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“Bocadito’s!” he says like an excited kid. “Feeling like tacos today!”
I shake my head. “Taco day is Tuesday, dude.”
“Every day would be Tuesday if I were in charge,” Jake snickers. “You didn’t tell me how the nanny is doing so far.”
After a shrug, I sigh, “Eh, fine, I guess,” I say. “She’s annoying, but in a good way.”
I reach for my phone, and just as I expected, there’s another message from Joyce there. It’s a selfie of her and Anna having ice cream and her text says:
We couldn’t decide on chocolate or vanilla, so we had both!
“She must have sent me three dozen texts so far, and she started just two hours ago!” I say, annoyed.
“Better than sending you none,” Jake shrugs.
I sigh once again, and facing forward, I see the damn restaurant on the horizon.
Bocadito’s is a theme restaurant where I wouldn’t mind bringing my five-year-old daughter, but it’s not the place to take a co-worker for lunch on a weekday.
They go heavy with the corny decoration, the music is annoying, and the food is just okay. But Jake loves the tequila and swears their tacos are the best, so I let him have his way and torture me at least once a week.
“Bienvenidos a Bocadito’s,table for two?” the hostess at the door asks, handing us a pair of menus.
Jake nods and follows the host. I follow Jake, the atmosphere of this place already making me roll my eyes for what feels like the millionth time today.
Jake sits down with a dumb grin on his face, and I just look at him, shaking my head. My day would have been pretty much ruined so far if it weren’t for the pictures of my baby girl.
Speaking of which, another one arrives. Anna is fast asleep, and the text from Joyce says:
Until the numbness wears off it’s night-night! She’s exhausted!
With a smile, I place my phone back in my pocket, but change my mind and take it out again.
“Logan, are you listening to me?” Jake asks, frustrated.
“Just a second, Jake,” I raise an index finger in his direction.
Wait for me to get home before leaving. I’ll have your contract for us to sign.I type and send.
“Now I’m free,” I cross my arms over the table and lean forward.
“Are you ordering fajitas again?” Jake asks, pointing at my closed menu.
“You know it’s the only thing here I will eat,” I say, nonchalantly.
“Ugh, Logan, live a little,” Jake says, and looks through the menu as if he didn’t have the whole thing memorized.
A male server comes to our table. We ask for our drinks, place our orders, and Joyce gives me a break while Anna takes a nap — I am informed, however, of the precise moment she wakes up.
The ritual continues all throughout the day, and I develop mini migraines from hearing my constant cellphone notifications.
The pictures ease the process a little, but this is getting way out of hand. I need to talk to her and tell her to tone it down.
I’m back in my office and am divided between calling her now or waiting until I get home to have that conversation, but I make up my mind once she texts me another silly question.
“Hello, Mr. Bardin!” she picks up right away, so cheerful it makes me cringe.
“Hello, Joyce,” I mull over what to say. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
