“Want to play?” she asks me, nervousness in her eyes. It reminds me of when we were younger, and I’d shut down her attempts to play video games with me and Andy.
“Yeah, of course.” I stand up, offering my hand to help her stand too. She takes it, her hands cool from holding her glass. This time, she shyly smiles, like she doesn’t hate my guts before she turns her attention to Andy.
“I’m the Uno Queen,” Nadine grins, taking the steps two at a time. “I’m going to Khaleesi the hell out of this game. Minus the literal murder.”
I grin. This is who I remember her being — warm and enthusiastic about the little things underneath it all. Maybe she’ll loosen up even more. It’s a genuine start, at least. Now I just have to convince her that I’m not going to slap her down like a mosquito and try to think with my brain instead of my dick.
Chapter Seven
Nadine
The five days my inbox was quiet should have been a sign. Things are going too well, especially today. We’re touring a garden as a venue for Mom and Joseph’s wedding, and it’s gorgeous — the perfect place for the dream wedding Mom has always wanted. It’s not too hot, and it’s just sunny enough to feel good on my skin. I woke up today feeling optimistic, so of course, the universe had to kick me in the teeth.
I stare at the notification on my phone’s lock screen. I can’t believe I’m seeing what I’m seeing, even as it looks me right in the face.
“What the hell?” I blurt, stopping dead in my tracks in the middle of the garden’s path. Mom runs into me in her surprise and almost makes me drop my phone.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I move over to sit on a bench, my hands shaking. I open my email and tap the email with the subject line ‘Termination of Employment’.
Dear Ms. Abarta,
This email is to notify you of the termination of your employment contract…
That’s as far as I get into the email before I start to panic. A million thoughts zoom through my brain, all at once, and I can’t breathe. I need a job to keep my apartment, and if I don’t keep my apartment, what am I supposed to do? I know there are other law firms in the city, but how long will it take me to get something new?
“Oh, sweetheart…” Mom puts her arm around me and squeezes. A tear slides down my cheek.
“But why?” I ask her, bringing myself to look at the email again. There’s a bunch of legal bullshit in there, which isn’t a surprise, but between there is an equally bullshit explanation. “The other guy pulled his act together and basically took my job. Is this even legal?”
I don’t have my packet of information I got when I started my job with me, but there’s probably something in my employment contract that makes this totally okay. Or some loophole that Michelle would readily take advantage of. No wonder they rushed to fill the position when I first applied. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve lasted longer than any other paralegal working with Michelle. If you can dump someone out after doing a good job, just because someone else just happened to kiss her butt a little more thoroughly, why wouldn’t you abuse that power?
I shouldn’t have gone on this vacation.
I burst into tears, and Mom pulls me into a deeper hug, rubbing my back and resting her chin on the top of my head. How many times will I cry in public all over my mom before I learn to hold it in?
“C’mon, let’s head to the car.” She helps me stand up and guides me to the car by the hand like I’m a little kid.
I slump into the front seat and keep bawling. Mom knows I need to cry out the first wave of tears and sits in the driver’s seat, patting my hand. Eventually, I calm down and blow my nose on the tissue Mom keeps in her purse.
“There we go.” Mom strokes my hair and gives me a little smile. “It’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t think it’s bullshit that I got fired for almost no reason?” I wipe my eyes, sending mascara streaks across my face.
“It is, but I think it’s a blessing in disguise.” Mom shrugs and starts the car. She turns on the AC. “You hated that job.”
“It was supposed to be temporary. I needed Michelle’s help to get a good recommendation for law school.” My stomach tightens in anxiety. A whole new wave of fears comes zooming down on me. “Oh god, what if I can’t get into law school because of this?”
“Baby. Breathe.” Mom squeezes my leg. “It’s going to be okay.”
I hiccup and cry for another second before I pull myself together again. “How do you know?”
“Been there, back before I went to culinary school. And I’m sure you’ll get into law school without any help from her.”
I can tell Mom’s not as devastated as I am about this sudden turn of events. To her, me not bitching about my long work hours is probably a gift. And she wants me to be happy. Knowing her, it’s probably more of the latter. I guess I can be happy once I figure out what to even do with myself.
I take a few deep breaths and try to switch into my rational brain mode. I need to figure out what to do. My vacation was supposed to end in a couple of days, but now I can go back whenever, I guess. But my apartment. And money. I have some savings, but my rent is a stretch on my salary, and I haven’t been as diligent as I could have been.
And do I even want to stay there? I glance out the window at the garden, which is peaceful. There are only more wooded areas beyond it, and there’s hardly anything loud. When I go to sleep at night, the only sounds are the house settling, cicadas, or the cat. Back in the city, even the quiet nights are loud in comparison. I never planned on staying there forever anyway.
“Do you want to stay with me until you get back on your feet?” Mom asks. “I’d love to have you home for a little while longer.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind.” Mom is pretty chill, all things considered. “But I need to sort out my business back in the city…”
“How about we get some food, and you can think about it?” Mom starts the car.
