Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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Numbers didn't lie but people sure as fuck did.
Idled at an intersection two streets from the office, my outdated Ford groaned like a dying animal. The steering wheel shook under my wrenched hands, wobbling my knuckles. Two boxes of dark roast coffees percolated my interior airspace. The smell burned my nostrils with each breath.
The ring of my phone, despite the caller ID, wasn't enough to douse the fire burning in my veins. "What?"
"Your message, that's what," Abby's gentle voice filtered through the suffocating heat, a direct contrast against the urge to count how many cars ahead fit under my grill. I was my grill, edged with rust and sizzling and swaying the air from how much heat pumped off it. "It was concerning."
Concerning. Such a way with words, unlike my, 'Day three and I'm going to throw my desk chair out the nearest window' text. "Abby, I'm not gonna make it. I was this–" I pinched my fingers, not that she could see. A symphony of beats pounded in my ears. "–Close to telling Benning to shove this job up his coffee-fetching ass!"
"Mia–"
"All I wanted was to report egregious expenses for the case he assigned me. Not just any case, nooooooo," I moaned. "Fucking Pearson's. And what do I get for trying to play Good Samaritan whistleblower on my third day? Sent out to fucking fetch coffee!"
"Calm down. What numbers?"
Fresh air and Abby's sympathy couldn't placate the strain burning my eyes. Click after click flashed images on my computer screen that churned my stomach. Egregious meals and incidentals, advertising expenses, and bloated management and solicitor salaries left scraps for the charity's recipients.
One percent. Our conversation still burned in my brain, but I clenched my teeth to maintain discretion. "But do the numbers balance? That's all you're paid to check, Miss Hayes," I mocked Benning's flippant dismissal. The prick flipped up his dress shirt's collar, then smoothed it over his black suit coat.
"Please tell me you stayed level-headed."
I scoffed at the hesitation in her voice. "I was good. Scribbled the evidence in my notebook and tried to tell my boss. He said, ahem–" I cleared my throat. "–Miss. Hayes. Before I remind you whose recommendation earned you your position, I suggest you close the balanced account."
"Oh." Abby sighed. "I thought your message was because you're meeting with–."
"That's the humiliating part!"I wrenched the steering wheel hard enough to squeak the leather. "And then–ooh, that pompous jellyfish had the nerve to tell me to fill the meeting's coffee order!"
My chest and shoulders sagged like a deflated balloon. Benning hired me as a favor, and his exact words were too embarrassing to recite.
"If you feel so obliged to expand outside your assigned work responsibilities, then go fill the meeting's coffee order. Mister Pearson prefers French roast. While you're out, remove that distracting metal from your ears for a more professional look, Amelia. Let's make a good impression, hmm?"
