The Edge Of A Beg | Jamie Cook

eight

You'll miss me when you're drunk. The words bounce around me mockingly as I settle on my chair the next day. It's the longest I've done without touching my phone. Each time I unlock it, I remind myself I could accidentally call Jamie for no reason. I want to avoid any more embarrassment.

There's a coffee and a note next to my computer screen at ten, one he must have left when I went outside to call Connor again (who didn't answer).

Got you a coffee, I'm not a dick
today. That's still on my schedule
for tomorrow though.

Jamie has never left more than a few words before. Still, I roll my eyes and throw the note away.

The coffee looks suspicious, so I keep it on the side. And after the first timid sip, I realise it's a vanilla one, not poisoned. I let out a breath, shaking my head as if to clear it.

The morning passes quickly. Someone has hung up Christmas lights on the wall behind my back, and despite the ridiculous view of my cubicle, it makes people stop in front of it.

Like, really stop. And talk. If I were still asleep, I would think I'm in a fishbowl.

"Four couples? That's brilliant."

I smile tiredly at the woman standing in front of me, mentally praying for my pink notes to disappear by miracle. She noticed them, and she hasn't stopped talking about it for ten minutes now.

"What can I say? Love is a beautiful thing," I finally say, but she doesn't seem to be catching the sarcasm.

"It really is," she sighs and licks her lips. "Well then... would you be able to set me up with someone here?"

"Absolutely," I respond without even thinking, just hoping that will make her leave.

I sniffle harshly, my reflexes bogged down by the cold I caught yesterday or this very morning. And then we stare at each other awkwardly for a moment, and I nod like I do when I want someone to leave. Eventually, she starts asking about my job here.

Shutting my eyes close, I open them when I feel some strength again and explain broadly, massaging my temples. Why won't she leave me alone?

I glance back at the computer screen in front of me, my heart melting seeing all these ads, especially the one I clicked on just before the woman arrived.

Meet Gus! Found hungry and unclaimed despite our searches, he came into foster with us proving himself to be a delight. Despite enjoying his solitude, Gus will love your cuddles!

I try to read what is written about the small dog while she explains why the lift often breaks down. I'm only focused on the conditions in the ad, furtively trying to see if I could take care of him for a little while.

I haven't done that in a while—taking in abandoned dogs at my place while I do my own searches to find them a new peaceful shelter as quickly as possible. Most of the time, they get a new family in the first months.

When I can't make myself proud, I remember I'm doing that, at least. Today isn't any different. I'm filled with some sense of goodness that I want to put into practice.

"Is she in a good mood?" I hear a voice from afar, and I don't need to look up to guess who it is.

Fucking perfect. The death combo. At this rate, just bring the others so I can get this over with.

"Why wouldn't she?" the woman asks Jamie, her eyes drifting between us.

"She's sulking from nine to five."

It makes her laugh. "Quite the contrary. She's lovely."

"I am," I agree, rubbing my forehead. "He, on the other hand, wins the massive-twat prize each year."