Staring down at my phone with wide eyes, I squeezed the flimsy device and clenched my teeth to hold back my groan. Beyond my small desk the office was quiet, and I didn’t want to disturb Anthony and his new, shifty client. Curling up in my chair, I struggled to take a breath through my clogged throat as annoyance threatened to choke me.

“What the Hell, Mom… I told you not to call me at work.” Whispering angrily, I reached to tuck my hair behind my ear, giving me a clear side view of the office. “You know my boss doesn’t tolerate it.”

“Risha, honey, there’s no need to be so uptight. I called because it’s important.” A harsh sigh escaped me; there wasn’t anything in my mother’s life that was important as most people defined the word. When she stayed quiet I unfurled my body, leaning back in my wheeling chair to spin in slow circles.

“Well spit it out, Mom. I’m working, remember- one of us has to.” My harsh snap only produced a sigh across the line, and I rolled my eyes. She could never just get right to the point, my mother; everything deserved a grand entrance.

“I’m calling to tell you I won’t be around on Wednesday. William’s taking me to this big, important charity auction for breast cancer.” A frown twisted my features, and I held back an irritated noise.

“You called me for that? Mom, I don’t care about your little sugar daddy or what event he invites you to. Do. Not. Call. Me. At. Work. Understand? Don’t call me unless you’re in trouble, or hurt, or anything serious.” Carefully punctuating my message, I hung up without waiting for a reply to lean back in my chair. My gaze flittered over the paperwork I had been sorting, and I scowled at the innumerable lines of interviews.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I raked my hand through my hair before haunching over my work. I didn’t enjoy paperwork, but I liked to be tidy. Anthony had such bad chicken scratch handwriting he couldn’t even read it, and it’d take me hours to decipher. Frankly it was the perfect distraction I needed to forget my mother’s bothersome interruptions.

When I glanced at the clock on my computer it was nearing 5p.m., and I flexed my hands absently. The all-in-one station was sleek, but really it was just a glorified alarm clock for a good 75% of the time. Anthony demanded hard paper copies as well as digital records, and translating his gibberish took much longer than typing it.

Of course, the downside was that I couldn’t type what I couldn’t read, and I usually had to make sure I hadn’t misinterpreted anything.

“Risha, I thought I told you t-“ Snatching a sheath of paper, I wordlessly held it up as Anthony came strutting out of his office.

“Already done, just waiting for you to make sure I translated your handwriting properly. You can stop talking to me like I’m a fresh intern, you know.” My griping cut my boss off, and I glanced up from the computer screen as Anthony reached to take my offering. A tight smile stretched his lips, eyes apprehensive as if he was really starting to feel the effects of not having a partner.

Why doesn’t he have a partner? Because he’s the work equivalent of a college frat jock in his first year without his mommy.

“Did you do th-“

“Yes, I did the prison interviews, too. Anthony- seriously, I’ve been working for you for a year and a half. I know how you like your paperwork.” Frowning down at me, Anthony grunted as he flipped through the folder. Watching him never ceased to fascinate me, and I watched him lean back on his heels through narrowed eyes. I had never, ever met a person so damn smart, and if he wasn’t such a controlling slob his brains would’ve been attractive. It didn’t help that he was an incredible 6’8” tall- much too lanky and elbowed for me. Being around him reminded me of my freshman year of high school; my growth spurt had hit me hard right as winter break was coming on.

“I also need tho-“

“I sent your partner interviews to your e-mail, your lunch tomorrow with Patterson is set, and I’ll order your special vegan whatever it is from Pergini’s before I go. Anything else?” Deep, dark brown eyes scanned me, and I clasped my hands on my desk to stare at Anthony’s perplexed expression. “You pay me 33$ an hour. The least I can do is remember your go-to overnight meal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not included in my partnership contract, Risha. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Remind me to give you a good Christmas bonus.” Cocking my head at the praise, I smiled at Anthony’s sincere words; it wasn’t often he uttered them to me. Carefully he tucked the folder beneath his arm with thin, knobby fingers, and I pushed myself to my feet before offering a reply.

“I think I will remind you. I’m going to head out for the night, but text me if you need me.” Waiting for Anthony to nod, I grabbed my purse to let out a pleased sigh. Absently he wandered back to his office, and I put my computer to sleep before sliding out from behind my desk. Today had been better than I expected considering Anthony had a big case coming up. Usually he was cranky and demanding, unable to do anything for himself as he fretted over his presentation like a college freshman.

Stepping out onto the cold street, I hugged my coat tightly to my body as the wind cut through the darkness. Snow sprinkled from the sky, and I tilted my head to savor the cold burn on my cheeks. The air smelled heavy and pure, and a small smile picked up my mouth before I slowly wandered down the sidewalk.

