FIFTEEN
Finally, it felt like I was doing something good. Something useful. I’d stopped believing in our mission to fix partners. We needed to help them leave if they didn’t get what they deserved. We needed to help their partners learn to be more active participants in a shared life. There was good we could do, without demonizing men. I started to get what Tola was saying.
But with Nicki, I felt like we were being paid by a spoiled woman to carve Michelangelo’s David out of an already perfectly lovely statue. It didn’t feel like helping, it felt like destroying.
And every message she sent, every time I visualized Dylan standing in a designer tux, smiling out from a wedding shoot for Hello! or OK!, I felt worse. I was starting to worry that I was actually the bad guy in this story.
The advantage of my blistering moral dilemma was that I kept my head down and worked my behind off. I’d had no more distractions or requests from Hunter; I had happy clients and one pitch in particular that I thought might win an award. Matthew kept up with his questions, but he was so appreciative—dropping off cups of coffee and fancy slices of cake—that I didn’t really mind. He called me his mentor, and it made me feel valued. Useful.
All I was waiting for was my “pat on the head,” as Tola had called it. Proof that my work had been recognized.
So when I saw everyone gathering over on one side of the office, I figured it would be good news. I couldn’t see a birthday cake, and Felix hated having to make announcements. He usually got me to do it. If I was lucky, Hunter had decided he couldn’t carry on without me doing most of his work and had gotten a job in Daddy’s company. That would be perfect.
Tola and Eric nudged their way through to stand on either side of me, and I tilted my head.
“Bets on what this is about?”
“Someone’s been nicking all the coffee pods again?” Eric shrugged.
“Maybe we’re part of some big, corporate takeover!” Tola shook her shoulders, and I realized just how bored she must be here if she was hoping for chaos. Change at any cost. “What do you think?”
“Leaving or promotion, gotta be.” I shut up as Felix came out of his office, mouth in a thin line. If there were redundancies, I’d know about it, right?
“Maybe actually taking some holiday has shown Felix he better value you now, before you walk away to something better?” Eric offered. “Being unavailable is the best way to make them want you!”
I shook my head and focused on Felix, desperately hoping that might be true. Please.
“Morning, everyone, hate to interrupt, just a quick thing, really.” Felix tugged on one side of his mustache. “Here at Amora we like to reward hard work and dedication, and so one of your teammates will be stepping up into a new role, especially created to focus on building our clients’ brands as well as their revenue. This new role will oversee the creation of brand guidelines and strategies to protect against any issues for our clients.”
Holy shit, it’s finally happening. Tola grabbed my hand and squeezed.
“This is it!” Eric whispered in my ear.
“Your new head of branding is one of the hardest workers in this office and is definitely one of the friendliest among us!” Felix’s lips twitched in a smile. “So let’s all put our hands together for Matthew—congratulations!”
I froze. Tola muttered, “What?” Eric moved in a little closer, as if trying to protect me. Or perhaps to stop me from running across the office and roundhouse kicking Felix’s head off.
Matthew smiled as he walked over to Felix and shook his hand, and then gave an odd little wave to his colleagues. Matthew. Matthew, who couldn’t make a decision on anything? Matthew, who I’d had to stop from using Comic Sans on professional documents . . . multiple times? Even Hunter looked perturbed.
“I . . . I just wanted to say thanks so much for the opportunity, and I won’t let you down. And thank you to Aly, who’s really helped me as I’ve been preparing for this role.” He gave me a winning smile. “She’s been here the longest, and I’ve really learned a lot from her.”
I nodded, puzzled. The twenty-five-year-old that I’d trained, that I hand-held through every decision, was going to be my boss?
I raised an eyebrow at Felix, who avoided my gaze, and I looked around to find all the others equally confused. But they smiled and congratulated Matthew and talked about going to the pub after work.
As people started to disperse, I walked back to my desk and fell back into my chair, staring at my screen but not really seeing it. All those years, all that extra work, those extra hours. I tried to take a step back: Maybe Matthew deserved it, maybe he’d done brilliant work. He certainly loved his job and tried hard. But . . . he’d barely been here a year, he didn’t lead anyone, he didn’t have any formal training . . . if you put our CVs side by side it would be insane to choose him over me.
