by Emilia Finn
The glass front door opens once more. With a shake of my head, I close my eyes for a mere second, then opening them again, I smile for Mrs. Mooreland.
“I have to go, Ab, but I’ll see you later.”
“Dinner?”
“Sure. Nix’s place?” I ask.
“I’ll call him and ask,” Abby replies. “I’ll let you know what we decide.”
“Alright.” I watch on as the middle-aged Mrs. Mooreland turns to take a seat. She’s earlier than her already rescheduled early appointment. But instead of letting this drag out, I meet her eyes and lift my chin to call her over. “I’ll talk to you later, Ab. Love you.”
“Love you too, Beck. See you in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
Hanging up, I push to my feet and move around the desk to stop in the hall. “Mrs. Mooreland? Thank you so much for coming in on short notice. Come on through.”
Tabby
Bombed
One week later
I walk through my new apartment in pyjama pants and a sports bra—not because I have the body to feel so confident, but because it’s only me and Jen here, and she doesn’t judge the way my stomach rolls when I sit.
With a Twizzler between my teeth, and a full-to-the-brim glass of white wine in my left hand, I walk around the moving boxes I’ve yet to unpack, and drop down on my couch with my cell pressed to my ear. Jen tinkers in my kitchen, filling her own wine and scouring my pantry for sugar.
“Babe?” Mark’s deep voice slides through my ear and elicits a sigh. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah.” I set my wine glass on the arm of my couch, then when I have a free hand, I yank the stick from my mouth, but not before taking a chunk with my teeth. “I was just sitting down and trying not to spill my wine. And no, I haven’t found anything yet.”
“Not even a callback?”
“Nope.” Exhausted, I lay my head back and stare at the ceiling. “There’s only one veterinary clinic in this town, and I bombed my chance there last week. I’m expanding my search, but at this point, the closest I’m going to get to animals is stacking pet food in the local supermarket.”
Unhappy, I groan and close my eyes. “I was already stepping down by applying for a job in reception, Mark. I don’t want to answer phones and be someone’s assistant. But there aren’t a hell of a lot of options around here.”
“And it becomes a moot point anyway, since you weren’t hired there.”
“Right.” I exhale and take another bite of Twizzler. “Nice reminder. When are you getting here?”
“Three weeks,” he answers quickly. “I’m tidying things up here, then I’ll be with you again.”
“And just so we’re clear, we’re moving here for you, right? I’ve left a job I love, at a clinic I love, with a boss I adore, all because of this job you wanted so bad.”
“Babe…”
“Which is fine,” I push on. “You would do the same for me. So I’m not mad or anything. But still… We’re moving here for you, and yet, you’re not here.”
“But our lease began,” he cuts in, commencing a repeat of the discussion we’ve had for a month already. “There was no point paying rent on an apartment that sits empty. And since you haven’t found a job yet, it works out. You can get the place set up, and by the time I arrive, the apartment will be a home.”
“And I’ll have done all the heavy lifting.”
“Me too, asshole.” Jen sashays into the room and plops down on the couch beside me. She also holds a glass of wine, and a fistful of Skittles. “I’ve carried a dozen boxes this week.”
“See?” Mark works to convince me. “Even Jen is helping out.”
“Tell him to shut his piehole,” she retorts, knowing he’ll hear her. “I didn’t carry his boxes. They can stay downstairs till he gets here, as far as I’m concerned. Even better if it rains and they get destroyed.”
“What?” Mark yelps. “You left my boxes outside? What the hell is wrong with you two?”
“You made my sister move,” Jen murmurs without feeling. “I didn’t agree with this. She left for you, and now she’s here, hot as hell, all alone, and with a credit card ready to do damage at the local bar. Just as soon as you hang up, we’re going out.”
“No we’re not,” I huff, and kick my sister when she snarls. “We’re not going out,” I tell Mark. “And I brought your boxes upstairs already. They’re in our bedroom. You can unpack when you get here.”
