Edison untangled his hands and went for the door. “Sorry. I’ve already denied the request and sent it to human resources.” He wasn’t as far away as she thought when he heard her hiss, “Ugh. Annoying little fat-ass. That’s why we all hate you.”
Edison almost tripped over his feet. He paused just before he got to the receptionist desk, not wanting to walk past the lobby when he knew his face was probably ten shades of red. He wanted to turn around and go scream in Jessica’s face that she was terminated. Clean out your desk! Go directly home. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars! But he couldn’t fire the witch because she didn’t like him and called him mean names. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Straightening his spine and walking tall like his pop had always taught him, he went to his office and closed his door to begin his day.
Chapter Seven
Bishop
Bishop was staring at the silly shit on the back of the Frosted Flakes box when he heard Mike come out of his bedroom. He was already dressed for work as he dragged his feet down the hall the same as Bishop had done fifteen minutes ago.
“Morning,” Mike mumbled. He reached into the cabinet and grabbed another salad bowl and a spoon they’d both nicknamed a shovel, then dropped into one of the chairs at the small four-top dinette table in their eat-in kitchen. After his dad had poured the last quarter of the box into his bowl, he immediately flooded it with milk and dug in. His mouth was full when he said, “You came in earlier than expected.”
Bishop kept his eyes on his own bowl.
“How was it?”
“Over,” Bishop answered.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Bishop scoffed. “Right.”
“I am. You were back an hour later which means he insulted you and you left.” Mike heaved another heaping spoon in his mouth. “That’s the last thing I wanted.”
“Let’s just go to work. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Royce has moved on with his life and so have I. He’s doing his thing. Doing really good, actually, so…”
“Yeah. So.” Mike nodded as if Bishop had said something profound. “You do your own thing too. Best way to get back at someone for doubting you is to prove them wrong.”
Great. Pearls of wisdom from someone who was only fifteen years his senior. Bishop put his bowl into the sink and grabbed the milk off the table to return to the refrigerator.
“Hey! Wash that,” Mike barked when Bishop left his dishes.
Knowing he had to respect the rules, he turned and cleaned up his mess without attitude then went to his room to grab his gear. He also had some new designs to show Manny at lunch. He decided to focus on his job instead of the crushing defeat he’d felt last night. Royce was a college student now, complete with the hipster study group. He’d shown his true nature, and Bishop would’ve seen it earlier had he not gone to prison two months after Royce had discovered his secret. Because even then, Royce obviously had had zero tolerance for the illiterate.
“So, you wanna watch Deadliest Catch tonight? I just found it. That show’s addicting, man,” Mike asked on their way through door.
It was too damn early to think about what he was doing tonight. But whatever it was he was sure he’d be home. “Yeah. I’ll check it out with you.”
After they hitched the equipment trailer onto the back of the F150, Mike eased out of their narrow driveway and headed towards Trent’s place ten minutes away. His dad had a huge grin on his face that rivaled the morning sun.
“What are you cheesing about over there?” Bishop asked, flipping through the pages in his sketch pad.
“Just looking forward to a little quality time with my son this evening.” Mike beamed.
Bishop’s chuckle left his lips before he could stop it.
“Aren’t you?” Mike asked.
Bishop cleared his throat. “Um, yeah.”
“Come on B. I know this is different but we’re not strangers. I’ve had you my whole life. I never left you.”
“I never said you did.”
“I was just a shit dad.”
“No.” Bishop squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I know you did what you could. You were a teenager, Mike. I get it.”
His dad shook his head. Maybe because he’d slipped and called him Mike again, but Bishop didn’t like the expression he saw. His father was trying so hard and Bishop really was trying to meet him halfway. “So, what’s so great about that crabbing show? You do know fishing and crabbing are two different things?”
Mike straightened in his seat as if he’d gotten a great idea. “Maybe we can do both. Manny has a crab basket. Him and his boys go all the time. I’ll borrow that too when I get his poles.”