Thirty-Two Going On Spinster (The Spinster Series Book 1)

by Becky Monson

  I manage to get out for a smoke break with Brown later in the afternoon, and I have to bite my tongue about five times to keep myself from almost telling her about my super-secret reporting with Mr. Calhoun. And I mean, I literally had to bite my tongue, it was that hard not to say anything. I tell Brown practically everything, so of course it would just come naturally to me to have verbal diarrhea around her, especially when I have something juicy to tell her. Also, I needed her to help me break down the cupcake comment I made to him and see if she thought it was as horrible as it seemed. But I was able to make it through the break without saying anything.

  I sulk through the rest of the afternoon, dreading having to stay and work after hours. I really don’t want to prolong my stay at this mundane place, especially when Jared isn’t here.

  I know Jared has only been away this week, but it feels like a lifetime. I dread coming to work without him here. It’s just no fun. What kind of HR conference takes a week anyway? It must be agonizingly boring. I can’t wait to show my fake curiosity while he tells me all about it when he gets back. Sadly, I won’t actually be pretending I’m interested. Anything out of Jared’s mouth is exciting to me, as pathetic as that is.

  I wait until five thirty to leave, and grab my purse to go. I walk casually by Mr. Nguyen’s office. I glance at him through the open door and see him working on something, long pinky nail tapping away on the keyboard as he types. I say a quick goodnight, which he, as usual, never acknowledges, and I walk down the hall to the elevator. This time instead of going down to the parking lot and away from this dreadful Jared-less place, I have to take the elevator upstairs to hang out with Mr. Calhoun.

  I wonder what kind of super-secret reports he’s having me do? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be super boring. Although the thought of doing something away from Mr. Nguyen has piqued my interest a bit. But then it’s ruined by the fact that I have to stay after work to do it. I wonder if I’ll get overtime for this. I’d better.

  I make it to the sixth floor and feel a bit of the butterflies when I see the door to the conference room that has now become Jared’s make-shift office. I know he’s not in there, but just knowing he’s been there gives me butterflies for some reason. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. I internally roll my eyes at myself.

  Mr. Calhoun is on his phone with his back turned toward the opened door as I approach his office. I stand there for a few moments as he talks in hushed tones. I honestly can’t understand anything he’s saying. Then I realize if I don’t make some kind of noise notifying him of my arrival, he’ll wonder if I was eavesdropping. So I knock on the opened door and clear my throat, just to make sure I cover all bases. He spins his chair around, sees me, and gestures for me to come in and have a seat. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead. Mr. Calhoun is a rather sweaty person, so this is no surprise.

  “Thanks for helping me with this, Julia,” he says after he wraps up his phone call with various “uh-huhs” and “no problems” and “will-dos,” along with a few “proverbials” thrown in there for good measure, of course.

  “No problem,” I say, wishing I was anywhere in the world but here. Then again, since I have nothing to do, even nothing sounds better than this. “So, what is this report you need me to do?” I ask, wanting to get started. The sooner we start, the sooner I’m home and in my PJs watching McDreamy on my DVR.

  After reminding me about fifty times that this was, in fact, the most proverbial of all proverbial secrets (he actually said that), we get started. The report doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, nothing I haven’t done for Mr. Nguyen. I am tempted to ask what this was all about, but I feel like I might be questioning something I have no right to know. Although, I am staying after work to do this, so why shouldn’t I have the right to know? Brown would’ve asked by now. I just don’t have that kind of gumption.

  Luckily, I don’t have to spend much time with Mr. Calhoun. He got me set up on his computer and has been running around the office doing… whatever he’s doing. I have no idea. Probably seeing Martha. Probably eating something. Who knows? He makes it seem like it’s of the utmost importance, whatever he’s doing. Although he’s a sweaty man, he seems extra sweaty, and a bit stressed-out tonight. It really can’t be good for his heart.

