Cloud 69

13:

The larger offices are on the left side so that, instead of a fourth wall, there's a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city. They're occupied by my parents and Carson's, as well as the heads of the hospital's education program since this is a teaching hospital. They all have doors of frosted glass, so you can't see inside of them, but, from what I've gathered, the occupants of these offices don't really spend a lot of time in their offices.

Carson's parents have the first two offices on this side of the building. Both of the office doors are closed and the lights are off, obviously unoccupied since neither of them are in the country. The next few doors follow the same pattern, until I get to my mom's door.

Her and my father both have this thing about always having their office doors open when they're in them. Something about showing they are "approachable." I argued once that it's kind of a defeated act since their offices are in a section of the building that has very restricted access. It hasn't dissuaded them from differing from their open-door policy; they only ever close their doors when they're meeting with someone.

Even though the light is on, I still peek my head into the room before announcing my presence. She's sitting in front of her computer, typing away in a hyper-focused state. My mother may put on a front that she's put together, but if anyone saw the constant state of her office, they would know it's all a facade. 

The wooden surface of her desk is just barely visible under the disorganized array of papers and files scattered over the entirety of the desk. The wall above her head has a cork board that has empty holes from at least 100 pins, as well as a jumble of random family photos. There's also a calendar hanging next to it, and in each of the individual date boxes, there's enough words scribbled in to fill a dictionary. The trash bin near the door is filled fully, and so is the recycle bin and the paper shredder. I don't know how she functions in this mess. I tried cleaning it for her once, but according to her, she has everything arranged in a 'very specific way.'

I knock on the door gently as I enter to alert her I'm here. "Hi, Mom," I smile as she pulls her eyes away from the computer.

She took off her glasses, as if she had to check to make sure it was really me. She looks tired; her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, but the dark circles and frown lines take away from the 'fresh-faced' appearance she was going for.

"Hi, sweetheart," she smiled. "How are you? How's Carson?"

I yawned, "I'm good. Carson's... the same as ever."

"Getting along better, I presume?" She asked.

I scratched the back of my head. If she wanted the truth, it would certainly be a complicated answer. "Oh, we're definitely getting along... something."

My mother saw through that response. She shook her head and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "You need to work on that. Carson's a very sweet young man, I don't understand the issue."

I groaned, "The issue is that he's irritating, egotistical, irritating, rude, intrusive, did I mention irritating?"

She laughed, "I could've sworn you had a little thing for him at the beginning of high school."

"W-What?" I stammered. "I-you- it's not proper to tell such lies."

She held up her hands in surrender, but a knowing smirk remained on her lips. Before she could bring up any more dirt she has on me, I cut her off. "Anyways, I've got it all sorted out. His presence isn't a problem. Much."

She hummed, her disbelief showing in her facial expression. "As long as it's amicable."

I snorted, "Oh, it's amicable alright."