Page 40 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“You said, and I quote, ‘I will try very hard to respect the boundaries of the workday.’”

“Yes. And I did try. Emotionally.”

“Emotionally?”

“My spirit respected the boundary. My hands answered four emails.”

Her mouth twitches, which is deeply unfair. I am less persuasive when people find me amusing.

“Daisy.”

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You’re about to say rest, boundaries, or lunch. Those are your three haunted words.”

“I was going to say your mother called.”

My stomach drops.

Calls are never good. Emails can be managed. Emails can be marked unread and left to sit in a folder like digital raccoons. Calls demand attention. Calls climb through the window and sit on your furniture.

“Once?” I ask.

“Three times.”

Worse.

My phone rings again.

Mom flashes across the screen.

Mira’s eyebrows lift.

“I could let it go to voicemail,” I say.

“You could.”

“It would be healthy.”

“It would.”

“I am a woman who makes healthy choices.”

Mira looks pointedly at the granola bar I’ve failed to open in the past few days.

“Emotionally healthy choices,” I amend.

The phone keeps ringing.

I answer because apparently I have no survival instinct when my mother is involved.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Darling.” Her voice is too calm.

Mom’s calm is worse than panic. Panic can be reasoned with. Calm means she has already decided the house is on fire and would like me to arrange the evacuation by centerpiece height.