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Sutton,
For the “not” rodents.
Holden
I stood in the hallway for so long, just staring at the small square of stationary in my hand, that Mrs. Fitz opened her door to ask if I was locked out. After assuring her that I could, in fact, get into my apartment, I grabbed the bags off the floor and used my foot to gently nudge the box of vegetables across the threshold.
“It’s your lucky day, my furry little friends. You got a special delivery,” I called out, to a chorus of squeals and squeaks.
And then I did something I couldn’t have imagined doing in my wildest dreams: I took pictures of the piglets eating their vegetables and sent them to Holden St. James.
18
I’d been watching Jin squeeze a stress ball shaped like an apple sporting an angry face. He was demonstrating an aggression that was frankly concerning, but also relatable. The video game officially went to the testers this weekend, and everyone was feeling the stress and excitement. Maxine was rocking dark circles under her eyes, and her desk was littered with empty energy drinks.
“I am not living my best life,” she announced between sips of green tea. “My eyes are tired. Can your eyeballs be tired?”
“I’m more worried about you having a heart attack from all those energy drinks,” I said. Jin nodded his head in agreement, still crushing the stress ball in his left hand while typing furiously with his right, his eyes never leaving the screen. Maxine shot a meaningful glance at the collection of mugs and Styrofoam cups on the corner of my desk.
“Let she who does not have a graveyard of caffeine receptacles on her own desk cast the first stone.”
“Touché.” It was hard to argue with her when we both knew this wasn’t my first cup of coffee today. Or my second. Or my third.
We were all feeling the pressure of releasing a sequel to an incredibly popular game, and on top of everything else, half of our graphics department had the flu. I was currently running point on a graphics team, which was a great example of how desperate things were. Maxine was covering for a fellow project manager too, and Jin was helping me with the development side of things since my focus was split. To say it had been a long week was an understatement. The only thing rivaling my caffeine intake was my consumption of antacids. I’m not sure how many chugs of the pink stuff you can safely consume in a twenty-four-hour period, but I knew I’d exceeded it. By a lot.
Adding to my stress were the text messages from Holden that had started on Monday and hadn’t stopped. I couldn’t figure out what his angle was since he never even mentioned the wedding in his texts. Instead, he wanted to know stuff like how my day was and how things were going at work. I mean, who does that?
It was confusing. Part of me thought he must be playing some weird mind game, but the less cynical part of me thought maybe he was just a nice person. I didn’t know what to think about it, and my focus needed to be on work — a fact I reminded myself of every time my screen lit up with his name and my stomach did this little flutter thing. I was trying to drown the flutter in Pepto, because it had to be an ulcer acting up, or maybe acid reflux. It was in no way, shape, or form excitement related to Holden messaging me. That would be unacceptable, for reasons. Reasons that were rapidly mattering less and less.
As if the universe were in tune with my thoughts, my phone buzzed with an incoming message. I tried to ignore it, focusing on a line of code for an in-game purchase, but my hands seemed to have a mind of their own.
Holden: How’s your day going? Any less stressful?
See? He was clearly a sociopath. How dare he be thoughtful and concerned about a future family member? The audacity of this man.
Me: No. I’ve lost hope of things calming down before this weekend. My blood type is officially coffee and antacids.
Me: How’s your day going?
I had to ask. It’s a Southern thing. Manners are life. It had nothing to do with a genuine interest in his life.
Holden: Did you remember to eat lunch?
I looked at the clock, cursing under my breath. It was already two, and there was no way I could squeeze in a lunch break — not if I wanted to leave before midnight. My stomach rumbled in protest. I felt both Jin and Maxine staring at me.
Me: I didn’t, but I’m going to grab a granola bar from the vending machine in a minute.
That was a lie. I was going to get Cool Ranch Doritos and a Reese’s cup. I wanted to think Holden was still operating under the illusion that I was an actual responsible adult. It was probably delusional, but a girl could hope.
I proceeded to check my phone every five seconds, waiting for a response that did not seem to be coming — and the more I checked, the angrier I got. He was leaving me on the hook when I didn’t have the time to spend obsessing about a text message from Holden St. James.
“Everything okay over there, Sutton?” Jin asked, startling me enough to knock my mouse off the desk.
“Yep.” I bent to pick up the mouse while silently wishing a plague of locusts on the entire St. James family. I was delusional and irrational — always a winning combination. “Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been staring at your phone very aggressively for a solid five minutes.”
“Oh, I was just trying to figure out the last time I ate.” I stood, patting my stomach. “I think I’m going to make a vending machine run.”
