In-game, of course. Sigmund never once suggested they meet in person, or talk on the phone, or sent her his personal information. Not that she was interested, of course. But maybe if she could have had a real phone conversation she could have gently let him down. Not that she was good at that sort of thing, either. But it was getting to the point that she had to try something. Anything.
Her phone pinged in the taxi all the way to Buchanan Manor.
Sigmund: So I think I’m going to tank in the raid today. You cool with that?
Sigmund: I hate that we’re raiding without you. It’s not the same.
Sigmund: 20 on the raid ok? Or should we go 25 people and really murder things? Let me know.
Sigmund: You’re not mad at me, are you? Tay?
Sigmund: Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Please say you’re not ignoring me, Taylor.
Sigmund: My world is over if you’re not in it.
Her stomach knotted horribly, and she reached for her bottle of Xanax again. He was stressing her out. These stupid games were supposed to be a fun time-suck, not a duty that felt ten times more stressful than her job. Yesterday she’d called in “sick” to work because Sigmund had wanted to raid the Fire Boss of Driza. He’d gone in with a motley group, they’d wiped out at the bottom of the dungeon, and then he’d spent all day freaking out. She’d had to talk him down off the ledge several times and she hadn’t been able to concentrate on her job. It was the third time she’d called in this month, and she knew her boss wasn’t happy.
But she didn’t know what else to do. With a frown, she picked up her phone and finally answered him.
HaveANiceTay: I’m here, but you know I’m going to be away for most of the afternoon, Sig. You can’t keep messaging me. I won’t be able to answer! I’m not mad, just busy.
Sigmund: Okay. Whew.
Sigmund: Kisses.
Sigmund: Just kidding.
Sigmund: Sort of.
Sigh. He sent all kinds of mixed messages; if he wasn’t declaring love for her from afar, he was threatening to hurt himself or demanding she spend time in the game with him. He was a mess, and even Taylor’s normally sunny outlook on life was getting bogged down by his neediness.
But if he needed a friend and was so on the edge, she couldn’t not be there for him, could she? That seemed horribly selfish.
Sigmund: This raid isn’t fun without you.
So much for I’m busy and can’t talk, don’t message me. She quickly sent him a text telling him she was away and then flicked her phone to silent. He’d just have to do without her for a few hours. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the car seat.
The rest of the ride to Buchanan Manor was peaceful, and Taylor’s mood was recovered by the time she paid the cab driver and got out. She just wouldn’t check her phone for the rest of the afternoon. Peace and quiet the hard way. She was supposed to be on call for work, but no one ever rang the tech hotline on weekends anyhow.
Buchanan Manor was huge and imposing, sort of like a big haunted mansion from an old-school video game. The interior was pretty modern compared to the outside, and that was disappointing for a nerd like Taylor, but it happened. Decent Wi-Fi despite being out in the country, too, so that was a plus. Taylor secured her backpack on her back and trotted up to the door, tucking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She buzzed the doorbell, and then buzzed it several more times to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut.”
“That must be Taylor,” Gretchen bellowed from the other side of the door. Taylor heard feet slapping against the marble tile and then the door swung open. A disheveled Gretchen appeared, an apron on her front, her hair pulled into a wild, messy knot. “Dude, you only have to ring once, you know.”
“I know,” Taylor said, stepping inside. “Where’s your butler?”
“Family emergency. I told him to take the weekend off. It’s not like we can’t answer the damn door ourselves, you know?” She closed it behind them and then pointed down a side hall. “I’ve got scones in the oven, so come hang out in the kitchen for a few, okay?”
“Scones? How very British of us, guv’ner!”
“Oh, god, Tay, that was the worst accent I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m doing Billie Piper from Doctor Who.”
“You’re yelling.” Gretchen winced. “I don’t think Billie whoever screamed at the Doctor all day long. Increasing your volume doesn’t make you more British, nerd.”
“Cheerio and chop chop!”
“For the love of god, stop it.”
Taylor giggled and flung her arms around Gretchen. Man, it was good to see her. To have an interaction that didn’t involve Excelsior lately. “Since you asked nicely, I’ll stop.”
Gretchen just shook her head, put an arm around Taylor’s waist, and led her down one of the many long halls of the manor. “So tell me what you’re up to.”
“Oh, just more tech support stuff. Nothing exciting.”
“Did you take that promotion they offered you?”
Taylor winced. “No, I turned it down.”
“Oh, Tay! Why?” Gretchen pulled away and opened the swinging kitchen door, revealing a charming, large kitchen with checkered tile and a hanging pot rack. It looked like something straight out of a Martha Stewart baking sim.
“Well . . .” Taylor sat down on one of the stools and put her elbows on the ingredient-strewn table. A bowl of batter went flying and Taylor grabbed at it, only to knock over a pepper mill and a bottle of olive oil. “Oh, god!”