Landline(3)

She set her coffee down at her desk, then plugged the phone into her laptop, shaking it, like a Polaroid picture, while she waited for it to wake up.

A grape flew between her nose and the screen.

“So?” Seth asked.

Georgie lifted her head, looking at him properly for the first time since she got to work. He was wearing a pink oxford with a green knit vest, and his hair was especially swoopy today. Seth looked like a handsome Kennedy cousin. Like one who didn’t inherit the teeth.

“So what?” she said.

“So, how’d it go?”

He meant with Neal. But he wouldn’t say “with Neal”—because that’s how they all got by. There were rules.

Georgie looked back down at her phone. No missed calls. “Fine.”

“I told you it’d be fine.”

“Well, you were right.”

“I’m always right,” Seth said.

Georgie could hear him sitting back in his chair. She could picture him, too—long legs kicked up, resting on the edge of their shared desk.

“You are very occasionally, eventually, partially right,” she said, still fiddling with her phone.

Neal and the girls were probably already on their second flight by now. They’d had a short layover in Denver. Georgie thought about sending them a text—love you guys—and imagined it landing in Omaha before they did.

But Neal never sent text messages, so he never checked them; it was like texting a void.

She put down the phone and pushed her glasses into her hair, trying to focus on her computer. She had a dozen new e-mails, all from Jeff German, the comedian who was the star of their show.

Georgie would not miss Jeff German if this new deal went through. She wouldn’t miss his e-mails. Or his red ball cap. Or the way he made her rewrite entire episodes of Jeff’d Up if he thought the actors who played his TV family were getting too many laughs.

“I can’t take this.” The door swung open, and Scotty slunk in. There was just enough room in Seth and Georgie’s office for one other chair—an uncomfortable hammocky thing from IKEA. Scotty fell onto it sideways, holding his head. “I can’t. I’m terrible with secrets.”

“Good morning,” Georgie said.

Scotty peeked through his fingers. “Hey, Georgie. The girl out front said to tell you that your mom’s on the phone. Line two.”

“Her name is Pamela.”

“Okay. My mom’s name is Dixie.”

“No, the new PA, her name . . .” Georgie shook her head and reached for the black desk phone that sat between her and Seth. “This is Georgie.”

Her mom sighed. “I’ve been on hold so long, I thought that girl forgot about me.”

“Nope. What’s up?”

“I just called to see how you were doing.” Her mom sounded concerned. (Her mom liked to sound concerned.) “I’m fine,” Georgie said.

“Well . . .” Another sigh. A fortified sigh. “I talked to Neal this morning.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I set my alarm. I knew you guys were leaving early—I wanted to say goodbye.”

Her mom always made a big deal about plane trips. And minor surgery. And sometimes just getting off the phone. “You never know when it’s going to be the last time you see somebody, and you don’t want to miss your chance to say goodbye.”

Georgie propped the phone between her ear and shoulder, so she could type. “That was nice of you. Did you get to talk to the girls?”

“I talked to Neal,” her mom said again. For emphasis. “He told me you guys are spending some time apart.”

“Mom,” Georgie said, bringing her hand back to the receiver. “Only the week.”

“He said you were splitting up for Christmas.”

“Not like that—why’re you making it sound like that? Something just came up for me at work.”

“You’ve never had to work on Christmas before.”

“I don’t have to work on Christmas. I have to work around Christmas. It’s complicated.” Georgie resisted checking to see if Seth was listening. “It was my decision.”

“You decided to be alone on Christmas.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with you.”

“But, honey, we’re spending the day with Kendrick’s family—I told you that—and your sister’s going to her dad’s. I mean, you’re welcome to come to San Diego with us. . . .”

“Never mind, I’ll figure it out.” Georgie glanced around the room. Seth was throwing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. Scotty was sprawled out miserably, like he had menstrual cramps. “I have to get back to work.”

“Well, come over tonight,” her mom said. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’m fine, Mom, really.”

“Come over, Georgie. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“There’s no ‘right now,’ Mom. I’m fine.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll make dinner—come.” She hung up before Georgie could argue any more.

Georgie sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her eyelids felt greasy. Her hands smelled like coffee.