Page 65 of Chasing Headlines
“The mugs.”
“Oh, yes, well.” She chuckled. “Some of the most expensive mugs I've ever bought.” Her eyes held a twinkle. She poured water from her electric kettle into each cup.
A weighted silence settled in. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't awkward, either. As I watched her retrieve saucers, milk and a sugar bowl, her words caught up to me.
I looked like I could use . . . help? Or affection of some sort? Certainly, that jerkface doesn'tnoticeablyaffect me. He's going to end up riding the bench the way he's playing. And. And!As far as the scouting teams are concerned, a freshman bench sitter—Thump! The table jumped beneath my fist.
Dammit. How is it that he can annoy me this much?
“What's bothering you, dear?” The cup and saucer chattered as she placed them on the table in front of me.
“Me? No, it's nothing. I'm fine, really.” I didn't want to talk about him. Besides, he worked here. Somehow. “How do you like this place? It seems pretty nice?”
“It's not like being with my family.” She sat in the chair across from me. “But they visit, and at least I'm not in the way when they have their own lives.” She blew across the top of her mug. “I couldn't keep up at the pace you young people do. Everyone always seems so busy these days, don’t they?” She sipped at her tea.
“Yeah. Too busy,” I said with a sigh. Didn't I know it? My father's permanent state of being: busy. “It's like a status symbol. To not be busy is to be worth less than those who have so many demands on their time.” Acid sloshed in my stomach. A bitter taste rose into my mouth.
“You came to interview me?”
I grabbed my bag and unzipped it. “Yes, ma’am.” I glanced inside. “I have some notes and?—”
“I'd rather not be interviewed today.” She gave me a sheepish smile. I took a deep breath and released my hold on the notepad inside my bag. Zipped it shut. I couldn't really be mad at her, but I wasn't sure I'd survive another run at the Cooper check-in gauntlet.
“Oh, um, sure. I didn't mean to bother you. I'll come back another time.” I rose from my chair. “Do you want me to text, er, call? I can call first and?—”
“I wasn't chasing you off, dear. Please sit down and finish your tea.” She patted the table.
I glanced at the door.Don’t really want to stay.I caught the time on a digital clock on her bookshelf.Will his royal assness figure out she blew me off?
“I'd just prefer to chat for a bit, if you'd humor an old lady. I get nervous, still, at my age, when someone interviews me. Officially, you know.” She gave me a doe-eyed smile and smoothed weathered hands over the tablecloth. “I thought maybe if we could just get to know each other, I wouldn't be quite so anxious when you turn on your camera and all that business.”
“Sure. I don't mind.” I sat back in the chair and leaned my bag against the table leg.
“You seem like a lovely girl. You must be very helpful to your mother when you're at home.” She glanced at me over her raised cup. The tea steamed into the air.
I shrugged and picked up my mug. “Not really. My mother isn't exactly the kind that stays home baking cookies.” I sipped at the beverage. The warm cup soothed against my palms.
“Oh, she's the corporate type, then?”
“No, but, I'm a little.” I stopped myself from grumbling. I didn’t want to start off sounding negative. “She's some weird combination of adventurous and high maintenance. If I had to try to describe her, she's like—” A world-traveling gold digger? How do I make that sound like she's not as toxic as she is? “Glamping.”
“Glamping? You’ll have to forgive me, dear, I’m not familiar . . .”
“Glamorous camping. An expensive, luxury adventure.” I laced my hands together around my cup of tea. I mentally patted myself on the back for the simile.
“Sounds wonderful.” Her eyebrows lowered and her mouth tightened as she spoke. She was on to me. I tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal.
“For her. For whomever rich boyfriend she's dating, I'm sure they have a wonderful time together.” Yeah, I wasn't doing so well at the not-sounding-bitter thing . . .
“Ah.” Her cup clacked into the saucer. “And so your father?—”
“My brother raised me. He's ten years older. Always been the one looking out for me. Letting me tag along.” I didn't meet her gaze. Dad was another topic I'd prefer to avoid.
“Hm. Sounds difficult. At least you must have interesting stories to tell.” She stretched her lips into a smile, but the expression didn't quite reach her eyes.
“I suppose. After all, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right?” I drained the rest of my cup.
“I think sayings like that are a bunch of hogwash. All they do is minimize the upset and turmoil people have faced in their lifetimes.” She held out another teabag labeled 'chamomile cinnamon'. I nodded and placed it in my cup, then picked up the electric kettle. I might as well stay, no way I wanted Cooper to think—I didn't know what he would think. And why should I care? I shouldn't care. At all. Ever.