Despite the darkness that engulfed my world the streetlamps had just been flicked on, their beams still soft and weak enough not to hit the concrete. White flakes floated around me, absorbing the sounds of cars as they rolled much slower than the speed limit. In a mere few hours the city would be covered in white, but right now the tiny crystals couldn’t even stick to the wet pavement.

Scraping the soles of my low heels on the welcome mat splayed across the landing, I dug my keys out of my purse with a lightness in my heart. Light, white huffs escaped me with each breath, and I shoved my key into the hole before glancing behind me. The snow had started in earnest, a thin layer coating the sidewalks that made walking hazardous.

“I need to get a dog or something.” Muttering to my empty, dark home, I strode on tired legs into the kitchen to set down my purse and hang my keys. Ever since leasing this apartment I’d wanted a dog, but I didn’t have the time to train it. If there was one thing Anthony hated, it was a lack of punctuality. There were no excuses that would dull the verbal beating he’d give me if I was late simply because I had to wait for my dog to use the bathroom.

Flipping on the television in the living room, I watched the news absently through the breakfast nook. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I took the fruity smell deep into my lungs before letting it out in a gust. Slow evenings were commonplace, and I took a sip of my red before setting down my glass to start dinner.

A melodic chime filled my home, and I turned away from my chicken parmesan to watch Cynthia hustle through the front door. Her short, curvy frame was hidden under a thick snow coat, and I could help but smirk at how unflattering she looked. With harsh breaths she swiped away her short, curly bob of brown hair roughly, kicking the door shut. Round, thick cheeks glowed red, and her eyes shone as she shirked off her coat.

“I hate my hair. It sticks to my face and I’m just- ugh! I’m going to shave it off!” The complaints pulled a laugh from me, and I grabbed a second wine glass as Cynthia sauntered through the open plan living room. “Why are you laughing? This is serious, Risha.”

“I know you hate it, but just be patient and it’ll grow back.” My gaze scanned Cynthia’s form, and in my mind my mother’s call floated back to the surface. “So… my mother got invited by her boy toy to a breast cancer charity auction. Have you heard anything about it?”

Pouring my friend a healthy glass, I paused my question carefully as my eyes lingered on Cynthia’s chest- or what used to be her chest. Now she was flat as a board after her mastectomy; her perfectly round, firm bust that she’d prided herself on was completely gone. Snorting roughly as I passed her the glass, she shook her head before gulping down her wine smoothly.

“Hell no. You do know that no one actually cares about breast cancer survivors themselves- just the idea that breast cancer can be the one.” Disgust laced Cynthia’s voice, and she grabbed the long neck of the wine bottle to pour herself more. “If you ask me it’s just an excuse for rich people to look good because they donated.”

“I agree. I only ask because my mother said it’s on Wednesday, and I know you have your thing on Wednesday.” Taking a sip from my glass, I turned back to dinner only to find water boiling in its pot. Carefully taking the long, dried strands of spaghetti in both hands, I snapped them in two before tossing them in. Against my back Cynthia’s gaze bored holes, and the hairs on my neck stood up the longer the silence went on.

“Are you trying to suggest that we should go to your mom’s little bitch party instead of spending all night at a therapy support group?” Her smile floated to me in her words, and I half shrugged as steam billowed up in my face. “You are! I don’t even care if it’s because you want to meet your mom’s boy toy- imagine the food they’ll serve! Oh shit- maybe I’ll even meet a celebrity and be on tv!”

“I do not want to meet him. I just thought that maybe it’d be a good idea to actually have someone there that actually had breast cancer. It’ll be my gift to the silver screen.” Lying through my teeth, I twisted to watch Cynthia shake her head, her short hair flying every which way. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been before, and back in high school she was flawless. Our senior class had named her ‘Most Likely to be Experimented on as a Perfect Human Example’, after all.

Just goes to show how weird our high school was, but they’re not wrong.

“Yeah right, Risha- say whatever you want. I’ll tell Karen right now that we can’t make it, so there’s no backing out of this. We’re definitely going.” Smiling brightly as I stirred the pasta, I turned back to the stove while Cynthia busied herself with her cell phone.

All of our years of friendship flashed in my mind’s eye; from the moment we met in sixth grade we were inseparable. When my mom really started to indulge in her bad habit Cynthia was there for me, offering me a place to go to get away from it.

The expression on her face when we learned she had Stage 3 breast cancer lingered in my field of vision, coming face to face with what she looked like now. She had no hair, no breasts, and was in and out of the hospital for eleven months, but never once did she give up. I wished I had the courage she had; maybe then I’d be able to cut my mother out of my life for good.