𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢)

thirty-one [t]

tuesday,
june 11th, 2020

TRINITY HAYSON

"Article from Joe," Hale sings as she waltzes into my office, setting two pages sealed together by a paper clip on my desk that's overcrowded with work.

I sigh, "Thanks."

Hale frowns as I look back down at my desk, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," I mutter, pen marking various grammar mistakes from my co-worker Lindsey, who at this stage may as well be an eleven year old learning how to spell, "Can you grab me a coffee please?"

"You've already had three," Hale points out, though of course I already know that.

"Well I want another one," I snap, looking up at her. I exhale, shaking my head as I realise she's taken aback, "I'm sorry. I'm stressed. Just uh... a coffee? Please?"

Hale nods her head slowly before turning on her heel and leaving my office. I drop my pen and massage my fingers gently into my temples, hoping to relieve my growing migraine. I push my glasses further up my nose and stretch out my hands before grabbing my pen and continuing to mark Lindsey's fashion review.

Usually, editing other people's work isn't a hard job. The people I work with are not stupid, they generally know their grammar and language very well. It's not like I'm an English teacher. Today though, everything is piling up. Between the two interviews I have to write up, three editorials, final drafting six articles written by fellow journalists and shuffling through references to make sure they're accurate, the building stress is slowly but surely eating me up.

I finish final drafting Lindsey's article for her and reach over to find my stack of editorials I have to type up. As soon as I power up my laptop, Hale returns with a coffee, a bottle of pink lemonade and a chicken and stuffing sandwich.

I breathe out, smiling a little at her generosity, "I asked for a coffee."

"I know," Hale chirps, setting my drinks and sandwich in front of me, "Eat. Take an extra twenty minutes for lunch and relax a little."

"Will you join me?" I ask, grabbing the sandwich and tearing off the biodegradable packaging that our building uses in the canteen.

"I'll be back at one, when lunch actually starts," she replies, grabbing the slim pile marked Interviews from my desk. "I'll write these up."

I chuckle with a mouthful of chicken and stuffing, "You're the best!"

"I know!" she calls as she leaves my office, closing the door gently and leaving me be.

I scoff down my sandwich and down half of my coffee, preparing to work through lunch and maybe finish early. When my phone buzzes somewhere underneath strewn about papers, I get distracted. I find it underneath my planning journal, retrieving it and seeing a text from Shawn.

Shawn:
I'm sorry I didn't call you back last night.

I huff, shutting my phone off and turning to my laptop, deciding that I'll deal with him later. I don't know his reasoning, and figuring that out right now will only postpone all this work I've got to do. With quick-paced fingers, I get to work on the first editorial about some up and coming celebrity wedding that I am less than interested in.

I'm halfway through when my phone vibrates again.

Shawn:
Trinity. I'll call you later. We need to talk.

Suddenly, I feel quite nervous. Worry burns my skin like wildfire, making my mind race with thoughts of the impossible and my stomach turn unpleasantly. After spending a solid minute staring at my phone and wondering what to do, I grasp it in my hands and dial Shawn's number, anxiously picking at my bottom lip.