Only Fools

Chapter Forty Seven

Me: You're gonna love this.

Jaxon: Who is this?

Me: Your favorite co worker. Duh.

Jaxon: I'm pretty sure Marian doesn't know how to text.

Me: Marian isn't your co worker. She's your boss.

Me: Hint hint. It's Aspen.

Jaxon: Oh. So my least favorite co worker.

Me: Bitch.

After he doesn't respond for several minutes, I huff out a sigh and reopen my phone.

Me: Ugh!! Do you not care what I have to say??

Jaxon: Not really.

Me: I have a valid excuse to not come to work today!!

Jaxon: Doubt it.

Me: I mean all my excuses are valid. But this one is especially understandable.

Yet again, I'm met with radio silence for several minutes.

Me: I'm not allowed to walk!!

Jaxon: What?

Me: I sprained my ankle in cheer yesterday!! Doctors orders to rest.

Jaxon: I'll believe it when I see it.

Me: **image attached**

Jaxon: Do you not have crutches?

Me: I do....

Jaxon: So you can still come in.

Me: Go tell Marian what happened.

Jaxon: Why can't you?

Me: Go.

Jaxon: You can call her.

Me: Yeah. But I bet you're already at the shop early for some god damn reason.

Silence yet again, though this time I assume it's because he's talking to Marian and not just being a dick and ignoring me.

Me: Did u tell her??

Jaxon: She insists you take the day off.

Me: In your face.

Silence.

Me: You're no fun.

I don't even wait for a response this time, knowing that I'm not going to get one.

"Aspen," my father's voice rings out from the kitchen.

"What?" I yell back from my spot on the couch, my ankle dutifully elevated on a stack of pillows with an ice pack resting on top of it.

"I took off of work so I can help you out today," he says happily, usual beer grasped in his hand as he enters the living room and falls back onto his favorite reclining chair, which is next to the opposite end of the couch.

"Dad.... you didn't have to-" I start, already feeling guilty for being an inconvenience to him. Part of me registers that if he didn't stay home with me then he would probably be the one dealing with guilt, but I'm able to quickly dismiss that all while not being able to shake off my own.

"You're my kid! I care about your well-being believe it or not," he interrupts me, "Besides, don't worry about that. There's no snow for me to plow and it's not cold enough to salt. The most you're keeping me from is working on an old truck."

"Wow. I'm glad that I'm clearly the top priority here," I joke, as some of the tension in my chest releases once I realize that I'm not inconveniencing him as much as I originally thought. I still hate that I'm doing so literally at all, but this situation feels like a sort of comprise between our guilty consciences that I can live with.