No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Thirty-Three

"I can't deal with this," I gripe, falling on the couch arm. "There's not enough time to recover from everything that's happened."

As this is my third time complaining of exhaustion, Jeremiah's no longer amused from the other end of the couch. He puts his phone away, the first time since he got here an hour and a half ago. 

"It's been four days since finals," he says, bringing his legs up on the coffee table next to the laptop I was using just now. "Kinda ridiculous to see you still flopping around when the only reason you use your brain now is for the smallest things. Hell, it took me two days to recover and I'm good to go."

I groan in response. "Ikra? What do you think?" I call across the room.

From the near-top of the stairs, she says, "I'm not getting involved in this. That's why I'm staying up here."

"Really?" I ask. "I thought it was because of some Wi-Fi issue you have looking up the artists. Also, I can't believe you're getting another tattoo a few months after the first one."

"Nah, that was an excuse to get away from you a-holes," she admits. "You better believe I'm getting another one."

Standing up finally, I head to the kitchen for coffee. "Don't you have enough of the pain?"

I'm not too interested talking about Ikra's obsession with tats, but I'd rather have a full conversation about it over student visas. Jeremiah seems more than a little intrigued by it, giving the questions he asks Ikra after every two sentences. 

The coffee takes its time filling the mug I've nabbed from the cupboard. Meanwhile, Ikra explains how the pain wasn't so bad she couldn't deal with it again after a short period of time. 

She ends her monologue with, "Now, I can't deal with the pain of the shit you're going through, Niamh. I would die if my mom cut off contact from my friends just because of a college I want to go to that she doesn't."

"Same," I respond, adding cream in the cup. "I have extensive plans to go through with it if you wanna look them over. Hell, I'm looking for tips to make them better."

"Jesus, Niamh," Jeremiah pipes up. The tone of his voice suggests I'm getting some sort of a lecture. "I know how you are whenever your mom does shit like this, and I get it. Really. Your 'extensive plans', though? That's just bad all around."

I shrug. What else is there to say? I'm sorry for wanting to die?

I jump when I hear Dad's voice coming from the bedroom. Sometimes, he's so quiet whenever he takes a rare day of working from home that I forget he's there.

"Are you guys okay?" he calls. "I heard something and I don't like what it implies."

"We're fine," the three of us chorus. 

"Niamh, how are you doing on the student visa? Anything you need help understanding?"

Taking a drink, I say, "I'm good. All the shi -- stuff I asked about make sense now."

I think Dad's done talking to me for the time being. He proves me wrong. "Have you heard from the job yet?"

Internally, I groan. The only response I want to read from Mr. Ashby's company is a rejection and wishing me good luck for the job search.

"Um, let me get back to you," I answer Dad. "Haven't checked my emails yet."

I see Jeremiah leaning over to where the laptop is. Quickly, I go and snatch the device before he gets his grubby hands on the mouse pad, intending to check the Gmail tab I have up. I place the laptop on the kitchen counter, which is a good thirty feet away from him.

"Well?" Ikra asks, a little restless. "You get the job?"

"Hold your horses, Impatient Ikra," I say. 

I hear her whisper "what the fuck was that?" as I go through spam and those 'last chance to save money at Some Big Company You Didn't Remember Subscribing To!' emails. When the last of the unwanted emails are deleted, I have a couple sitting in the inbox. 

The first one's a Twitter notification about the fake account I spent hours on yesterday, and then sent a follow request to Josh's profile. The email all but congratulated me for convincing the guy that the account was genuine enough to accept the request. Thank God; I was running out of options to find his tweets. 

The second one --

"Well?" Dad asks. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Hang on!" I yell up the stairs. "Give me a second!"

Jeremiah comments, "Someone sounds annoyed."

"Yep."

The second email's from Ashby's company. It's a generic email I figure was written up a while ago. The gist I get from skimming through the letter was that I'm hired (how great), I start training next week (even better), and I officially start near the end of April (I'm running out of sarcastic responses but you get the idea).

I relay the information to Dad. 

"Good! I'm proud of you for going through with this offer!" he declares. "This would be a great start for you and a decent buffer for your resume when you move up."

I'm sure he means well; that's why I don't say anything back. Sarcasm tends to go out faster than anything genuine.

After a long silence from upstairs, I realize he's back to his work.

Jeremiah looks at me. "So, how much you getting paid?"

"I think above minimum wage," I say.

His jaw drops. "Damn, you're lucky! I'm kinda jealous."

"Please, take the job," I beg. "I think Mr. Ashby will like you more."

"What?" Jeremiah's slightly shocked. "I mean, thanks for the offer, but are you batshit insane?"

I deadpan, "No, that would be my mom."

"Maybe you got it from her." Ikra's ballsy enough to put that out in the open.

I ignore her. I explain to Jeremiah, "I would be all over the job if I applied to it because I wanted it. But, again, this is Mom's doing and, again, the boss doesn't like me."

He nods in understanding. "Yeah, kinda ruins the idea of a fat paycheck."

Returning to the student visa tab, I set the laptop down and sat back down on the couch. The part I'm on shows the payments and the options to pay them.

Given that it's a lot of money, I can't risk stealing from Mom's purse (not that she'll notice... for a couple months). So, I can't risk not taking the job. Sure, no one I know likes their job, but they still go to every shift and put up with assholes, either customer or coworker.

At least, I should really check if I have no option.

"Hey, Ikra, have any problems with understaffing that I can help with?"

I hear a bad attempt at snickering. "We have too many hires, that's the problem."

Well, I tried.