Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I remember Joey’s brother. His name’s Jeff, and he was a senior when we were sophomores. I used to think he was cute, in a douchey jock-bro kind of way.”
“He’s still a douche.”
“Sounds like it. Why the hell would he bring up the graduation incident? That was ten years ago, and it’s not like anyone got hurt. So, a lot of birds showed up and shit on everyone. Big deal. It was an accident, and I still don’t think you should have issued a public apology. If you hadn’t done that, no one would have known you were responsible.”
“I had to apologize, because I felt awful. Besides, everyone knew it was me. I’d been accidentally summoning stuff ever since my powers emerged in junior high.”
While we were talking, I pulled on a pair of briefs under my towel. As I reached for the pants hanging on the back of my closet door, Moira asked, “Are you sure you want to wear that outfit?”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s just a little... old.”
“I bought these khakis last week.”
“No, I mean they’re the kind of thing a little old man would wear, between the bowtie, sweater vest, and tweed sport coat.”
I tossed aside the towel and pulled on the pants as I pointed out, “I always dress like this.”
“I know, but now you’re starting a new job, with new coworkers. It’s a chance to reinvent yourself.” When I frowned at her, she quickly added, “You know I think you’re absolutely adorable, Andy. But this might be a great opportunity to meet a guy, especially if you dress a little sexier.”
“I’m not starting a job as a go-go boy. I’ve been working as a librarian all of my adult life, and this type of outfit has always been appropriate.”
“I’m not suggesting you go to work in booty shorts and a mesh tank top. There’s your nice suit, though, or—”
“I know you mean well. I’m already nervous about today though, so I’m going to wear what makes me comfortable. If these clothes look geriatric, so be it.”
Her expression softened. “You’re right, being comfortable is important.”
After I got dressed, Moira followed me into the kitchen. She was still carrying my Godzilla toy, for some reason. As I got the coffee pot going, she opened the lid on the bakery box. “Hey, bagels.”
“They’re gluten free, though. Jeff made me buy them, in exchange for letting me spend five minutes in his bakery.”
“What a dick.”
She sat down at the table and took one from the box. When she tore off a piece and popped it into her mouth, I asked, “What does it taste like?”
“Disappointment.” Moira grinned. “I should take some to my parents. That’s something they’re used to.”
“I know you’re kidding, but you really should take some. We won’t eat all of those.”
When an orange cat jumped into her lap, Moira scratched its ears and said, “Hi, Sally.”
“That one’s Rufus.”
“Close enough.”
The cat jumped down and wandered off after a minute, and Moira started idly spinning the diamond ring on her left hand. That meant her fiancé was on her mind, so I asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Then she realized what she was doing. “Oh. My parents are once again pressuring me to set a date. You and I have talked about this a million times, and nothing’s changed. I still don’t feel like I’m ready to get married.” She’d been engaged for six years.
Just as the coffee finished brewing, my mother and her girlfriend Julie joined us in the kitchen. They said hello to Moira, and then Mom exclaimed, “Look at my baby boy, all ready for his new job!”
I felt myself blushing. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”
She squished my cheeks between her palms. “It is a big deal, though. You’re stepping into a leadership role and managing some important archives. That’s huge!”
Julie asked, as she pushed her wild, red curls out of her face, “Are you sure you want this job, Andy? I mean, what do we even know about this quasi-governmental agency? They could be into all kinds of clandestine CIA-type crap, and you don’t want to be involved in that sort of thing.”
This wasn’t surprising. Julie was a former hippie with plenty of distrust for the government, big business, and anything that fell under the general heading of “the man.” I freed myself from my mom’s grasp and reminded everyone, “I’m not joining the CIA. I’m going to work for SPAM.” Moira snort-laughed, which happened every time I mentioned my new employer’s acronym.
Julie flung her hands out, which sent the bell sleeves of her red robe flapping. “Right, but what do they do?”
“It’s right there in the title,” I explained. “Special Processing and Management. They work with superheroes. Paperwork is involved.”
Julie shot me a look. “You realize that’s incredibly vague, right?”