  The report is mainly just plugging numbers from one spreadsheet into another, larger spreadsheet. I’ve had to make up a few formulas so it all totals out in the end, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before, and certainly doesn’t feel super-secret. I’m feeling less and less important as the time ticks on. Anyone could have done this report. Why did I have to stay after work for this? Good thing I’ll soon be done and can get back to my regularly scheduled life of baking, watching TV, and settling into my spinsterly ways.

  The next time Mr. Calhoun comes back in the office, frantically looking for something, I tell him I’m nearly done. He tells me to save the file to his desktop, and that I can leave when I’m finished.

  “So, tomorrow after work then?” he asks as he bends over to pick up a large manila envelope that had fallen onto the floor.

  “Um …” I say, trailing off. I thought this was a one-time thing, and tomorrow is Friday! I mean, come on, how can he expect me to work late on a Friday? But what do I say? I mutter out a “sure,” and try to fill it with as much disgust and loathing as I can. The idea of working late on a Friday night at Spectraltech makes me want to cry.

  The spring air feels good on this May evening as I leave dreaded Jared-less Spectraltech because I’m finally done with my super-secret reporting. Ugh. Spectraltech without Jared is like chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips. Actually, I sometimes like that last cookie you scrape from the bowl—the one that has one or two chips in it. So, that’s a bad analogy. Spectraltech without Jared is like sugar cookies with no sugar. Just a ton of extra salt. Nasty.

  Tomorrow I have to endure another stupid day at Spectraltech without Jared, and then to make it worse, I have to stay late on a Friday night. If I didn’t have a new mortgage to pay soon, I’d quit right now.

  When I get to the basement apartment, Anna is waiting for me on the couch, looking a little frazzled. My date with McDreamy will apparently have to wait a little longer.

  “What’s up?” I ask, looking concernedly at her, but not too concerned. Anna hates receiving any sympathy, something I’ve learned only recently.

  I set my stuff on the floor, and plop myself next to her on the couch. I lean back against the soft brown leather. I love this couch. I may try to steal it when I move out.

  Anna puts her face in her hands. “They’re after me,” she says through her hands in a slightly muffled, but clearly paranoid tone. I stifle a laugh, because seriously? “They’re after me?” That’s a little on the dramatic side.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The creditors!” she says in a how-in-the-hell-do-you-not-know tone.

  “The creditors? What creditors?” I ask, knowing full well what creditors. But for some reason, I ask her like I don’t know.

  “The credit card companies are calling me!” she says, head still in her hands.

  “About what?”

  “About my bills!” She uses her condescending tone. She removes her hands from her face and sits back on the couch, slouching low and closing her eyes in a super dramatic way.

  “What about your bills? Aren’t you paying them?” I look at her like she’s a fool, because she is. I mean, of course she’s paying her bills. Everyone knows when you have a credit card, you pay the bill.

  She looks at me, throwing daggers with her eyes. “No, Julia. Of course I haven’t been paying my bills. Why do you think I moved home? Because I felt like it? Because I had nothing better to do? I have no money!” Her head goes dramatically back against the couch, eyes closing again.

  “But some of those credit cards aren’t yours, they’re Mom's!” I say, realizing what she’s implying. If the creditors are after Anna for her credit cards, they’re also
going after Mom for her credit cards—the cards Mom doesn’t know she has.

  She looks at me like I’m a complete idiot, almost as if this is all my fault. I realize she’s just taking it out on me, which is kind of annoying. I suppose as the big sister I should allow it, especially since I’ve only recently started acting like a big sister.

  “When they call, aren’t they calling Mom?” I ask, wondering how she’s going to be able to get away with it all.

  Her hands go back up to her face. “No, I only put my cell phone on the applications. But all my mail is being forwarded here, so I’m getting stuff in the mail, too. I’ve been staying home all day waiting for the stupid mailman so I can grab the mail and get my stuff out before Mom and Dad see it.”

  “Anna, you have to tell Mom and Dad.” I try to pull her hands away from her face so she can see the serious expression on mine.

  “No way!” she says, bursting into tears. “They’ll kill me!”