And I hadn’t even been told the interviews had happened . . . I hadn’t been given a chance.
It was like Felix was laughing at me.
“This is a fucking joke,” Eric said over my shoulder.
“Like, seriously? No shade to Matthew, he’s nice and all, but the man would spend five minutes debating which end of a pencil to put in the sharpener. You’ve done almost all his work!” Tola hissed at me.
“I didn’t do his work, I helped him.”
“Aly.” Eric raised an eyebrow, towering over me. “Come on now. You Fixer Upper–ed him! You guided and trained and encouraged, and even though he’s still pretty useless, he got the job you’re meant to have!”
I closed my eyes and ran through the last year. All his questions, all my support and advice. The articles I sent him, and the practice presentations I went through. I’d fixed him up and I hadn’t even meant to.
I kept my eyes closed. “Fuck.”
I felt my chair swivel, and opened my eyes in alarm, seeing Tola almost vibrating with rage. “Aly, you go in there and talk to Felix, because this is a fucking joke. He as good as promised that job to you.”
I looked over at the throng around Matthew, then whispered, “What am I meant to do, go in there crying ‘but you said!’? It’ll look unprofessional. If they want to hire Matthew, then they can. That’s their choice.”
“Aly, you wrote the job spec,” Tola said slowly, leaning down so I couldn’t escape eye contact. “If there was ever a time to lose your shit, this would be it.”
“What about fixing the Teddy Bell fiasco?” Eric supplied. “Come on, Aly, grow a pair.”
Tola laughed. “I agree with the sentiment but do not approve the language.”
I took a breath, adopted a calm tone of voice, and smiled. “Look, guys, it’s . . .”
And then I caught Felix’s eye across the room, and I couldn’t tell if he was afraid of me, embarrassed, or smirking, but suddenly I was the angriest I had ever been in my life.
“If you say fine . . .” Tola started.
“No, you know what? It’s not fine.” I stood up, heading over to Felix’s office. “It is not fine at all.”
“Yes!” Eric punched the air. “Aly fights for herself instead of others! Win!”
“Go and rip the shit out of him, babe.” Tola nodded, encouraging, picking up my lipstick from my desk and throwing it over to me. Orange-red and ready for anything.
I grasped it like a talisman, pausing to reapply in the reflective window of Felix’s office.
Give him hell, I told my reflection.
When I opened the door without knocking, Felix held up his hands, standing behind his desk. He already looked exhausted. “Come on, Aly. Don’t start with me here.”
I closed the door behind me, physically vibrating with rage, and simply stood, hands clasped gently in front of me.
“I just thought it would be great to have a little talk.”
“I don’t have to explain my hiring practices to you, I’m your superior.”
I frowned in surprise, tilting my head. Felix had always called himself my mentor. He’d been my biggest supporter. He was always finding opportunities for me to show my worth, to prove I was . . .
“Was I even in the running for the role?” I said quietly. “Or was it just a way to keep me doing more work, staying motivated, cleaning up everyone else’s messes?”
“Oh, okay, so I’ve tricked you into doing your job, is that it? Get a grip, Alyssa,” Felix huffed, leaning on his desk like he was trying to intimidate me. “You going to get all emotional now, cry and tell me it’s not fair? Because I don’t want to hear it.”
“Matthew has only been here a year,” I said calmly. “I just want to know how he could have impressed you that much, when he is still learning about the industry. And I’d be interested to know when the interviews were, seeing as I never got the chance to put myself forward.”
“Think of it more as a promotion, a role particularly designed for Matthew’s strengths.”
“It’s a title and job description I wrote, based on the need for it in this office,” I countered sharply.
“See, this is what I mean.” Felix pointed at me. “You’re getting hysterical!”
I blinked, pausing for a moment. “Hysterical? I’m asking a question.”
“You’re not thinking straight. If you were, you wouldn’t be in here questioning your boss.”
I took a breath and tried to lower my voice, make it softer. I wasn’t shouting, or ranting, I was just pissed off. Felix once threw a paperweight at the wall when we lost a contract, but somehow that wasn’t hysteria?
“Felix,” I said reasonably, smile plastered on my face. “You’ve been my mentor for years; you said I was in the running. I was just hoping to get some feedback. So I know what to work on for down the line.”
