Page 56 of First-Time Caller
Two thumbs way up.
Jackson turns sideways in the chair next to me. “You wanna talk about it, buddy?”
“Talk about what?”
He pops a crab chip in his mouth and chews noisily. I was alone until Jackson decided to do a mental wellness check. He’s been sitting in Lucie’s seat for twenty minutes while I cycle my way through show programming. He told me he’s waiting for his weather update, but I know the truth.
“It’s cute you’re pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He finishes his last chip and crumples up the bag, tossing it toward the wastebasket. It gets halfway there and then flutters gently to the floor. I’m going to have to pick that up later and it’s another brick loose in my Jenga tower of frustration. “Lucie. Her date. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’ve been talking about it.” All night. It’s all listeners want to discuss. Where she’s going. What she’s wearing. How long the two of them have been texting. I’ve been fielding the conversation the best I can, but I’m starting to lose my patience. If I sayroad to loveone more time, I might throw up.
I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want the entire world speculating about whether or not she’s going to kiss someone tonight. I certainly don’t want to speculate about it.
Jackson wipes his spice-stained fingers on one of the wet wipes he keeps tucked in his front pocket. “How do you feel about it?”
“About what? Lucie’s date?”
He nods.
“I don’t feel anything about it. Maggie wanted us to be a dating show and Lucie is going on a date. Everything is happening exactly the way it’s supposed to.”
A little faster, maybe, than I thought, but whatever. It’s her choice. All of this is her choice. I’m not going to let anyone bully Lucie into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.
“What do you know about this Elliott guy?” Jackson asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him. We have about three minutes left in this song, then we’ll go straight into ads for another four. Seven blissful minutes of sweet relief. I’d like to use the time to stare unseeingly into the void, but Jackson is hell-bent on having a conversation.
“She didn’t mention him?”
“Nope.” It stings that she never brought him up, but I’m not entitled to know the details of her life. I hit a button harder than I need to. It sticks down on the control board and I have to use a disposable knife left over from someone’s bagel to pop it back up again. “She said they’ve been texting and he seemed normal enough. She thought it was a good place to start.”
Jackson’s eyebrows tug together. “Normal enoughisn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”
“What would you like me to do about it?”
She’s here to find a date. Elliott is her date.
Jackson swivels back and forth in his chair, frowning. “I don’t like it.”
“We don’t have to like it,” I grumble.
But I don’t like it either, despite trying my best to feel exactly nothing about the situation. I open my mouth to suggest he retreat to the break room to give me a goddamned break from all his ruminating when Hughie suddenly appears in front of the glass window outside the booth. His shirt is untucked, his hair is sticking up, and he has a panicked look on his round face.
“Why does Hughie look like he’s about to be the first to die in a horror movie?” Jackson asks.
“He always sort of looks like that.” I watch as Hughie gestures wildly, mouthing something through the window. “What’s he saying?”
“I don’t know. Should we—”
I tilt my head to the side. “Let’s wait it out.”
Neither of us moves. Hughie bangs his fist against the glass once and then points in the direction of the lobby.
“He’s showing some urgency,” Jackson mutters.
We aren’t. We stay in our chairs, watching him as he bustles around the length of the soundproof room. He attempts to push the pull-open door for about thirty seconds, then finally figures it out.
The man is a mess.