“Okay.” Crying makes me hungry.
I start my plans as Mom drives us into town. Maybe I should move back home for a couple of months, not just a few weeks. I can apply to jobs in other cities while I finish up my law school applications and then move on from there. Home feels safe again. Besides seeing Joelle at the fair, I haven’t run into anyone else I knew from before. I probably won’t go out much anyway, besides to the gym, so the chance of bumping into people is even lower. And the rent around here is pretty cheap.
I tell Mom my plan over burritos.
“I’m upset on your behalf, but I’m also so excited to have you home again,” Mom says after a dainty sip of Diet Coke. “Do you want your old job at the bakery back? We really do need some more help. You already know how to do it, and I can pay you more than I did back when you were in school.”
“Do you need help in the back, or at the counter?” I ask, taking a very undainty swig of my beer.
“Both. Probably in the kitchen, mostly.”
Good. I love baking and decorating cakes, but being face-to-face with customers is a bit draining.
“Okay, that sounds perfect. Thanks, Mom.”
“Not a problem at all, baby.” Mom swallows. “Oh, but I need you to help open tomorrow.”
“On my first day?” I groan. “I don’t even get to finish up my vacation?”
“Sorry,” Mom says with a shrug. “I’m short-staffed tomorrow, and there’s a wedding coming up.”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. Working sounds better than moping.
So the next day, I wake up at the crack of dawn and get dressed in denim shorts and a hot pink t-shirt with the Sweets by Barbara logo on the chest. Mom’s wearing the same t-shirt but eyes my shorts.
“Awfully short, aren’t they?” she asks, handing me a travel mug of coffee.
“You never once complained about my outfits when I was in high school.” I look down at my shorts. They’re the same high-waisted ones I’ve been wearing for the past few days.
�
��You didn’t show so much skin in high school.” She fills her travel mug and sighs. “It’s fine for today. It’ll be hot in the kitchen.”
I roll my eyes. Mom’s under the impression that a) men come into the bakery all the time, and b) that the sight of a woman in shorts in a place that’s usually warm will send them into a frenzy that I couldn’t handle. Maybe that was the case in high school, but now, I’ve become a master of pretending not to notice creepy dudes. I’m just not good at ignoring the regular kind.
The drive over is quiet, thankfully, as is the first half-hour of the day. Soon Margie joins us and is just as happy and surprised to see me as she was the day of the fair.
“I’m sorry about the job, but it seemed like the pits anyway,” Margie says, putting on her apron. “All those emails!”
I try to laugh, but things are still a little bit raw. I just say thank you and go back to preparing the croissants that they’d started the day before. The meditative motion of cutting the dough and rolling it up is soothing, especially with the oldies station Margie chose playing in the background.
A few more employees file in later, and things start to get chaotic. Ever since they started serving coffee in the morning, there’s been a massive rush. I can’t blame them because the morning pastries are the most delicious thing on the planet.
My heart sinks a tiny bit thinking of morning coffee. I need to swing by The Toasted Bean when I go pack up my things in the city to say goodbye to Paolo. He’s kept me sane more days than I can count.
After the morning rush, there’s a lull in activity. My shift’s close to ending, so I make myself a cup of coffee and man the register for a little bit.
Everything goes well — a few people come in to place orders for birthday cakes or get treats for a work event. Nothing that strains my introverted nature.
But then, she comes in.
Like Voldemort, I can’t bring myself to say the name of the woman that Grant cheated on me with. It burns too much just thinking her name — Joanna. Grant and Joanna. Their names sound good together. Fancy, almost. She strolls in with her sunglasses on, one of those baby carriers strapped to her chest, and a young child holding her hand.
My heart starts racing so hard that I nearly spit up my coffee. The person on the register is out for a break, so it’s only me. I can’t just leave her standing there. She’s looking at the glass case of sweets, gently bouncing the baby. I’m not sure how old the boy asking for a cake-pop is, but the fact that he even exists is enough to fry my nerves. Is he Grant’s? He looks like he is three or four. She strokes the top of the baby’s head absently, and I notice a wedding ring.
I grip the counter and take a few deep breaths. The only thing worse than crying would be to do it now. I throw back the last of my coffee and get on with it.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I ask, managing not to sound like I’m being strangled from the inside out.
“Could I get a dozen cookies, please? Half chocolate chip, half oatmeal raisin?” she asks, hardly glancing at me.
“Sure.” I quickly put together the box and put the cookies in the box for her. Normally I would say something about how good both these cookies are, but I’m not even going to go there.
I ring her up, and she pays, more focused on her phone than anything else. If she recognizes me, then she hasn’t indicated she does. She thanks me and is out the door. The interaction probably lasted less than two minutes, but I’m already panicking like someone locked us in a room together for an hour.
Since the shop is empty, I stumble out back and start hyperventilating. Now that I don’t have to focus on keeping myself together, I fall apart completely.
Those kids could be Grant’s. I mean, I can’t entirely rule that out. My paranoid half assumes they’re his. Even if the oldest kid is only four, that means she got knocked up less than a year after Grant dumped me out of fear of getting too serious. And married her. Maybe.