“Oh…” Disappointed, his tone changes. “You’ll just leave everything in boxes? I kinda figured you’d wanna settle in. Get everything put away.”
“Oh. So she’s your removalist,” Jen snaps, “your personal assistant, and now you want her to be your cleaner and sorter too? You’re not that good-looking, chum.”
“Jen!” I smack her thigh and elicit a cry from my big-mouthed sister, then I push off the couch and head back toward the kitchen. “I wish you two would stop fighting.”
“I don’t fight with her,” Mark argues. “She’s a bitch, and I’m always having to put up with her shit.”
Stopping at the fridge, I press my forehead to the stainless steel and close my eyes.
I’ve been in this godforsaken town and in this apartment for too long now, considering the man I moved for is yet to truly commit, and the sister I love dearly continues to batter at me about the sacrifices I’m making for him.
“It’s so cliché, Tabby. It’s so nineteen fifties. What’s next? You gonna marry and change your name too?”
I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake agreeing to this move, because although I love my boyfriend, I just don’t fit in here. Small towns aren’t apt to welcome newcomers, and though I had my heart set on working for Dr. Rosa, I’ve also applied for—and failed to get—a dozen other jobs in town.
Everyone knows someone, everyone is related to someone else, so when I’m applying for a job, but so is the boss’ niece’s best friend’s sister, then little Sally will get the call long before I will.
It’s just the way it is.
“Tabitha?”
“I’m here,” I murmur quietly. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving the office,” he responds. “I’m trying to square everything away before I leave. If I want to get to you sooner and settle in, means I have a bunch of late nights here to get it all done.”
“You heading home now?”
“No,” he sighs. “You already took the furniture and stuff. I was going to stay anyway and sleep on a mattress on the floor, but that got too uncomfortable.”
“Oh?” I let my eyes flutter open. “So where are you staying?”
“Brantley offered his couch until I’m ready to leave, so I’ll head there.”
“Brantley?” My stomach jumps and forces my brows to pinch at the discomfort. “As in, the guy who impregnated the woman who works in your building last May?”
“People have sex, Tabitha. It happens.”
“Brantley is married!” I argue. “Not to the woman he knocked up.”
“It’s fine.” Things progress on Mark’s end of the line. Papers are shuffled. Drawers closed. “It’s not my business what the guy does in his spare time.”
“No, but you’re totally cool sleeping on his cum-stained couch?” My top lip curls back. “I wouldn’t sit on that thing, let alone sleep there.”
“I don’t have a lot of options here, Tab. It beats paying for a hotel for three weeks.”
“But does it beat moving to be with your girlfriend?” I counter. “You said it would be two weeks, tops.”
“Well, it’s taking longer,” he groans. “It’s not my fault, Tab, and I’m doing my best.”
“Let’s go!” Jen shouts from the next room. “Movie is starting in twenty-three seconds, and for every second longer you take, I’m drinking your wine.”
“God, I can’t stand her,” Mark growls through the phone. “I have no clue how you came from the same family.”
My sister is actua
lly the closest thing I have to a best friend. She’s fun and funny, loud and silly, smart and sarcastic. She’s selfless, hence helping me move even when she’s truly against the idea of me leaving, and since I’m here alone until my boyfriend arrives—a boyfriend she doesn’t even like—she’s decided to stay and keep me company.
Jen is a biochemist; the real kind, with a fancy degree from Yale. But when she’s not working, she could fit in with the women who interviewed for Dr. Rosa. She’s half an inch shy of six feet tall, too slim, considering her height, and when we go out and she wears heels—which is always—she commands the attention of every man in a ten-mile radius.
We’re from the same family, despite Mark’s wishes, but there isn’t a lot of resemblance between the two of us. I’m not short, but I’m not six feet either, and though she’s a beanstalk and makes it look hot, I’m slightly rounder. I have hips, and a too-sharp jawline. I have boring gray eyes, where Jen’s are electric and beautiful. My hair has a few tawny highlights that I like, but Jen has that full head of luscious locks that not even T&A from the clinic could criticize.
