretty girl, except for when she smiled, because she had that problem with her front teeth, but just the sweetest thing and always so polite. She works for Dr. Stanford’s office as a medical assistant, and since they have a good dental plan, she finally got her teeth fixed with braces. She was on her way home from work a few months ago and stopped to get gas. Not at Colony Plaza, because their gas is always ten cents higher than everywhere else. She went to Kwik Trip, but since there was a water main break on East Main Street, she had to take Yellowstone Trail to Vista Boulevard. So, she gets her gas and heads to Karen’s house for dinner. Karen was making lasagna, and she doesn’t use those precooked noodles like I told her to, so of course it took over an hour for the lasagna to cook, and Alicia still wasn’t there, even though she’d sent her mother a text telling her she would be there in a few minutes. Poor Karen. She still talks about that night.”

My headache grows increasingly worse with each word my mother speaks.

“Mom, Alicia got a flat tire. She didn’t get kidnapped,” I remind her, having spoken to Alicia at church the day after this happened where we both commiserated about how crazy our mothers are.

“But Karen didn’t know that! Just wait until you have your own children, Heidi, and you’ll understand the pain I go through on a daily basis worrying about you. Now, tell me all about this job. I’ve got a pan of toffee bars in the oven and have thirty minutes until they’re finished.”

A chime echoes through the reception area, indicating someone just walked through the front doors. I quickly sit up straight in my chair, thankful I’m literally being saved by the bell. Holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I quickly move the mouse around on top of the desk to bring the computer back to life to check the calendar and see who’s scheduled to be here.

“It’s just a typical office job where I answer phones and send emails. It’s fine, I’m fine, and there’s not much else to tell right now.”

At least nothing I want to tell her over the phone. Or ever.

I do a double take when I see the name listed on the calendar, wondering if I’m still a little wine drunk from last night. There’s no way that’s correct. No way at all. When I sense someone standing in front of my desk, I slowly look up from the computer screen, and my mouth drops open.

“I went through eighteen hours of—”

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I quickly end the call, cutting my mother off midsentence, knowing I’m going to pay for that later. And by “later” I mean right this second, since my phone immediately starts buzzing in my hand. I don’t have to look down at it to know it’s her calling back. I quickly press the button on the side of the phone to silence it, open the top drawer of the desk, and toss it inside, never taking my eyes off the man standing in front of me.