Felix scanned my face for a trace of anger, of loose emotion, checking my fists weren’t clenched and my teeth weren’t grinding. I wasn’t going to let him play the “crazy female” card. Not today.
He fell into his chair like he was relieved, and his voice took on that soft, encouraging tone I knew so well from the last few months. He was trying to get me back onside. “You need to stop taking things so personally.”
I was going to explode, but I nodded, sitting down. “So how did Matthew edge me out? So I can know what to work on.”
“Well, he’s just so likable, Aly, you know how it is. We need someone in charge that the others respect and look up to. And the Big Boss knows Matthew, he sees potential in him. They’ve developed a rapport, so he suggested he’d be a good fit for the role.”
“Oh, wow, okay, how does he know Matthew?” I kept my face carefully neutral, my voice light and friendly, as if we were just chatting. I was mentally begging him to say, He saw him around the office, they’ve chatted, he was impressed. That would be annoying, but I could live with it.
“Well, um.” Felix tugged at his mustache. “Matthew is his godson, actually. He really wanted to help him in finding a career path. And Matthew only has wonderful things to say about you, Aly, so I don’t think this jealousy looks good on you. Makes you look spiteful, you know?”
I felt my jaw physically drop. Was I living in some sort of alternate universe here?
“Besides, the work he did on the Digital Photography Conference was excellent—it increased brand recall by twenty-six percent.” Felix shrugged. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s impressive.”
I blinked. “Of course I agree it’s impressive, it was my campaign.”
Felix looked at me, almost pitying. “Don’t do this, kid, it’s embarrassing.”
I leaned in. “You’re telling me you couldn’t tell that I wrote that report? You couldn’t tell that was my idea? The same framework for the campaign that I designed four years ago on my first solo project? Are you even paying attention here, Felix?”
“If you’re accusing Matthew of plagiarism—”
“I’m not, I helped him.”
“Good—” he started.
“I’m accusing you of not seeing what’s right in front of you.”
“This is beneath you, and quite frankly, I don’t have time for any more of your nonsense,” Felix snapped. “Look, if you want a better shot next time, it’s not just the paperwork. You’ve got to be here.”
“I’m here, I’m always here!” I yelped. “For years, I’ve had no life, because my life has been this place. I’m the one working late on Friday nights, missing out on the trips to the pub, checking everyone’s work!”
“Maybe before, sure,” Felix agreed, “but these last few months? These last weeks in particular, you’re taking days off, you’re always chatting with your friends, you’re leaving at dead-on five o’clock. I don’t know if you’re setting up your own agency—”
“No!”
“—or what, but your focus hasn’t been here, Aly, it just hasn’t.”
He threw his hands up as if to let me argue, but there was nothing I could say. It was true. The Fixer Upper had made me take my eye off the ball. I was spending so much time worrying about Dylan’s career that I’d stopped worrying about my own.
I’d thrown away everything I’d been working toward.
I didn’t know if I was more angry at Dylan or my parents, or Tola, or myself. Definitely myself. Well, that was it. A small voice said, Well, at least it wasn’t Hunter.
I looked at Felix, feeling myself shut down emotionally, pulling back anything that he could cling to. No emotion, no friendliness, no excuses.
“Thank you for your feedback in this matter.”
I turned around without waiting for a response and walked back into the office, pulling a small smile onto my face like a shroud. I sat down at my desk and focused on my screen, when I felt Tola and Eric hovering at my side.
“I can’t do this now,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, not looking up. “Felix is watching and if I show one shred of weakness, I’m done.” Plus I’m angry at you. None of this would have happened if you guys hadn’t dragged me into this.
“Oh, Aly,” Eric started, but I stopped him.
“Please don’t be kind to me right now, I can’t take it.”
“Okay,” Tola relented, backing away, “but drinks after work?”
I nodded, not looking up, not breathing until they’d gone. And then my phone rang. Mama. I couldn’t face it, sending it straight to voice mail. But she called again. When my phone rang for the third time, I answered harshly, “Look, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time right now.”
“Then why did you answer the call?” a male voice asked, quizzical. I looked down at my phone in shock and saw Dylan’s name.
“Hi, sorry, I thought you were my mother.”