  “They are not going to kill you. They’ll be pissed, sure, but they’re not going to kill you.” Although, I wonder if the thought won’t briefly cross Dad’s mind, when he finds out.

  “Anna, it’s just going to get worse. You need to tell them. Why didn’t you ask me for help? I didn’t know you weren’t paying your bills. You’re not only killing your credit, you’re also killing Mom’s!” I say that last part like it just dawned on me—because it did just dawn on me. I totally spaced the credit history part of this.

  With that, she cries even harder. That was not the right thing to say, apparently. But what do you say? I mean, it’s true—she’s majorly screwed. She’s not paying her bills, and now she has creditors after her. She’s likely killing mom’s and her credit. Plus, I’m not sure, but applying for credit cards with someone else’s information is probably illegal. Actually, I’m quite sure it’s illegal.

  “What am I going to do, Julia?” she says as she pulls her hands back from her tear-stained face and looks at me rather pathetically.

  “I don’t know…” my voice tapers off. What is she going to do? I guess the first thing she needs to do is find a job and start paying her bills, and she definitely needs to tell Mom and Dad. I tell her this and the crying starts up again. I want to feel sorry for her, and I do, but she dug herself into a hole. Now I’m wondering if I should say something to our parents. But I seriously don’t want to jeopardize this newfound relationship that we’ve just started. She’d hate me for sure if I went behind her back. I don’t know if Anna is a thank-you-for-it-later kind of person. She seems more likely to hold a grudge.

  “Well, have you even started looking for a job yet?” I ask after the crying lets up a bit.

  “I haven’t had time. I’ve been sitting around all day waiting for the mail,” she says as she wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. I get up and go down the hall to the bathroom to get some tissue because that’s disgusting, and what is even more disgusting is it’s my sweatshirt. I’ll have to burn it.

  “Well, you’re just going to have to take a chance that Mom and Dad won’t bother looking at your mail,” I say as I walk back into the room. “You’re going to have to get out there and get a job.” I hand her the tissue.

  We sit in silence for a bit while she contemplates that. “I guess you’re right,” she says finally, and then blows her nose into the tissue.

  “I’ll help you,” I smile at her.

  “Thanks,” she says, sniffling and looking at the balled-up tissue in her hands. “I hate working, though. Couldn’t I just win the lottery or something?”

  “Yeah, ‘cause that kind of thing just happens when you need it the most,” I say sarcastically. “Come on, join the rest of the world and get a job. It’s not that bad.” I nudge her arm in a way that’s sure to annoy her.

  “Oh yeah, because you’re such the poster child for loving your job.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “I’m totally offended by that comment. I love working at Spectraltech. It’s all I’ve ever aspired to do,” I deadpan.

  “Okay. Whatever. So, are we gonna watch some McSteamy or what?” she asks, still sniffling.

  “Well, we probably should get online and start looking for a job for you, shouldn’t we?” I feign a condescending tone.

  “Let’s just start tomorrow. I don’t want to think about it tonight.” How typical of her to put it off for one more day. I don’t feel like arguing with her because, honestly, I don’t really want to help her look for a job right now. I think we both need a little escape. A little pajama/DVR time should be just the trick.

  CHAPTER 7

  Did you know that, on a regular standard keyboard, the “T” and the “G” keys are really close together? I just realized this today when I sent out a three-department-wide email that was signed “Retards, Julia.”

  Thank goodness Jared wasn’t here to see it since he’s still away at his conference. It really has been the never-ending week for me. Of course, before Jared came into my Spectraltech world, every week was never-ending. But I can’t seem to remember that part of my life. It’s as if my life started the minute he caught me under the conference room table. Wow, that was cheesy.

  I can’t believe I must endure another evening with Mr. Calhoun and more reports. It’s been so hard to keep it all from Brown. We’re the gossip queens, for crap’s sake. We know everything that’s going on in this company. I hate having to keep gossip from her, especially when it really wouldn’t hurt because I don’t even know what these reports are all about anyway. But I promised Mr. Calhoun, and I’ll keep his secret. I may be a gossip, but I’m an honorable one. Well, as honorable as a gossip can be, that is.

