I Do

Chapter 9 - Head Case

Zack’s Point of View

“If we don’t meet the budget by the end of the fiscal year, major fallout with our clients and competitors could disrupt a large amount of our profits. I say we just take the straight forward approach and arrange a meeting with the guy. Least we could do is reason with him. If he still refuses to cooperate, then go for maneuvers. I swear, if we lose one more - is he even listening...?”

Massaging at my temples, I choose to hear that last bit my colleague Kent directs towards the others in the room. The rest is blah blah, rah rah, we can raise our profits by going in for a big client, nothing important. 

“Zack.. Zack! Holy crap, man, are you brain dead?”

I lift my eyes from the makeshift barrier my interlocking hands create and stare tiredly at Kent. “What?!”

“Did you even hear a word I just said?”

“Blah blah.. fiscal year.. blah blah.. major fallout.. blah blah.. arrange a meeting. I get the gist.”

“What is the matter with you?”

I reach for the aspirin bottle in my briefcase and pop two pills in my mouth. After taking a swig of coffee with a hint of scotch splashed in, I swallow the painkillers, otherwise known as emotion blockers, and sit back in my chair. “You don’t even wanna know.”

“Zack, I may not know what’s going on, but this is a new low for you. I can smell the alcohol in your thermos, you never drank before. Whatever is wrong, I hope it’s fixed by the end of the week. Our biggest client is a stickler for men who have it all together,” He lets his eyes roam over my appearance. “And clearly you do not.”

I wave my hand dismissively at him and swipe another nip at my thermos before the buzzing in my pocket brings the attention from me to my cell phone. Hope earthquakes me to reality and I stand quickly. “Excuse me.”

The moment I’m outside the door I swipe my thumb across the screen and press it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Zackary. It’s Mum.”

I roll my eyes in complete and utter annoyance with the familiar heart shattering feeling of crashing back down to despair. My mother is the last person I would like to exchange dialogue with, and there’s a pretty heavy chance I’ll have to be an attorney for some high criminal cases sometime in the near future. They would be a much more pleasant conversation. 

“For the last time, Mom, it’s Zack, not Zackary,” I say, flinching at the last time I remember hearing my full name. Oh no, it’s coming again. “And just because you spent a month in Britain does not mean you can make me refer to you as Mum. For God’s sake, you sound like a bad sitcom.”

“You will not be speak to the woman who gave you life in such a horrendous and disrespectful tone.”