One of us got to be stunning, and the other… aesthetically acceptable.
“Tabitha?”
“I’m gonna hang up,” I tell Mark, instead of arguing. “Movie time.”
“Oh… okay.” He’s disappointed I’m choosing a movie and my sister over him, but I need to sit before I fall, and if I have to think for a second longer about the jobs I’m not getting, I might lose my mind. “Alright. Well, I’ll text you when I get to Brant’s.”
“Okay.” Pushing off the fridge, I pull the door open and grab the entire bottle of wine. “I’ll talk to you then.”
“Alright. Bye, babe. I love you.”
“Love you too.” I wander through my messy kitchen and into the living room to find Jen making good on her promise; she’s drinking my wine. “Talk to you later.”
Hanging up, I toss my phone to the couch and sigh when it immediately drops between the cushions and thuds on the floor.
I’m going to have to save that stupid thing later. I’ll have to lift my couch, which will be harder once I finish this wine, and then retrieve the device, and make sure I do it before bed, because if I don’t reply to Mark’s texts, he’ll worry.
“Do you see me not talking shit about that fucker?” Jen snags the bottle from my hands and plops it between her thighs so she can use her free hand to remove the lid. “I don’t like the weaselly fuck, but I’m respectful enough to not shit on him.”
“So the weasel comments?” I counter with a slight upturn of my lips. “And the ‘fucker’ and ‘fuckface’ jabs?”
“Wine.” Smirking, Jen tops off my glass and hands it back, then she refills her own and doesn’t stop till the liquid touches the lip.
“It’s not too late,” she says quietly. “I can help you pack and move again, and we can be outta here by tomorrow. You can go back to your old position, Mark can move here, then you guys can try your hand at a long-distance thing for a while.”
I roll my eyes. “Long-distance relationships don’t work, Jen.”
“Exactly.” She flashes a wolfish grin and leans over the side of the couch to deposit the empty bottle on the floor. “You just say the word, and I’ll toss your shit in a box.”
“No.” I slump back on the couch until the cushions eat me up and act like a hug. Then I grab the television remote and hit play on… “What is this?”
“27 Dresses.” Jen lifts her legs and crosses them on the couch until she resembles a grasshopper. Way too much leg, not enough room. “James Marsden is a god,” she moans. “I’d do just about anything for a single romp with him.”
“He’s married and has kids, ya know?”
“So is Brantley Whatshisface, the guy your boyfriend is staying with,” Jen laughs. “But doesn’t ‘boys will be boys’ excuse any and every shitty thing men ever do? Besides, pretty sure James is single. We’re all set to go.”
“Well, except for the fact he has no clue who you are,” I snicker. The sound is soft, lost wherever my energy is hiding. “But I promise, if I ever see him, I’ll be sure to pass on your details.”
“It’s the right thing to do, really.” Jen reaches across and pushes the stem of my glass up until wine tips onto my tongue. “Drink. Think nasty things about Mr. Marsden. Tomorrow is a new day, Tabby Cat. We’ll get you a job then.”
“I hope so,” I whimper. “I have student loans to pay, rent to make, and a brain going to mush.”
“Shoulda stayed where you were,” she singsongs. “Your brain was adequately stretched, and if you’d dump Mark, your dating life would be roaring too.”
“But of course, you’re above shitting on the guy, right?”
“Right.” Grinning, she taps her glass with mine and turns back to the TV. “Classy bitches have better things to do than spend their time thinking about losers.”
Drawing in a deep breath until my chest and stomach expand, I let the air out again and lift my legs to the couch while my phone vibrates against the floor. “Yeah. Tomorrow will be better.”
I came to this town knowing nothing is guaranteed, but with complete confidence I would get the position at Lakeside Animal Hospital. The fact I was so certain has meant that, since being booted out on my ass with no job and no hope of a callback, I’ve been in a funk of self-pity.