  Anna and I stayed up way too late last night watching TV. It was fun, though. She seemed to feel better as the night went on. I came up with this grand idea that maybe I could find her a job at Spectralcrap (I came up with that last night, hard to believe it never dawned on me before). After all, our front desk girl, Kelly, is probably on her way out since she rarely does her job, anyway. How fun would it be for Anna to work here? It might make the endless weeks when Jared is not here, seem less … endless. Hopefully there’ll be no more of these trips to stupid conferences. But if there were, and Anna was here … well, at least she’d let me talk nonstop about Jared. Not like Brown, who can only take so much of my obsession.

  Currently, I’m working on Anna’s resumé because Mr. Nguyen is out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Why bother doing work when he’s not here to impress? Not that I’ve ever impressed Mr. Nguyen. He mostly just stares down his nose at me, probably disgusted with my questions and my lack of understanding his handwritten numbers.

  I’ve got to say, I’m pretty good at the resumé writing thing. This is good because Anna needs some serious help. Considering the fact she hasn’t worked much, except for a couple summer jobs at The Gap and Anne Taylor, she’s mostly just been going to school and letting my parents pay for stuff. Oh, and using credit cards like some crazy lunatic. So proud of her.

  My computer makes a beeping noise and an email pops up in my inbox from Brown requesting a smoke break. Sounds like a great idea.

  Before I go, I shoot the finished resumé off to Mr. Calhoun with a quick note telling him if they’re looking to hire, I have a candidate that would be perfect for an entry-level position. It’ll be quite obvious it’s a relative since we have the same last name, but I doubt that’ll bother him. Maybe he’ll think because I bake, Anna bakes, too, and then he’d have two Dorning sisters to bring in baked goods to the office. She’ll be a shoe-in for sure.

  I’ll just make sure I mention a little something to him about it when I’m doing the report for him tonight, just so the email doesn’t get lost in his inbox as so many of them do.

  Currently, it’s raining in the lovely city of Denver. May is full of rain and sometimes even some snow for us Coloradans. It makes for a beautiful June, which I’m definitely looking forward to. June is my favorite month in Denver. Everything is green and lush.
Then, July and August show up and bake the crap out of everything, and it all turns to an ugly brown, which stays until the following June.

  “What’s up, nerd?” Brown says as I meet her outside. She’s tucked up against the wall under the awning, protected from the rain.

  “Not much. Just working.” A little fib. Obviously working on Anna’s resumé is not technically working, but it feels like it and, therefore, I’m going to count it as actual work.

  “What’s crazy Nguyen having you work on now?” she asks, and then takes a long drag from her cigarette. I honestly don’t understand how Brown can have as good a skin as she has and smoke. It’s just not right. It’ll probably catch up with her at some point, as will emphysema.

  “He’s gone for the rest of the day. So, I’m just biding my time until I have to go help Calhoun.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can even stop myself.

  Dang it! I’m the worst super-secret keeper, ever. How could I do that? I only made it one freaking day.

  “What do you mean?” She crinkles her eyes at me, looking full of interest.

  How the heck am I going to get out of this? I pause too long trying to think of what I’m going to say. “I can’t tell you,” is all I can choke out.

  “Julia Dorning, you’re holding out on me,” she says, pointing a burning cigarette at me.

  “I know, I know.” I put my head in my hands. “I was sworn to secrecy, and it’s been killing me not to tell you.”

  “Well, you’re going to tell me, right now,” she says, still looking like she can’t believe I’d keep something from her.

  “No, seriously, I promised. Mr. Calhoun told me not to tell anyone, including Mr. Nguyen. I honestly don’t even know why it’s a secret anyway. It’s really not that big of a deal,” I say, looking down at the floor, ashamed of myself for making Brown feel bad that I kept something from her, and ashamed for not being able to keep one stinking secret. I really could never work for the CIA or FBI. I’d end up in jail for unintentional treason.