After Hours
By Elizabeth L. Brooks
My hands shake as I punch the buttons on the phone.
“Hey, sweetie, how’s your day going? …Great. Listen, I have bad news. I have to work late tonight.” Can he hear the tremor in my voice? “Yeah, I just found out. I’m so sorry.” Can he tell I’m lying through my teeth? “No, I won’t be home until after nine, probably. I know. I’m really sorry.” Lies, lies, lies.
I hang up the phone and turn back to my work, but my heart is pounding so hard, my extremities trembling so violently, that I can’t concentrate. I really am in danger of having to work late if I can’t get this spreadsheet done, though, so eventually I manage to push away the lies and the excitement and the vague sense of shame, just enough to focus, a little.
But the fluttering in my stomach ret
