Worth the Fall

by Caitie Quinn

  “Fine.”

  Fine wasn’t exactly a location.

  “I’m having a tough night.” I gave him a big smile in the rearview mirror. But not too big. Like I’m-putting-on-a-brave-face big. Which I kind of was. Hopefully, he’d take pity on me and maybe let that twenty get me a tad further than the meter dictated.

  When Jason had first let me know he was dumping me, I’d assumed there was someone else. That he’d gotten tired of me. I had already been justifying how it might have been my own fault.

  I’d moved here for grad school and met him right away. He’d been one of my advisor’s former TAs my final semester and was still teaching one of the segments one evening a week. He’d taken me under his wing immediately, shaping my education and career path. My time was filled with studying and him. My friends category was still filled by my girls back home and from undergrad.

  Then my internship turned into an assistant project manager position. When my boss managed to get us almost blacklisted with a client, I was pushed into a management position. I’d had to work my butt off to prove the chance they’d taken on me was worth it. That I was worth it.

  And I loved it. I loved the drive and the hours and the push to make the best marketing campaign out there. I’d been surprised to discover most of my peers liked to do the pitching and design, but not the technical part of the creating. Or they’d like the directed creation, but not the customer work.

  I adored every aspect—soup to nuts. And, so, as I worked my way past bored associates who liked to keep things status quo, I let everything else fall to the side.

  I had my girls at home. I had Jason. I had a job I adored.

  What else could I have needed?

  I almost wish Jason had been cheating. At least then I could have said someone else pulled his attention away. That love had won out…or something. He’d still be a huge jerk, but at least I’d know there was a reason. Not just that I mattered so little that a potential few months’ rent was a valid reason to jump ship.

  I leaned my head back and watched the lights go by the window, slipping past me with a quick, silent pattern of darkness and light…darkness and light…It seemed to say, You’re an idiot…You’re an idiot.

  It was sinking in. The whole he-dumped-me thing. Okay, not the dumped part. I’d caught on to that pretty quickly. More the part about how easy it was for him to drop me. How I’d been building this little dream in my head and he had just been looking for a roommate who conveniently paid half the mortgage and shared his bed.

  Good luck with that on Craigslist, pal.

  I had never felt so expendable in my life. My boss had even used the word. “Kasey, we’re having to cut some corners and while you do great work, unfortunately, you’re expendable.”

  I’d asked what that meant. What did it mean to have three projects under your leadership, six people reporting to you, several deadlines coming up in the next two months, and still be expendable? Apparently, when you hire and train great minds right out of their undergrad program who can finish the work—even if they couldn’t have gotten the contract in the first place or manage it once they had it—you’re expendable. Especially if each of them only made eighty-percent of the salary you did.

  Good thing I didn’t have a dog. It probably would have peed expendable into my rug, then taken off with some hot poodle down the street while I was out.

  The cab pulled to the side of the road under one of the beautiful, old oak trees lining a wide cobblestone sidewalk. My block? Regular streetlights and uneven pavement walkways. No trees.

  Obviously this was not my block.

  “Okay.” The cabbie turned around and put his hand out.

  I glanced from the flashing red meter to him. “Eighteen dollars?” Not only was he not going to drive me the extra mile home, he wasn’t even going to drive me all the way to my twenty dollars.

  I guess I was not one of those women who relied on the kindness of strangers.

  “That’s including tip.”

  For real? This guy was a prince. He was making Jason look decent. I was seriously considering more car assault.

  I handed him the twenty and waited.

  He waited.

  I waited.

  “Are you going to get out?”

  We could have been the last mile by now.

  I stuck my hand out. “Who said anything about tipping you?”

  We continued our stare down until he slapped two dollars in my hand. I’d planned on giving him the one-seventy-eight in my wallet as a tip, but he’d just ticked me off.

  On the upside, I now had three-seventy-eight. Yeah, that was going to save the day.

  I shoved the door open and slid my legs out as gracefully as I could in a tiny skirt and ridiculously high Special Occasion heels. I straightened and found myself deserted in front of a coffee shop in a quaint neighborhood I could never afford. It had those little lamps that looked like gaslights from back in the Jack the Ripper days and charming green shutters around black-framed windows. The door was a heavy, oak thing that made me think I was on the edge of a little Irish village. Look at me, I know charming when I see it.

  A gold-on-maroon sign over the door announced I’d arrived at the Brew Ha Ha.

  Well, that pretty much summed up my night in a sad, punny kind of way. Plus, caffeine seemed like a good idea before my stiletto’d walk home.

  Glancing at my shoes, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d been thinking when I’d bought them. I mean, they were expensive, not my style, and amazingly uncomfortable. But the woman had said my boyfriend would love them. I, being the idiot I just discovered I was, bought them.

  And now, I was paying the price. Figuratively and literally.

  I pushed the door open and sucked in a cleansing breath of coffee scented air. The comfort and warmth eased up my skin, gentling every nerve that had been on high alert since the night had turned down that unexpected lane of singleness. There were collections of overstuffed chairs with coffee tables and straight back seats around scruffy wooden tables. A “Gently Read” sign rested against a bookshelf in the corner with a collection of used books. It even had a fireplace against the far wall with the sooty evidence of use.

