Push(22)

chapter Twelve

My alarm goes off at six, and I’m not sure why, but I open the bottom drawer of my nightstand and look at the gun. It scares me to have it there, so close to where I sleep, just beneath the picture of my mother and me looking so very happy. I pick up the gun, sit up and turn it over in my hand. It’s heavier than I remember it being last night, and I’m a little freaked out about the fact that it is loaded. I imagine what it would be like to shoot it. The most important thing I know about guns—okay, one of the only things I know about guns—is that they have a safety feature. I look for some kind of button or something, and I see what I assume is a safety slide. I don’t dare touch it, though, and decide that I will definitely ask David to show me how to use the damn thing. I sure as shit don’t want to wind up shooting myself by accident.
I put the gun back in the drawer and push it closed. Then I climb out of bed, shower, dress, and have some toast for breakfast. I am out the door by six-fifty.
The morning proceeds quickly at work. Matt is there to hold my hand through the initial stages of the design process we are assigned. He’s nice enough, but there is no doubt in my mind that he is here to make sure I don’t f*ck up. We make small talk while we work, but I’m only feigning interest in what he has to say. I think he’s trying to impress me with stories of his mountain biking trips through Utah and partially clever jokes about the office politics. I listen politely and answer his occasional questions, but it feels so fregging superficial. I wish he wasn’t trying so hard. I’m trying not to get annoyed with Matt, and I figure that if I just keep my comments to a minimum, maybe he’ll realize that I’m not interested and start being himself. Of course I consider that maybe this is being himself; maybe posturing is his thing. Good lord, I hope not. If it is, this f*cking project had better be over sooner rather than later.
At lunchtime, I walk to the cafeteria downstairs to grab something to eat. I check my cell and see that there is a text from David. It was sent at eight-thirty this morning. I inhale deeply and open the message.
All it says is Hi.
I type my reply and hit Send.


Hi back.


Ten seconds pass until his reply arrives.


I’m sorry, Emma. I forgot to ask u last night how your first day went.


It was fine. Day two going good too.


Glad to hear it.


What r u doing today?


Prepping for tonight.


Poker, u mean?


Yes.


Jesus, u need to prep for that? Really?


Yes really.


Hummm. How do I get invited?


U don’t want to be.


Is there fancy food involved or something? Caviar? Shrimp cocktail?


There is no cock, or tail, involved. I promise.


I feel eyes on me as I laugh out loud in line at the salad station.


Well then, I guess I don’t want to be invited after all....


Not unless u want to lose all the money u r earning at that new job.


I wouldn’t lose a dime.


Is that so?


Yes. If I take my shirt off, no one will even notice their cards.


Now THAT would be a sight to see.


Tell me where u r going to be and u can...


Tempting...but I can’t.


Suit yourself. See u Wednesday?


Wednesday it is. I have something I want to show u after work. Can I pick u up downtown?


Yes. In front of the Union Building. 6:00. I’ll b the one in heels.


Ass up?


I’ll consider it.


When two minutes pass and I don’t get a reply, I put my phone back into my purse. I pick out my lunch and head back upstairs to eat it at my desk.
The afternoon passes uneventfully. I work with Matt for another hour or so, then I spend the rest of the day in my cubicle working out how to split a video conferencing line to forty-seven different offices. I’ve got a good grip on this project, and I feel satisfied that the whole thing is moving along perfectly. At five-thirty, I gather my things and head home. I am looking forward to an evening by myself.
When I get back to my apartment, there is a man mowing the lawn in front of the building. He looks vaguely familiar. As I am walking up to the building, digging around in my purse for my keys, he cuts the mower engine. When the silence strikes, I look over at him to see what happened, and he’s just standing there looking at me. I recognize him now. He was the one sitting on David’s bed on Saturday night. I smile a half-smile at him, and continue to search for my keys.
When I find them, I go to open the door and see that the man is standing to my left, only a few paces away.
“Hey,” he says as he continues to walk toward me, “you’re Emma, right? David’s...um, friend?” Oh, this is going to be awkward. Very, very awkward.
“Yes, that’s me,” I say tartly. He offers his right hand for me to shake, but my own hand is already occupied with the keys. He stands with his hand out for a few seconds while I open the door and prop it open with my knee. Only then do I reach across myself to offer him my hand in return.
“My name is Brad,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you. David is a friend of mine. I helped him finish your kitchen yesterday. How do you like it?”
“It’s very nice. Thank you,” I say, wanting to go inside and be by myself.