The fact was, the gamehadbeen fun.Teddywas sharp, quick to adapt, and her sarcasm was much more enjoyable when she was pretending to be a repressedGithzeraiwarrior.Butit was also exhausting, being thrown into a fake rivalry with someoneIinvoluntarily had a very real rivalry with at work.
“Do you think she’ll come back?”Philasked, andIshrugged.
“I doubt it,”Isaid. “EspeciallyafterElJefeover here started pulling her strings.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,”Fatimasaid, pulling out her phone and tapping out a text. “I’llask her myself.”
My mouth fell open. “Howdo you even have her number?Ionly have it from her fucking email signature!”
“Game stuff,”Fatimasaid with a shrug. “Don’tworry about it.”
“Speaking of,”Amysaid, changing the subject beforeIcould reach across the table and strangleFatima. “Howare things at the farm?Yourevent plan coming together?”
I sighed, cross thatIwas being redirected but pleased to report that things were going well.Itold them whatI’dbeen doing during my first two weeks, mostly during my work-from-home days– outreach to other local businesses about partnerships, building out the content calendar, and scouring every single local calendar to try to find a date for the festival that didn’t clash with something crucial.
“So, yes, it’s going well,”Isummarised, “even ifIam woefully underqualified.”
Jack laughed. “Isn’tthat your baseline, though?Woefullyunderqualified but up for trying anything anyway?”
“You’re going to be fine,”Morgansaid. “Ifyou can charm the rich dickheads that fund the animal rescue,I’msure you can wrangle one disgruntled beekeeper long enough to pull off an event and prove her wrong.”
“Thanks,Morgan,”Isaid, genuinely touched. “That’sweirdly reassuring.”
The next round arrived, and with it, a flurry of notifications on my phone.Onewas a text from my mum, which had actually been sitting in my inbox for days.Iswiped past it likeIhad dozens of times, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of letting it show as read and being able to proveIwas ignoring her, but also, in fact, wanting to ignore her.
It seemedIcouldn’t ignore her existence altogether though:
PATRICIA
Your mum popped round earlier.Sheasked after you.
I didn’t say anything specific, butIthought you should know. xx
Patricia,JackandAmy’smum, had been a sort of surrogate mother for me since childhood, and my next-door neighbour for the first eighteen years of my life, so she was well versed inBarlow-on-Barlowconflict.Shenever showed open disdain for the way my mum would talk to me, but, asIgot older,Inoticed that she would be intentional about trying to correct it.Whenmy mum would gloss over an accomplishment at school,Patriciawould make me a special meal to celebrate.AndwhenIwould leave school crying about somethingIknew my mum would call inconsequential and not worth my effort,I’dhead straight to theEvanshouse instead.I’deven come out toPatriciabefore my own mum, not that it had been much of a surprise to either of them.She’dworn nothing but cheesy prideT-shirts for a month after.
I tapped out a thank-you before opening my email notifications; there was one waiting fromSimone.Iskimmed over it quickly– something about the paperworkIstill hadn’t filed– before turning my phone face down on the table, wishing both problems away.
Amy caught the gesture. “Everythingokay?”
I shrugged, deciding not to get into my work mishap just now. “JustSarahBarlowdoing her regularly scheduled, guilt-driven outreach.Wantsto ‘catch up’, even though we haven’t spoken in, like, months.”
Amy nodded knowingly, butMorganraised an eyebrow. “Yougoing to ring her back?”
“Eventually,”Isaid, butIdidn’t mean it. “Ijust …Iwanna have an actual update beforeItalk to her.Ineed to know which way things will go at the farm.”
“Isn’t that verdict months away?”
I nodded, my mouth pressed into a thin line. “Sureis.”
Fatima cocked her head.SheandMorgandidn’t have the context about my mum that the others did. “Isshe really that bad?”
“Not bad, just … unimpressed.”Itook a slow sip of beer. “Shewants me to be doing something ‘important’ with ‘that brain’ of mine, which is her way of saying she’s disappointedIdidn’t move toLondonand become the firstOscar-winning neurosurgeon billionaire or whatever.”
Morgan frowned. “Butyou’re great at what you do.Youwere just telling us about it.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t care.”Ifanything, working at the farm was worse– it was what she had done all these years, after all, and her own regrets in life were almost certainly what made her so hard on me.Iunderstood it–I’dexperienced it enough to know the nature of the problem inside and out– but that understanding didn’t make it any less frustrating.
I changed the subject back to the game, and we spent another hour at the pub, laughing too loudly and eating chips dipped in ketchup and vinegar.Amylooped her arm through mine as we left, walking out into the (thankfully now clear) night.