  How had such an oasis have been a mile from my place all this time and I didn’t even know about it?

  “Can I help you?” Behind the counter, a teenage girl looked at me suspiciously—as if I’d just walked into her home instead of a coffee shop and was willing to pay.

  “What time are you open ‘til?”

  “Why?”

  Seriously? I don’t want to sound old, but this next generation was a little odd.

  “Because I want to order a mocha and chill out for awhile.”

  Barista Girl eyed me, obviously trying to figure out if I was lying or not. Who lies about getting a drink in a coffee shop?

  “Nine on a Tuesday.” She continued the stare. “Are you going somewhere?”

  And nosy.

  “No.” Now I was the one who was feeling a little suspicious.

  “Don’t you think you’re a little dressed up for coffee?”

  Well, it was true. “Yes.”

  “Are you meeting someone?”

  “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You look like one of those women who’s out to meet someone.” She leaned over the counter and looked at my shoes. “Are you having an affair?”

  “Abby, just give the woman her coffee.” The voice was as rich as the coffee beans on the counter without the bitter aftertaste.

  I turned, toward the voice, surprised at the guy attached to it. This was not the typical night manager. He was average height, but definitely better looking than average with a kind smile and slightly mussed hair.

  “Hi, I’m John.” He stuck his hand over the counter. “If you’re here to have an affair, I should warn you I had closed-circuit cameras installed after we were robbed this spring.”

  I didn’t feel a
flicker when he shook my hand, but it made me wonder why—why—had I wasted the last three years with Jason? If there were truly funny, nice, hot guys out there who probably wouldn’t leave you stranded in the suburbs…again, I ask you, why?

  “I’m not having an affair…sadly.” Ain’t that the truth? I was like the anti-affair.

  John glanced towards Barista Girl and back. “Oddly—and these are words that don’t come out of my mouth very often—I have to agree with Abby. You’re a little over-dressed to have a coffee by yourself.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you go for a romantic dinner in the suburbs and end up trapped out there without cab fare.”

  “Ouch.”

  Abby slid the mocha across the counter, still looking at me as if I at any second might pull a weapon and rob them.

  Instead, I pulled my debit card out, considering a cupcake too, when John shook his head.

  “On the house.”

  This was seriously my new favorite place.

  I thanked him and headed for the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace. Glancing at my phone, I couldn’t believe it was only seven-fifty. My life completely annihilated in less time than an evening out.

  I sipped the mocha—the really good mocha actually—and considered my next move.

  I needed a place to live, maybe a car, and a job, like yesterday. Of course, I had a job yesterday. Severance was three weeks. Plus the two weeks of vacation time they owed me would give me some breathing room. Not enough for a deep breath. Of course, I had the small amount from selling my belongings, but I probably should just buy new belongings. Floors get hard.

  “So, Mocha, what’s the plan?” John settled into the chair next to me. “You going to just camp out here?”

  I could see the guy was actually worried. A complete stranger, worried about my well-being. I couldn’t help thinking Jason wouldn’t be thinking about if I was okay right now, let alone worry about a stranger.

  “I’m just working up the balance to walk home. It’s going to be a wobbly one in these shoes.”

  He looked at me, looked at my shoes, looked back up at me.

  “My girlfriend is stopping by in a bit if you want a ride. We could drop you off at your place, no problem.”

  His girlfriend. Figures. More proof all the good ones were taken.

  But, I wasn’t one to look a gift ride in the mouth.

  “That would be great. Really great.” I glanced toward Barista Girl. “I don’t suppose you could tell her I was having an affair with your girlfriend?”

  John grinned. It was amazing how subtle the difference was between a grin and a smirk. How sometimes you could think for years someone was grinning at you and then, in one blow you begin to wonder if all those looks had been something less nice.

  Of course, the universe would place the perfect Jason Foil in front of me to drive home my own purposeful blindness.

  “Don’t mind Abby. She’s in a special work-study program for teens. She’s learning management first hand.”

  “Would this work study program involve checking-in with the warden each night?”

  The grin faltered. “Not quite.”

  I was surprised how closely I must have hit that one.

  “Well, good for her. She’s doing better than I am.”

  “Hey, one bad night isn’t the end of the world.”

  “So true. It’s the no-job-lease-ending-getting-dumped combo that really does a girl in.”

  “Oh. Again with the ouch.”

  “I don’t suppose you know a great, cheap place that won’t need me to have, you know, a job or belongings or a plan?”

  John leaned back, glancing around as he thought.

  “Maybe.” He pulled out his phone and texted someone. “Can you stop by tomorrow? I might have something for you.”

  I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because John stood and gave me what could only be called a reassuring smile.

  “Enjoy your mocha. Chill out. Sarah will be here later and we’ll deal with everything tomorrow.”

  Later, when I looked up from one of the used self-help books I’d snagged, a small, curvy blond had her arm wrapped around John’s waist. I half expected her to glare at me when he steered them my way, but instead, her smile widened.

