Outside the Lines(14)

Mindy straightens and crosses her arms. “So you have no idea how long this will take?”

“No, I don’t,” I reply and remind myself to stay professional. I’m working a job, not catching up with an old high school nemesis. “You’re way overdue for an upgrade. I’ll do that and try the site again. Well, update if I can.” I click through a few more things, growing annoyed and irritated with Mindy hovering. “I’ll let you know when I’m done,” I inform her with a smile.

“Okay,” she says and turns, only to return a minute later with another chair. “I need to sit at the desk.”

“Makes sense.”

She’s still too close, and I feel her eyes on me, not the computer. “I haven’t seen you since college,” she begins, pausing to see if I’d say anything.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you without that skin issue. It seems to have cleared up.”

I freeze. Seriously? I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or pissed. It took a while to find a good combo of creams and meds, but I’d finally gotten the red flakey skin from psoriasis to go away. I’d have to stop taking the medication if I ever got pregnant, but I figure if a man loved me enough to intentionally knock me up, he’ll be okay with the red spots for a while.

Mindy waits a beat for me to answer. When I don’t, she goes one. “What have you been up to?”

I know this game. She’s asking me so I’ll have to ask her and she can show off her amazing life. I guess some people never change. You can take the bitch out of high school but you can’t take the bitch out of, well, anyone.

“You know, normal stuff,” I tell her.

“That’s good. Do you like Grand Rapids? Was it hard to leave your friends?”

I don’t take my eyes off the computer. “Yes, but I have lots of friends here and we hang out all the time,” I lie right through my teeth. Ninety-nine percent of them are online. Okay, fine. Ninety-eight percent since I count Ser Pounce as a friend. Hanging out on forums and talking over games is pretty much the same thing as hanging out in real life though. Who is she to judge?

Calm your tits, Felicity.

“Do you still talk to anyone from high school or college?”

“Not really. Just my best friend Erin.”

“Erin?” I can see her tip her head. “I don’t remember her.”

“Too bad. She’s pretty awesome.”

Mindy giggles. “High school was so long ago. And that’s good you’re liking it here. So funny to think we both ended up here!”

“Hilarious,” I say dryly. Hilarious in a way that this is proof the universe hates me. I scoot closer to the computer.

“Are you married?” Mindy asks. She can clearly see the lack of a wedding ring on my finger.

“Nope.”

“Oh. I got married young, a few days after I turned twenty-one. I just couldn’t say no!” She laughs like it’s actually funny. “So you have a boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, must be nice to do whatever you want then.”

“It is.” I yawn and wish I’d stopped for more coffee. I’d downed my second cup on the way here. Why did Mindy still feel the need to put me down in a passive-aggressive way? Mom would tell me it was some deep psychological issue and she was actually insecure. While I did believe that, I also believed some people were just assholes, and Mindy fit that bill.

The front door opens, and an older couple comes in to buy a painting. Mindy gets up and greets then, then disappears into the gallery.

Adios, bitchachos.

I work in silence for a while, and figure out pretty fast that the computer is loaded with cookies. The problem isn’t a virus, but a computer so old it belongs in a museum. I can’t even install the new protection they bought. I run a few updates and look around for the bathroom. That coffee goes through me fast. I tap my nails on the desk, hating that I have to ask Mindy where the bathroom is, though it’s not like she doesn’t use it herself.

The couple comes back to the front, and Mindy rings them up using an old-fashioned looking register. I hear her say the painting will be delivered tomorrow morning since it was too big to fit inside their car. They write her a check for over a grand and leave with smiles.

“Are you done yet? Did you get rid of the virus?” Mindy asks before the door closes behind the old couple.

“You don’t have a virus,” I tell her. “The issues you described can be fixed with updating your computers.”

“Can you do that?”

“Not on this one. There isn’t enough memory to support the update to the newest version of Windows.”