Hard Feelings by Jason Starr

he was single and didn’t have a steady girlfriend to double-date with, so we rarely got together.
    I didn’t have much family, either. My mother lived in Austin, Texas, with her second husband. She had become more and more religious over the years and we weren’t very close. My father lived in Southern California with his wife, but he was a selfish prick and I spoke to him as little as possible. I had a couple of aunts and uncles and cousins, but they lived outside New York and we didn’t keep in touch.
    At my office, I decided to call my mother, just to say hi. I hadn’t spoken to her in a while, at least a month, and I thought it would be nice to talk to someone from my family.
    “Richie, what a pleasant surprise,” my mother said, although I could tell she didn’t sound exactly excited to hear from me. Every time I spoke with my mother lately I became very agitated and annoyed, and I was already regretting that I’d called her.
    “So how’s everything in New York?” my mother asked. “How’s Paula?”
    “New York’s fine, Paula’s great.”
    “Well, I’m very glad to hear that. So why are you calling?”
    “I’m just calling to say hi,” I said.
    “Oh. Well, that’s nice. It’s always nice to hear from you, Richie. How’s the weather in New York?”
    “The weather here’s great,” I said, upset that my relationship with my mother had become so shallow. “How’s the weather in Texas?”
    “Hot as usual. We’ve also had a lot of rain lately. Yesterday, Charlie and I had to walk to church in the pouring rain. Have you and Paula been going to church lately?”
    “No, we haven’t,” I said, bracing for an attack.
    “Richie, what’s wrong with you? You have to go to church. Don’t you want to have a relationship with God?”
    “We just haven’t had a lot of time lately—”
    “You don’t have time for God? Don’t tell me you haven’t been going to confession, either?”
    “Can’t we please talk about something else?”
    “You have to go to confession, Richie. Doesn’t Paula go to confession?”
    “Ma, please,” I said, raising my voice.
    “Richie, I’m very disappointed in you.”
    “So is anything new with you?” I asked.
    “I know what your problem is,” my mother said, “it’s Paula. She’s a bad influence on you. I’ll never understand why you married a Protestant. Couldn’t you find a nice Catholic girl to marry?”
    “Whoops, I have a call coming in on the other line,” I said, making an excuse to get off the phone. “Yep, just heard the beep again. It was really nice talking to you, Ma. I’ll call again soon.”
    “Go to church,” my mother said. “God is waiting for you.”
    I hung up and called Paula at work.
    “Hi, honey,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you and I miss you very much.”
    There was a long pause—I could tell she was surprised and confused—then she said, “I love you, too.”
    “That’s all I wanted to say,” I said. “’Bye, sweetie.”
    Over the weekend, I’d somehow managed to forget all about work. It was depressing to suddenly remember that I was in the midst of a miserable sales slump and that my job was on the line. I had logged on to the Internet, doing some price researching for my eleven o’clock sales meeting, when Steve Ferguson poked his head into my office.
    “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said with his usual slick smile. He looked tanner than he did on Friday. He always had a tan, even in the middle of winter—he either went to salons or had tanning cream professionally applied— but today he looked especially bronze.
    “No, just getting ready for a meeting,” I said.
    “Actually, that’s what I’m here about,” Steve said, entering my office. “Bob suggested that I sit in on the meeting with you—see if I can give you some pointers.”
    “That’s all right,” I said.
    “Actually,” Steve said, “Bob didn’t suggest it—he told me to come with you. If