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“So you’renotgood with numbers.”
Talia stares me down, a moment of silence filling the space between us, until she says, “Of course I’m good with numbers. Show them to me.”
I knew that would get her. I once watched her calculate the cost of an entire month’s worth of liquor based off probability. I know for a fact she’s some kind of math genius.
Heading over to my desk, I pick up one of the paper-clipped sections of a random collection of papers. I’m not even sure what’s on them, but I hand the packet to her anyway. Talia snatches it from my grip and sifts through the pages, shooting a look up at me from underneath her long lashes.
“Get them back to me by tomorrow morning.”
She drops the pages together again.
“Ireallyappreciate the help,” I add.
And the entertainment.
“You’re insufferable,” is all she says before she turns toward the door. I watch her ass as she saunters out, leaving me to plot my next move to get Talia Hale in bed with me.
Chapter Three: Talia
With arms full of groceries and the stack of paperwork from Kay, I slam the door of my small apartment closed with my foot.
I’m barely a step in when Nico, my notoriously troublesome black cat, comes trotting up to weave himself between my feet.
“Nico!” I shout as he nearly trips me. My phone begins ringing just as my foot hooks beneath his belly, emitting a startled meow as I drop the entire contents of my arms before he shoots off. Dropping my head back to peer up at the ceiling, as if I could curse at God herself through the rafters, I shout, “Why?”
Hands now freed of their burdens, I drop the remaining grocery bag that was slung around my elbow and dig into my pocket for my phone. The name on the screen almost warrants its own unique string of profanities, and yet I still answer.
“Hi, mom.”
“Talia! Sweetie, what’s wrong? You sound out of breath. Is that vile club making you work too hard? I really wish you would just come work for your father.”
“No, mom.” The firmer, the better, I’ve learned. She always brings up how she’d love for me to be under her smothering wing once again, and she’d keep going if I let her. Maura Hale was notorious for her long-winded hellos.
“Jeez, you really sound out of breath. Have you been working out? If you worked out, you wouldn’t be so out of breath. You’ve been counting your calories like I showed you, right?”
“No, mom.”
“Oh, Talia…” she says, that condescending tone in her voice, and I know another diet lecture will be starting up right behind it. Sometimes I swear it’s like her brain doesn’t even register the word “no”.
I lean against my kitchen island, perching the phone between my ear and shoulder in preparation for a long talk—or rather a solid thirty minutes of me listening to my mother tell me all the ways I should be working harder to improve my life, all of them fool-proof and certified by her. The latest thing she’d prattled on about had been about takingonlycold showers in the morning, all the health benefits that had beenprovento be linked to them, yada yada.
I want it searing hot, or not at all.
“Where did you go shopping? You know, I read that things labeled organic are not evenreallyorganic these days. You need to get to a farmers’ market, not support those grocery store chains.”
I rolled my eyes on instinct. “Mom, youownone of those grocery store chains.” One of thehighest earningorganic grocery store chains in the LA area, in fact.
“Notme, your father.Idon’t shop there. I’m focusing on what I’m putting into my body these days. I’ve seen his produce providers. They’re from all over the country! I needlocalproduce.”
I sensed the theme for this week. If I chose my next words correctly, I wouldn’t have to utter another word for at least the next fifteen minutes while I put my groceries away.
“Why don’t you tell dad to start using local providers?”
“Oh, Talia, he’s sostubborn. I already told him about this one local farm I’ve been doing yoga classes at…”
And there… she… goes.
With a sigh of relief, I put the phone on speaker, set it down on the granite countertop, and begin to sort through my groceries. She prattles on while I offer an occasional “Mm-hmm” and “Ah, that’d be good”. It keeps her going for a solid thirty minutes. My groceries are put away, I have dinner in the oven (a frozen pizza that would give Maura an aneurism), and I’ve poured a hefty glass of wine to be my companion for the stack of paperwork Kay gave me.