  “I hear you’re having a crappy night.”

  I laughed. How could I not? She was just as likeable as he was. They were, apparently, Adorable Couple.

  “Yup. Pretty much.” I pulled my coat on and reached for my tiny purse. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem. Figured I’ll take you home while he closes up.” She grabbed her own bag and led the way to the front door. “I hope you like help. John is Mr. Fix It and now that he knows you’re looking for a place, he’s put on his Wanna-Be Realtor hat.”

  “I’m not going to argue with anyone’s wanna-be anything right now.”

  “Great. Just don’t let him hang anything in your new place.” She seemed amazingly adamant about that. I kind of wondered what type of art John had been running around town hanging.

  So, I just smiled at that, because who was I to judge anyway?

  Maybe things were looking up.

  FOUR

  Things were definitely not looking up.

  The next morning, not only was my apartment freezing, but I didn’t have hot water. A few weeks ago it would have been just chilly. But, with summer turning into fall, night was still dead cold.

  It figures with only one day to go on my lease the building would have a major fail. I called the building manager and wasn’t surprised when I got his voicemail.

  “Micah? It’s Kasey Lane in 304. I’m in my apartment and I have no heat or hot water…Wait.” I glanced at my alarm clock. The small battery icon was on. “I also don’t have electricity. What exactly is going on? Please call me back.”

  I wrapped my moss green comforter around me—glad I hadn’t donated it or my bed yet even though it didn’t play matchy-matchy in Jason’s apartment—and headed toward my front door.

  The building hallway was nice and toasty…and lit. This was not a good sign.

  Beth, the girl across the way, opened her door and caught me standing in the middle of the hall, comforter pulled up around my nose as I tried to get warm.

  “No heat or hot water.” Check me out. Stater of Things Obvious.

  She leaned around me to look into my apartment as if cold air might look different. “Really? Everything’s fine in here.”

  Figures.

  Beth gave me a whattayougonnadoaboutit smile and headed out the front door. Also not a surprise. She was the kind of neighbor who stopped by to let you know she was having a big party—but not invite you. Just tell you so you’d know what the noise was.

  I hit redial and waited for Micah’s voicemail.

  “Seriously, Micah. Why is my apartment the only one that’s arctic? Call me back. I’m just, you know, hanging out in the hallway in my pajamas.”

  A door upstairs opened and a heavy footfall crossed over my head toward the stairs. The guy Beth kept calling the cops on for doing P90X after seven on a Saturday turned the corner and stopped on the landing.

  “Locked out?” It dawned on me how bad I must look pre-shower, pre-caffeine.

  “Nope.”

  “Just hanging out?” He grinned.

  And why shouldn’t he. I must look ridiculous. “No heat, hot water, or electricity.”

  “For real?” He looked at my door as if he could see the problem through the flimsy paneling. “Listen, I’m just running out to get coffee and bagels, but my girlfriend is here for the weekend. Why don’t you grab your stuff and go shower at my place. She won’t care.”

  Dan—which was apparently P90X guy’s name—brought me up, introduced me to his girlfriend, and headed for the door.

  It showed how low I’d sunk that I didn’t even care I was showering in some strange guy’s apartment. Dan’s girlfriend grabbed me a towel and made sure I had everything I needed.


  “Lucky for you he hires a maid service the week before I come to visit. I’m deathly afraid of what you’d find otherwise.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to imagine Dan—who always looked amazingly put together—having a filthy bathroom. It just didn’t compute.

  But, who was I to try to read someone else’s boyfriend when I hadn’t even been able to read my own?

  I hurried through my shower not wanting to cut into the Dan-Girlfriend time. Plus, I had a date with a coffee shop owner who was hopefully finding me a roof to live under. I was not above begging at this point.

  I dried my hair as quickly as possible and wrapped it up in a sloppy bun before thanking them both, a little sad to meet the nice neighbor the day before I moved out.

  Back in Antarctica, I opened my shades to let the sunshine in before I wrapped a scarf around my neck, pulled on my coat, and hefted my tote. How had I never noticed how heavy it was with the laptop and charger when I was only walking a block to the bus stop?

  I may not have a check paying out for today, but it was still a work day. I had a lot of work and even more thinking to do. I might as well get started.

  The air was damp, the type of pre-fall weather that even made everything feel a bit more crisp. It was a shorter walk than expected. More like three-quarters of a mile. That’s what happened when you stayed in your own neighborhood—you missed out on hidden gems.

  I slipped into the café and breathed in that heady coffee-air. Being there again was the first thing that felt good—that felt right—in two days.

  I stepped up to the counter, happy to get another one of those to-die-for mochas and oddly unsurprised to find Abby manning the counter again.

  She looked at me and shook her head. “This is how you leave the house?”

  I looked down at my yoga pants and North Face jacket.

  “Yes. This is how I leave the house when I need to walk a mile to sit and sip coffee while working.”

  She shook her head again, disgust emanating off her like she’d just discovered I kicked kittens as a hobby.

  “If you insist on going out like that, you’re going to stay single.”

  “I’ve only been single since last night—you know, when you accused me of being an adulteress.”