"Dear, you know I told you that people would be like that," she said. "What did you think would happen? You're a pretty girl, and I'm sure it's hard for men to look at you and not want to pinch your cheeks. Or your ass," she added, and laughed at her own joke.
"Oh, they don't just think about pinching my ass," I muttered.
"Really? How rude," she said.
"Exactly," I said. "They're rude. They're all rude."
She sighed. "Well, people are. Are you seeing anyone?"
I hesitated. I told her that I went on a date a few months ago, and on a second date, but I never mentioned that I'd continued to see the man.
She was always so pleased when I had a man in my life, it drove me crazy. If she were only a tenth as interested in my work as she was in my love life.
Besides, Justin never really mentioned his parents or talked about mine. It didn't seem like we were ready to play meet-the-family, and I wasn't sure I would want him to meet my mother, anyways.
"I've been busy with work," I said, which wasn't a lie.
"If you don't get your priorities in order, you'll die alone, you know," she said.
I had had enough.
"That's nice," I said. "There are worse things. I've got to run."
Before she could protest, I hung up.
I turned the ringer of my phone off and put it face-down on the coffee table.
Trashy television was looking more and more appealing. I picked up the remote and tuned out, pretending that my mother wasn't sending me irritated text messages about my failings as a daughter.
I could always read those tomorrow.
Monday morning, I walked into work before anyone else and started in on the never-ending paperwork that plagued my job.
"Are you kidding me?" Sarah asked, when she got into work. "How long have you been here?"
I blinked and stretched, checking the time on my computer. Sarah was standing in the doorway of my little office and staring at me.
"Uh... two and a half hours?"
"Come on, that's ridiculous. No one should be in this office at six-thirty on a Monday. A Monday! What is wrong with you, Naomi?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"It's peaceful," I said. "No one comes to add more work. I can feel like I'm really accomplishing something. It makes me happy."
"Well, I'm glad you're happy, girlfriend," she said, "But you need to take a deep breath. You're not getting any overtime for this."
"Yeah, Herman's not the overtime type," I said. Our boss had made it very clear that any overtime pay would be at his discretion, and he had no intention of opening the purse so much as an inch. To be fair, he didn't expect you to stay late or come early, but if you wanted to go the extra mile, it was on your time and your dime.
She rolled her eyes.
"Herman's not the anything type," she said. "The esteemed Mister Banks isn't going to do you any favors. Don't grow old waiting for them."
"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting up straighter.
She looked a little guilty, and her eyes darted into the hallway. Quickly, she stepped into my office and shut the door.
"Look," she said, "No one wants to admit it, but this is an old boy's club. It's where ranching and government meet, and in Texas, those are men's jobs. It's getting better, but you're not going to change the way the world works, no matter how hard you work."