I had already envisioned my career there. I’d already daydreamed about how I would start by answering phones, but before too much time passed, my brilliance with animals would shoot me into a new veterinarian position, alongside the illustrious Dr. Rosa.
Now, that dream is gone, and despite the education I have—with honors, no less—and my genes—a sister who works in cancer research, a schoolteacher for a mom, and a district attorney for a father—I can’t even land a job in administration.
They tell me I’m overqualified. I’m bound to get bored within a week and seek a new position. And the best one yet: you can work in my ice cream parlor, but I have a cat who has diabetes, herniated disks, is blind in her left eye, and needs help pooping daily. I won’t pay you more than six dollars an hour to work here, but if your customer service is good enough, the high schoolers are bound to drop you a few dollars here and there, so you’ll make enough to get by. Also, Sassy needs to poop. Your turn.
No matter how much I want to work with animals, and let’s not forget poor Sassy the cat, I have zero inclination to be that woman’s vet on the side.
I walk out of the assisted living home a full week after the first and last time I spoke to Dr. Rosa. The facility also happens to be lakeside, so as I walk along the driveway, clutching my briefcase and praying for a callback, I glance across to the veterinary clinic with a type of longing in my heart.
It’s crazy that I got so attached to a job I never had; not to mention, the job was always going to be a stepping-stone for me. Nevertheless, I watch the practice as I make my way to my car.
Pet owners enter, others exit. Some walk dogs on leads, and others have smaller animals in cages. A truck is parked outside with a horse trailer attached to the back, but there’s no horse inside, from what I can see. And I doubt it’s inside the practice.
Perhaps Dr. Rosa also services the ranches surrounding town; those tucked away in the forest, those who prefer to stay away from the hustle and bustle of people.
Sliding into my front seat, I toss my briefcase to the passenger seat and place both hands on my steering wheel. Pressing my forehead to them, I feel my anxiety leach through my blood.
Jen is right; I gave up a job I really loved, in the field I want, and left an apartment I love, a building that just so happens to also home Jen herself, all for… what?
A man.
A future that plays in my mind.
A fantasy life I’m certain is more imagination than reality.
“No.” Pushing to sit up straight, I shake my head and swipe a hand over my cheek. I’m not crying. I’m just… tired. “Sack up, Tabitha. You m
ade your bed, you chose the guy, and you willingly resigned from that position. Now it’s time to make a new life.”
Starting my car and checking my phone—just in case I got a call back from somewhere… anywhere—I pull out of the parking lot and head across town.
I have an interview at a local car parts manufacturing place. Monaco’s allegedly manufactures all sorts of car things. Not cars themselves, not at this factory, but steering wheels, seats, mirrors, lights, and all sorts of other things. And right now, they’re looking for an administrative assistant.
Sitting taller in my seat, I shake my hair back and practice my smile. Hi there. My name is Tabby. It’s so good to meet you.
No, It’s a pleasure to meet you.
No. I shake my head. It’s an honor to meet you.
I nod. I’ve got this.
Beckett
Mayday
“Dr. Rosa?”
Carmel LaRoque, I’ve come to learn this past week, enjoys speaking… to everyone. All day long. And when she’s not speaking, it’s a good bet she’s drinking water or sleeping. Even when she’s eating in the kitchen at lunchtime, she has something to say. And rarely does any of it relate to work.
“Did you know they have a midnight showing tonight for that newest car movie? The one with Vin D…”
I tune her out. My eyes remain on the cat whose recent bout of having kittens has left her with a prolapsed uterus.
Patricia is getting too old. She’s had too many litters, and though I long ago stopped condoning what her owners are doing to her, if I refused to see her, that would be cruel. A punishment the animal doesn’t deserve. Patricia needs help, she needs to be removed from her owners’ care and placed somewhere she can grow old in peace. She needs to be left alone; no more kittens, no more breeding all for a dollar.
But first, she needs me to place her uterus back inside her body. And me listening to Carmel yammer on about a movie isn’t going to get that done any faster.