“My watermelon margaritas are not that good, and my karaoke skills are pretty pitiful,” he said cheerfully, and I wondered if he’d realized how much he’d just given away, or if he wasn’t playing our game anymore. “Anyway, just checking we were still on to go through the presentation tonight?”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, shit . . .”
“You forgot? You never forget anything.”
“I am . . .” I took a shaky breath, “I’m not having a great day.”
I don’t know what I expected from our newfound peace treaty, but he just said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t we reschedule for tomorrow?”
More time away from work. More time splitting my focus. God, what an idiot I was.
“Hello, Aly?”
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “Yeah, tomorrow sounds good. Thank you. Sorry for the confusion.”
“Are you . . . are you sure you’re okay?”
“Perfect, couldn’t be better! Just very busy!” I chirped, looking up at the ceiling to stop the tears that threatened. “I’ll text you later about a time!”
I hung up and felt like an arsehole. Now I was forgetting client meetings? And he’d actually seemed concerned. At any other time, it would have been the most natural thing in the world to let him distract me. Tell me something true, Dyl. Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me something magical.
These days, I was starting to think the truth was more trouble than it was worth.
—
I didn’t want to go for after-work consolation drinks. I didn’t want to admit that I was annoyed about the impact the Fixer Upper was having on my life. I didn’t want to blame Eric and Tola for making this happen, but a small part of me did.
“You took holiday! You’re allowed to take holiday!” Tola had yelped, ordering another round. “This is madness, Aly. You’re meant to have a life as well as a job.”
That sounded so much like my mother: When are you going to fall in love? When are you going to make yourself completely vulnerable and let someone destroy you? It’s romantic, all this suffering, I promise!
I really missed my grandparents, just then. They’d seemed to completely have life sussed. They had purpose and love and family. Work was never their main purpose. Their goal was happiness, laughter, good food, and small moments. My grandmother sang songs as she rolled the vine leaves for her koubebia, my grandfather picked oranges from his trees and squeezed his fresh orange juice, a loud “aaaah” after every gulp. Maybe they lived small lives, but they were so aware of what they had, of how much joy there was in small moments.
They never seemed to have the fear of being left behind I have. I suppose some people got that chilled-out attitude, and some people got what my mama had: epic destruction.
She tried calling again while I was at the bar, and it was clear my lack of availability was annoying her. Eventually I answered whilst the others were getting more drinks, and I felt woozy, standing in the outside smoking section, wondering how I was going to function tomorrow. And if I even cared.
“MAMA!” I answered. “I’M AT WORK DRINKS!”
“So I need you, and you’re out getting drunk?”
Panic shot through my system, and I thought I might throw up.
“What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“Your father keeps asking me about the money, and I don’t know what to tell him! He’s taking his family on holiday next week so he needs a time frame . . .”
I wanted to scream, Don’t you see what this is doing to me? Don’t you care? This isn’t love!
“Well, I’m very sorry not knowing when his firstborn is going to cough up her life savings is getting in the way of his holiday . . . how awful for him!”
“Alyssa! You’re meant to be helping me!”
“And who’s helping me, Mama?” I hung up before she could reply, irritated beyond belief. I turned my phone off for the rest of the evening, unwilling to hear what she had to say. I knew I’d pay for it tomorrow; she’d be hurt by my tone, and I’d apologize, and we’d all move on. The cycle would begin again.
When it got to around nine thirty, Eric got all squirrelly and decided to slink off. Tola wiggled her eyebrows and we teased, but he just scowled at us, checked his hair in the mirror behind us, and left. Ah, Ben. I decided to go, too, aware that I didn’t really want this day to continue for any longer than it needed to.
“Nooo, we never get time just the two of us!” Tola yelped, clinging to my arm, but I shook my head.
“Go hang out with your young friends. Tomorrow we need to have a discussion about all this stuff with Dylan. I’m just . . . I’m not feeling good about it.”
Tola tilted her head. “We can always just quit. If it’s making you unhappy?”
“You said it would destroy our reputation!”
Tola smiled at me like I was the silliest person she’d ever met. “What does our reputation matter if it makes you miserable? You’re so odd, Aly, honestly. Go get a good night’s sleep. We’ll fix the world tomorrow.”
