Page 2 of Bobby

He’s trying to be something he’s not. Bigger than he is. Especially as he steps too close for me to rise to meet him on the same level, so he’s looking down at me as I sit in my chair. Something he does often. He gets close to people, enough that there’s very little room for them to push a chair back without running into a wall, or in my case, my desk, unless I want to brush up along his side when I rise. Which will never happen.

“You said you would have the Myers file by noon. Where is it?”

“It’s not ready. And I told you it wouldn’t be.”

“Not ready? Why not?”

“Like I told you earlier this week, that file is twice the size of the last one. I said I expect to have most of it completed by today. I didn’t give you a timeline, nor did I say I would have it completely done.”

“The expectation around here is that if I ask for a file, then I get a file. Perhaps someone who stays longer than a few hours a day should do it instead. Missy, I expect you to take this over.”

Missy’s head pops up to look at us over her cubicle wall. Her mouth slowly drops, panic in her eyes as she stares at Spencer a second before looking at me. I already know she’s busy. We all are. The expectations of all of us are high, but not impossible. Still, there’s no way she can take this on without dropping her own work, and that isn’t something Spencer, or even the boss above him, will be okay with.

Before she can agree like the good girl she is, I shake my head.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Spencer folds his arms, raises an eyebrow, and waits. Like the entitled jackass he thinks he is, he’s treating me like a damn child, waiting to hear why I’m contradicting him.

“I’ll get it finished. You’ll have it Monday morning.”

“We don’t pay overtime, Ms. Frazzer.” He emphasizes my non-married status as if my first name is nothing. I’m just a worker. Nothing special, and not someone who deserves accommodation.

“I understand that.”

I hold his stare and keep my hands loose in my lap when all I want is to ball them up into fists and start throwing them. I feel all the tension in my body building, ready to snap. But I try to practice what I teach, and hitting, no matter if warranted, isn’t something we do. At least I tell my girls that. And then follow it up with “not unless they throw a punch first.” Self-defense is always approved in my book.

“Fine.” He turns and barks out another name across the room, drawing the others’ attention. But I don’t look. Not when I realize what my promise just did.

“I can help,” Missy offers as she sees me sulk into myself a bit.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it go. I learned long ago that you can’t change the past, even if it’s just seconds ago. And worrying about it and wanting to take it back changes nothing.

Opening my eyes, I look up and give her a smile. “It’s fine. Thanks, though.”

She nods and turns back to her work.

I debate for five seconds about what the next move is before I pick up the office phone and dial a number I know by heart. Kicking off my heels under my desk, I get comfortable. I might only be here fifteen more minutes, but I’m not going to be in any more pain than I have to be. Especially when I’m about to cause more of it tomorrow.

“Mommy!” Lily yells at the top of the steps of her school the second she sees me. putting a much-needed smile on my face. The weight of the day slips just a little with that one look. I can always count on my littlest one to brighten my mood. She’s done so every second since she was brought into this world.

I wave at her but hold back my shout of joy. Mostly because there are about twenty parents in front of me picking up their kids as well, and me yelling won’t help curb any rambunctious child being picked up from school on a Friday. Kids might not completely understand the joys of weekends yet, especially a five-year-old who’s been “taught” how to play for the last seven hours of kindergarten. They have more fun here than I bet they do at home. Still, they all seem to have extra energy during Friday pickups.

By the time I make it to the front, Lily is hopping from one foot to the other, and her older sister, Ivy, is rolling her eyes but smiling simultaneously. My brilliant seven-year-old is way too wise for her years and tries to parent more than she should. But even she can’t deny the joy that Lily brings out of just about everyone she meets.

Thankfully, Ivy hasn’t hit the “embarrassed to be hugged by her mom” stage yet, and I’m wrapped in the best two hugs a person could ask for.

“How was school?” I grab Lily’s backpack and put it on my shoulder before taking a hand from each girl in mine as we make our way to the bus stop across the street. One thing my ex pays for is school tuition, but getting here and back to the house is on me. And while I might be the queen of clipping coupons, owning a car in New York doesn’t seem like a needed expense. Subways are an option, too, but Lily’s not a fan of going underground, and really, I’m not either. I avoid them when I can, usually when I’m with the girls.

Buses aren’t the cleanest, but they’re reliable. And that’s one thing I need in my life—predictability. They always show up on time, rain or shine. Perfect for a single mom trying to give her girls the world without them knowing how much they don’t have.

I’m getting away with it for now. They’re young; they don’t need or want much. And hopefully, with a few more months, I can afford after-school programs and take over the school tuition, which will allow me to apply for a full-time position at Leone Holdings. That would improve our lives substantially. At least it wouldn’t feel like living paycheck to paycheck. We could even start saving for a bigger place, maybe one next to a park where Lily could go and play. She loves the swings. I try to take them to a park on weekends if the weather is nice, but it looks like it won’t happen this weekend.

“It was good. Mrs. Linderhouse said I can start on the next math level.”

I nod at Ivy as we get on the bus and find a seat close to the front. I sit Lily on my lap to save room for the other passengers.

“That’s great, sweetie. And how was PE? Did you get picked for leader of the month?” She’s been working hard all month to get the coveted “leader” spot in her class. Not because she likes the title, but rather the benefits of being the person who picks the warm-up stretches they get to do every Friday in the following month before they do whatever the teacher has planned.