Storm, Meet Raine

The Surrogate.

HER.

I threw the envelope and the tickets in the trash.

And Vincent nearly tossed himself in the trash right after them to retrieve them. He was not very happy with me and my irrational behaviors. I just wanted to see how I felt after tossing them away. Carson always talked to me about how he feels for me and how it's crazy because it's the first time he's really ever opened up to anyone about his emotions and everything, and I never seem to reciprocate as I should.

     So I tossed it in the trash to try and be the bitch he always called me. Tried to fake it and pretend like I didn't care if he finally gave me his phone number. I didn't care if he was upset over us breaking up, remorseful over the way he broke the news that he was moving to me. I mustered up my bad bitch energy for about forty seconds and then I demanded Vincent to give me my tickets back as he was shoving them in his pockets.

     We went home shortly after, and I put his letter on my freezer door, holding it against the metal with a little baseball magnet I got a while ago. And I read, and reread, and reread it over again because looking at his handwriting gave me a sense of nostalgia from when we had class together, and the words I'm so utterly in love with you, it makes me sick were a permanent thought running across my mind. And even now as I talk with my first ever interviewee, I catch myself zoning in and out.

I'm so utterly in love with you...

"My last job I got paid by the hour, contingent on how well I did the work..." makes me sick. "I did a lot of lawn and driveway work, so I know a fair amount about pavementing. Landscaping is something that I put a lot of pride into..." please, please text me.

     I absentmindedly jot down random notes in my little, pink spiral notebook with intricately drawn flowers and plants on the front cover, each new page revealing a different flower stamp on the bottom right corner. Good landscapist. Road worker. Clear, confident tone. "What would your last employer tell me about you if I were to call them?"

"She'd say I'm really good with my hands," funny, I write down, a halfhearted giggle leaving me from the slightly inappropriate joke. He lightly chuckles under his breath, seemingly letting out a breath of relief because I didn't grill him for the innuendo. "No but she'd say I'm very punctual, easy-going, maybe a little too detail-oriented. I can take a two hour job and make it a five hour one easily." Perfectionist.

"Admirable, but you have to remember this is a business. Time is money, and if you have four assignments, you can't waste your day stuck on detailing one. I'm not saying you have to change your work ethic, but you should consider what's the task at hand, and do it quickly and efficiently." He nods his head, taking in what I advise him like a good worker would. You always manage to gravitate to me while you're sleeping. I curse under my breath, catching his attention.

"You okay?" He pushes softly, tilting his head to the side in an examining way, eyes flickering over me, forcing me to remember how Ryker would do the same damn thing.

"Yes, just a little cramp," I lie, rubbing my stomach. When it doubt, blame it on the baby.

"Right how long are you, if I can ask?"

"Around three months," I say quietly, my brain reflecting on Carson and I way more than it should at work. The man in front of me leans back in his chair, his chin tipping upward as he peeks over the desk that separates the two of us.

"With all respect, you don't look like you're three months. My wife, well my ex wife," not the ex reference stabbing me in my gut. Oh wow, maybe I shouldn't use that analogy. I wince at the dark joke. "when she was three months pregnant, you could see it, but not like that."