As I waited for the bus, I realized we couldn’t quit—I needed the money. And I hadn’t told my friends that. I’d just created another problem. Everything had been so much easier when I was lonely and aloof and only had my work to focus on. When I dated men who took my energy and then left me because I wasn’t fun.
No one wants to date a drill sergeant, Aly.
Why are you always lecturing me?
Stop being a nag.
I missed when my idea of a secret had been going to restaurants by myself, rather than being paid an eye-watering sum of money to turn my ex–best friend into a socialite businessman Ken doll.
I turned my phone back on and found four voice mails from my mother, which I absolutely was not going to listen to, and a few texts from Dylan:
You didn’t text to reschedule. You doing okay?
I closed my eyes briefly, guilt curdling in my stomach.
Why are you being kind to me now? I’m trying to destroy you! I’m an awful manipulative bitch who doesn’t even deserve the memory of our friendship. At least keep being mean to me to make it okay!
I was calling the number before I could stop myself.
“Aly?” His voice was soft, tired. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry!” I hissed, wincing. “Sorry, it’s late!”
“Are you . . .” I could hear the curve of his smile. “Are you drunk-calling a client, Alyssa Aresti? For shame.”
“No, I’m drunk-calling a . . . you. It’s different.”
“Is it?” he asked, suddenly playful. “How interesting.”
“I just wanted to apologize for not replying. And for forgetting our meeting in the first place. And for being drunk on this call . . .” I looked at my watch and winced. “At ten p.m. Damn.”
He laughed at that. “This is very un-Aly behavior. What’s happened, is it the end of days?”
“My mentee got the job over me.”
“Not the one who shagged Bell’s wife?”
I laughed. “Hit on, and thankfully not. A different incompetent man. But he’s the Big Boss’s godson. Wish I’d known that before I bothered.”
“Office bullshit should come with some sort of manual.” Dylan paused. “I’m sorry, though. It sounded like you’d been working toward that for a very long time.”
“A pathetic amount of time wasted. Anyway, I’m sorry, do you want to reschedule for tomorrow? Am I interrupting? Nicki probably doesn’t get much downtime with you and work stuff—”
“I’m at mine,” he said, and the silence after that was long enough that I worried something was wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking because I had a vested interest, or because it was Dylan.
“Sure . . . it’s . . . sure.” I could almost see him shrugging.
“Oh, come on, you can spin a story better than that,” I said lightly, as if I didn’t care. “I’ve got a long, boring bus ride home and I need something to take my attention away from my own woes.”
There was silence for a moment, then . . .
“What do you think of Nicki?”
I wasn’t expecting that. “Me?”
“Yeah.”
I searched for the words. “Um . . . well, she’s determined and hardworking, and she demands what she wants, which I always respect in a woman. She’s built up her own brand from scratch, which is really impressive. I like her taste in shoes and I hate her taste in cocktails.”
“Oh, the cocktail thing drives me nuts,” Dylan laughed. “Just let the expert make the drink, for the love of God!”
“Why are you asking this, Dylan? Has something happened?”
“No,” he said quietly, light as a feather. “It was just some dumb thing. She hates that I wear that St. Christopher medal all the time. Says it doesn’t go with my outfits. I got annoyed. It’s silly.”
His mother gave that necklace to him when he was a kid; as far as I knew he’d worn it every day since she’d died. Some people had a homing beacon for their partner’s most vulnerable points, and it looked like Nicki was one of them. I wondered if she’d even realized what she’d done, what it meant.
Before I could say anything, he continued.
“I guess I’m just assessing my life with fresh eyes. I don’t know if it’s what I would have imagined for myself.”
“But it’s amazing!” I whispered, watching the city streets get smaller and shabbier as I got closer to home. “You’re doing this work that can help people, and it’s innovative and creative and risky. You’re loved by someone who is so hard on themselves, so open to attack in the public eye, and yet she wants you there, by her side. You, Dyl.”
“I just get the feeling someone else would do a better job,” he said.
“Of what? Turning up at events and eating free food and selling selfies to glossy mags?” I chortled.
“Of loving her.”
No, don’t say that. I’m doing this to help you, to help both of you.
I needed to fix this.
I needed him to see this phase as a rough spot. Growing pains as their relationship moved to the next level, and nothing more.
