Scissor Link, Georgette Kaplan [best 7 inch ereader .TXT] 📗

situation. It’s just an untenable—”

“All right then, I quit.”

Janet let out a short, shrill laugh. “You can’t quit.”

Wendy tightened her crossed arms. “What, you want my two weeks’ notice?”

“It’s just a relationship, Wendy, it’s not some kind of—”

“It is to me. And don’t tell me it isn’t to you, because I’ve seen the way you look at me and I know, I know, how scared you are. That’s why you’re doing this, not because you suddenly have a bug up your ass about workplace romance.”

“Wendy, you have a bright future at Savin, a promising career, you cannot give it up for anyone.”

“You are not just anyone.”

Janet took a deep breath. “I don’t accept your resignation. And I don’t want to continue this relationship. When you’ve had some time to process this…I’m leaving now.” Her lips trembled a moment; the urge to say something more. “If you have any…questions, you can still send me an e-mail.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’d think a divorcee would know something about how people get dumped!”

Janet stiffened again, took the hit, and moved for the door.

Wendy took a moment to just grind the heel of her hand into her forehead, then she turned around to follow her. “Janet, I didn’t mean—”

Janet shut the door behind her. She was still in control enough not to slam it.

CHAPTER 11

A quick wash of her hair with Aveda to start the day, then saltwater hairspray and some oil to keep it from drying overmuch. Janet massaged her hair, fingers along her scalp, hair between her digits; the lushness of her hair making it seem longer and fuller than it really was. She imagined doing this as a young woman: her hands trailing down her back, finding curling, luscious softness belying that firm flesh underneath.

Then she picked up her hairbrush and began to pull it through her hair. She wasn’t a young woman.

Janet made dried pear arugula salad. Simple, but good practice for something more complex. Mostly it was just hunting down the ingredients, feeding them all to the food processor or the salad bowl, whisking it around, then watering it with apple cider vinaigrette.

The taste was decent, the meal filling.

Janet kept few plants. A cacti or other succulent in each room. She enjoyed their self-sufficiency—that without her, they could get along quite well. Not forever, of course. They would die without her. But there was no need to coddle them.

She’d already watered them: the sand collar cactus, the bishop’s cap, the saguaro, all the rest. But she knew that in the active period, they were watered more frequently, they were given fertilizer. She checked again when the active period was.

It was later in the year. Much later.

She treated herself to a Greek yogurt. She had a whole carton of them in her refrigerator. It tasted of almosts: almost ice cream, almost fruit, almost milk. When she finished, there was still yogurt skimming the sides of the cup.

She called Elizabeth as she opened the bottle of wine they hadn’t finished. The thing was, if she drank it straight from the bottle, that was one less glass she’d have to wash. Smart. She was so fucking smart.

The speaker phone picked up. “Jan? Hey. Didn’t expect you to be back from your trip so soon?”

“Why not? We sold the damn things, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Good job. You and Wendy celebrating?”

“I’m celebrating.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t sealed the deal yet. Look, if fucking her is that big a deal, I can always sit in, give you a little constructive criticism…”

“No, no, I fucked her. Just like you said. It was nice. And now we’re moving on. Onward and upward.”

“Okay then.” Elizabeth sounded less than enthused, but Janet couldn’t judge her. She herself didn’t sound especially…anything.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yeah, Jan?”

“I don’t think I was happy with Roberta. I wasn’t sad, but… I wasn’t happy, either.”

“I know, Jan.”

“I know what happy is like. It just isn’t for me.”

“You want me to come over?”

“No. I should be alone now. I’ve had enough practice at it.”

Wendy hated herself and wanted to die.

Naturally, Regan was having a great week.

“Look at how much my husband loves me in floral form!” she cried, hoisting a bouquet like she was Miss America.

“It’s like porn for bees,” Wendy agreed, very happy when it was out of her face.

Regan lugged it over to the dinner table, where she had a glass of water waiting, and she took some posies out of the bouquet and put them there. “I mean, I’m sure he had a coupon or something, this is a lot of flowers to buy when I’d just settle for a dozen roses—”

“You would?” Wendy asked sarcastically. “Geez, get some standards—”

Regan ignored her, smiling over the posies now sitting in a vase on her table. “Go get me some more glasses.”

“Half-full or half-empty?” Wendy quipped, headed to the kitchen.

Regan gathered up a fistful of begonias. “These would look great on the windowsill… Wendy, c’mon!”

Wendy came out of the kitchen with three glasses in either hand, another two caught between her arms and body. “Just for the record, what do you intend to drink out of?”

“I’ll pick up some Dixie cups,” Regan said, taking one glass, filling it with flowers, and setting it picturesquely on the sill. “I could get addicted to this. I think I’m a little high. Let’s put one on the stairs!”

“Let’s!” Wendy agreed with false cheer.

“Okay, fine, you’re in a snit,” Regan conceded as they moved to the staircase. “Do you want to get it off your chest or do you want to be a little shit all day because I’m getting laid tonight? Well, Keith’s getting laid, but I’m doing the honors.”

“Trust me, I’m a professional, I can be a little shit regardless of your sex life. The bluebells would look good there.”

“They would!” Regan agreed, setting a glass between the banisters on the landing of the staircase. “C’mon, I’m really not going to be able to enjoy railing Keith with my favorite sister in mourning.”

“And I’m