Follow Through

Greta is not looking forward to this conversation but it is happening whether she likes it or not. The mere thought of confrontation gives her all-over hives. That nauseating gut-drop where you feel like your insides are falling out through your pelvis? Yeah, that's what she is feeling right now, like she's nearing the top of the 90 degree drop on one of those insane new fangled roller coasters that are designed to scare the living shit out of you. In through her  nose, out through her nose. Deep cleansing breaths. Dammit, where's the tequila? I mean, really, that's what I need, she thinks. No, no, this is a time to stay stone cold sober and focus on what I want and how to impart that information without getting inappropriately personal or ringing big old bells that cannot be un rung. Un rung? Huh. Is that even a word? Okay, okay....Greta continues with the pep talk, the interior monologue of a varsity cheerleader, channeling her best Deepak Tony Iyanla Mandela Rumi self. Kindness matters. Compassion is the fashion. Be impeccable with your word, take nothing personally, always do your best and what was the other one......oh yeah, take nothing personally. Alrighty. Greta picks up her phone. Puts it back on the counter, slides her hand into the bag of organic cheese puffs, pours another Pims and Lemonade and watches the ice cubes swirl as they slowly melt, forming beads of sweat along the bottom half of the glass. Maybe a text would suffice. No, she decides against that and dials her number. Oh, this is not good, not good at all. Please go to voice mail, please go to voice mail. Greta stares at the phone, puts it on speaker and paces until she hears the message pick up. A moment of panic seizes her body and her hand shoots out like a lizard's tongue and hits the End Call button, severing the connection. Greta stares at the phone on the marble counter like it's some alien newly arrived from another galaxy or her second cousin from northern Saskatchewan. She drains the Pims in one long pull and dives back into the cheese puffs. Maybe an email is the way to go.

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