Worst of all, sitting having this devastating conversation was still the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. To hear him laugh, to have my friend back in some tiny, insignificant way.
“I just think it would be really easy to fuck something up with a woman like Nicki. If you didn’t understand why she does what she does,” I offered, hesitant.
“And what does she do?” He was annoyed, I could tell. He’d given me an in, and I hadn’t taken it.
“The influencer stuff. The reality TV shows. She’s a woman who’s been trained to perform. It’s probably harder for her to be authentic without an audience. To just be who she is.”
He sighed. “I can see her struggling, but I don’t know how to help beyond telling her to put the fucking phone down and just watch the damn movie or eat the piece of pizza. Every thought she has is about harnessing an audience, what they want to see next. It’s like if Jim Carrey had known he was the center of The Truman Show all along. I feel like eventually she’s going to have a breakdown. Which, of course, she’ll leak to the press and then get a book deal for.”
I snorted. “That sounds about right.”
“I’ve been trying so hard to be right for her, but . . . I just can’t.”
I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the window glass, letting it jolt me back and forth. There was no answer to any of this. It’s a rough patch, it’s a phase, it’ll get better. Just keep trying, let me help. He was being vulnerable, being honest, and I was using it to plan out a chess move. God, I hated myself. And yet I couldn’t put the phone down. Couldn’t end a conversation in which I was his confidant again.
“I’m just wondering what it is that’s annoying you,” I asked carefully. “Are you jealous of her success?”
He took a moment to think about it. “No, and it’s not about having to share her, either. It just . . . it feels like maybe everyone else is acting in a movie and I never got the script?”
“That’s just what growing up feels like, isn’t it?” I imagined him smiling at the ceiling, lounging on a beat-up sofa, comfortable and content.
“It’s more than that, it’s like everyone’s pretending. Everyone’s framing themselves as something else. Putting a filter on their lives. And when I hang out with them, I end up doing it, too. You know what I used to say, when people asked me what I did? I said I was working on an app.”
“Which is true . . .”
“Yes. But now it’s ‘start-up,’ ‘entrepreneur,’ ‘tech mogul’ . . .”
“No one’s called you a tech mogul,” I laughed, the seriousness starting to ebb away, “calm down.”
“Nicki did! In an interview, in the hopes that it would stick!” he yelped. “So I started dressing like one of those guys and rented fancy office space and talked as if I knew what the fuck I was doing. I went to the polo, Aly. Can you imagine me with those people?”
“No, but more because you’re scared of horses.”
He laughed, trailing off to silence. “I just don’t feel like anyone knows me. No one knows that I’m scared of horses or allergic to mushrooms, or I still go running on Sunday mornings because my dad made me do drills. And as angry as it makes me, I can’t stop pretending.”
I didn’t really know what to say, so I just waited.
“God, that sounded so wanky, didn’t it? Woe is me, no one knows my entire boring life story.”
“No one knows about my parents’ confusing relationship, or how my grandparents used to dance in the kitchen. No one knows that when I’m sad I eat strawberry laces, or that I ask people stupid questions because I don’t trust anyone to tell the truth.”
“It would be nice,” he said softly, “to have that again.”
I thought I was going to be sick. Because I wanted that more than anything. My friend, my dear friend, back again. That person I used to be with him, the one who went off on adventures and took risks and wasn’t living this gray, listless life. What did I have now, without the dream of the branding role? I had work and I had the Fixer Upper.
This would never work—I didn’t get to keep him after this. I fix him for Nicki, and what, we’d just never talk about it again? I’d go to their winter wonderland wedding and smile and pretend I hadn’t tricked him?
Did my mother even deserve the money? Sticking plasters and concealer on Dylan and Nicki, just to pay for my mum and dad to continue their epic dance for another decade—what was this even for anymore? This wasn’t helping anyone.
“Aly, you there?”
I put a smile on my face and wiped away my tears, injecting that sarcastic tone. “I’m afraid, Mr. James, the time has come for me to get off the bus and run home so I can spend the next hour vomiting aggressively. I promise I will be incredibly professional tomorrow.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” He laughed softly. “Hey, Aly?”
I winced. Please don’t make this any harder. “Yeah?”
“You deserved that job,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
I hung up and burst into tears.