“Click on PowerPoint in the toolbar. And close some tabs. You’ll never read all those articles.”
“I might! When I have time. OK, found it. Apparently, I did not finish the revision. I’ll do it now, show up late, make up some excuse.”
“FYI, hangover won’t cut it,” said Sabine.
“Shit. There are three emails from Oscar, the first looking for the slide deck to vet, the second wondering if I delivered to Victor and forgot to cc him, and the third basically a WTF email asking if I was having internet connectivity issues.”
“Go with the last one.”
Sabine wanted a day when they didn’t talk about work, deliverables, or deadlines. Wasn’t it all about more than that? She wanted to sit on the porch and scroll through whatever on her phone. Sunbathe. Maybe read a book. Probably not. Maybe make a book. Probably not. She could call Willa for Korean hotpot, although she’d be getting ready for prom. And practicing for her first kiss with Max.
“Hold on,” said Marlow. “There’s another email here at 3:45 AM.”
“From Oscar? That’s basically harassment.”
“From theCommune de Nenier,Département de Haute-Marne,” read Marlow. “Subject header says‘reçu d’achat.’Doesn’t that mean receipt?”
“Yep. Spam maybe?”
“Is the Advil over there? My head’s pounding.”
Sabine found the Advil on the window ledge beside a large glass jar of all of Marlow’s passes and lanyards from past festivals. A history of work and hairstyles in one vessel.
“I mean,” said Marlow, “maybeit’s spam …”
“Don’t click on it.”
“Too late.”
Sabine poured a glass of water. Her mother could be so dense about computer stuff.
“It’s all in French,” said Marlow. “It’s weird, I was just reading this article about France last night—OK, hold on—let’s seehow far my au pair French gets me.‘Chère Madame Linden, veuillez trouver ci-joint la confirmation …’Oh God. Something happened.”
“To your French? Agreed. Your accent’s terrible.” Sabine delivered the Advil and water.
“I think,” said Marlow, throwing two back, “I might have … done a thing.”
“Like?”
“I worked late. I was on my laptop feeling sorry for myself. I drank. A lot. Then I read an article about this one-euro house-buying program in France—see? I read things on Google.”
“You just never close any tabs.”
“Then I clicked around. I have no memories after that. Wait. I clicked on the link in the article. Maybe.ThenI have no idea. Then it was eight thirty in the morning.”
“Eight forty-five.”
“And you woke me up and the email said‘Reçu d’achat.’ ”
“Did you buy something?”
“No.”
“Then how come this is here?” Sabine picked up her mum’s wallet from the floor beside the couch. “And your credit card.”
“Oh God. Oh God!”
“Don’t worry,” said Sabine. “Everything can be returned, especially within the first forty-eight hours. It’s called buyer’s remorse. Mr. Simons explained it in his home finance unit in Grade 10.”
