You’re nothing like Tommy.
I don’t know who Tommy is or who he is to her, but the comment killed any delusions I had of her becoming something more to me.
“What else do you need from me?” I ask, attempting to shift my focus before I hyperfixate on the thought.
The front of her binder flies open, and she hands me a stack of papers, tabs sticking out in varying colors. She pushes it forward, pauses, and then rips it back to her chest.
“I was going to ask you to fill it out, but…” She trails off, and I know what she wants to say, or rather, guess.
“I have pretty severe dyslexia,” I admit. “It would take me a while, but Icando it.”
There are at least ten pages of paperwork, with dozens of questions on each page. Even if they were short, simple answers,I could only handle completing a few at a time before the letters jumble and sentences shift, and I would get lost and have to start again.
It may take me countless hours, but I’d get it done. I don’t want her to think I’m unintelligent.
Ink bleeds across the page as she scribbles something down, then slams her notebook closed before I can get a good look.
“That’s not a problem. I’ll read them out, and you can whisper any sensitive information. What’s your full legal name?”
Pen raised above the paper, she’s ready to write, but I amnotready to confess my legal name. Not ready to hear her laugh at it. At my silence, she raises a brow.
“Do you need it?”
“I need whatever name is on your passport to book a plane ticket.”Shit.“Do you have a middle name, or is it just ‘Jett Parks’?”
“Jett is not technically my given name.” I scratch at the back of my neck. “My legal name is Ulysses Ford Parks.”
Her jaw falls open. “Ulysses,” she drawls, beginning to write, then pausing. “Uh, okay. I—uh, I don’t think I spelled that correctly.”
“I’ll send you a picture of my passport later,” I mumble, desperate to move on before she can get a jab in. “What’s the next question?”
“Is there a reason your parents named you Ulysses Ford?”
“There’s no way that’s on the paper,” I deadpan.
She huffs a laugh before taking a sip of her green drink. “It’s not, sorry. I’m curious. We can move on.”
“My mom is a Roman history and literature professor, and my dad loves old Ford trucks. Odysseus is referred to as Ulysses in the Roman telling ofThe Odyssey, and, well, Ford like the company. My mom won the coin toss on who got to choose the first name.”
The information rushes out, quick and garbled, but Sofía nods as if she’s memorizing every word. The intensity of her focus sends a shiver creeping down my spine.
Her lips pull together before she declares, “I like it. Has character. Why Jett?”
“I thought it was cooler than Ulysses,” I admit, though I hate my name a little less knowing she thinks it hascharacter.
She offers me an infectious laugh. “I don’t know. I kinda like the name Ulysses. It’s cute.”
The rest of the questions are much easier to answer, some about Doug and Molly’s positions, how we operate and prefer to communicate, where Sofía fits into our team, and even a few questions about my favorite things.
Food: pepperoni pizza.
Color: brown.
Movie:Ice Age.
Ice cream flavor: birthday cake, but only if it has the cake chunks and sprinkles. Otherwise, it’s chocolate.
When she’s done, she knows everything about me, and I know nothing about her.