I know I could be jumping to conclusions, but it’s like my rational brain exploded, and my crazy brain is running around in the confetti, the explosion left behind. Why didn’t Grant think I was good enough to marry, but she is? Am I missing something about myself?
I scrutinize most social interactions to death for this very reason. There has to be something wrong with me that makes her a better option than me. I’m nice. Unobtrusive, most of the time. I don’t ruffle any feathers. I care. I think I’m okay looking.
I take a moment to cry before I push my anxiety and sadness into anger. Anger can be worked off. I need to go to the gym. There’s a class tonight.
I sneak back inside and clean myself up without anyone catching me. I spend the rest of the shift counting down the minutes until I can leave for the gym. Mom got a ride from Joseph midday, so I have the car. I drive home, change, and immediately head back out to Grit.
Even though Noah and I have come to a truce, I hope he’s not there. I can’t handle any men right now besides the other guys in the class who I don’t have baggage with. I slide in a few minutes before class starts, and Krissy spots me, waving.
“Hey!” She makes a little space for me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to seem upbeat. But apparently, I can’t even manage that, because I see the spark in her eyes dim a little bit.
“Working off a tough day?” she asks, folding in half easily to touch her toes.
“That obvious?” I try to do the same, but my flexibility isn’t great.
“No, but I’ve been there, so I can see it.” She sounds empathetic rather than pitying, and I appreciate that more than I could ever say.
“Yeah, just…” I pause, cracking my back. “Guy stuff, I guess.”
“Want to get some food and drink about it after this?” she asks, suddenly looking shy. “I mean, I know we just met, but—”
“That sounds fun,” I reply before she can finish, surprising myself. It’s been a while since I’ve actually hung out with someone, and based on our few interactions, I don’t feel like some weird loser around her like I do around anyone else back in the city. I just need to pretend I’m a normal person whose life isn’t flying into a flaming woodchipper, and maybe I can make a friend.
“Great!” Her shyness melts away. “We can sort it out after class. I’m still kind of new in town, so I don’t know where all the good places are.”
The class starts a few moments later, and I punch out my feelings onto the punching bag. By the end of class, I’ve almost forgotten what happened earlier. Almost. In the time between going home to shower and heading back out to the restaurant Krissy picked off of Yelp, I manage to ride my post-workout high enough to not fall apart before I get to the place. I’m glad she asked me to hang out, because I know I would have stewed in my feelings if I stayed home after class.
The restaurant is casual and new and seems like the kind of place that aims to have people Instagram their food. Krissy’s already here, looking over the menu. I suddenly get social anxiety jitters as I say hello and sit down across from her. I’m not sure why — she looks basically the same as she did in the gym, except for her simple outfit of denim shorts and a loose, untucked button-down shirt. Sitting face to face with someone without music pounding in the background and a thing to punch is intimidating.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, sliding into the seat.
“Psh, you’re not late. I’m just stupidly early to a lot of things. And I live not too far from here,” she shrugs. “And I get excited to eat after working out, so I wanted more time to look over the menu.”
“I wonder what’s good…” I busy myself with the menu since it gives me something to do with my hands.
I find something I want to eat relatively quickly, but I still hold onto the menu and pretend I’m undecided. I know I need to get myself out there and socialize, but maybe this is jumping in too quickly. I’ve always been the kind of girl to make friends through other people. Not like this. And the last time that happened was with Grant, and all of those people apparently
took me as a side order to Grant’s main meal.
So maybe this is actually better. I don’t have to wonder if there’s an ulterior motive behind what she’s doing.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on the moment.
We order and decide to split a half bottle of wine. There’s a slightly awkward silence already.
“Thanks for coming to eat with me,” she finally says after the waiter swiftly returns with our drinks. “I just moved here last year, and it’s hard to come by people to hang out with as an adult.”
“Thanks for the invite.” I take a long swig of wine, like I would when I’m home alone before I realize that maybe I shouldn’t be such a savage. But then she does the same, and I feel better about my choices. “Why’d you move here?”
“I’m a teacher,” she explains. “Sixth graders, math. I’m on summer vacation now, which is why I’m always at the gym at odd hours. It’s a big perk of the job.”
“Oh, wow. Sixth graders are…”
“…A lot? Yeah.” She laughs. “It doesn’t help that they’re all taller than me. At least I have a loud voice. What do you do back in New York City?”
“I’m… well, I was a paralegal until a couple of days ago.” My face heats up with shame. “Now, I’m moving back here I think, since I got replaced at my job.”
“That blows.” She sounds genuinely upset on my behalf. “Punching that bag probably felt pretty good, then, yeah?”
“Tell me about it.” I twist my glass back and forth by the stem, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It doesn’t help that my mom is actually psyched about me leaving New York. She says my boss was an asshole.”
“Were they an asshole?”
“Yeah.” I shrug again, feeling awkward for doing so more than once, but can’t find a comfortable position. “So maybe it’s for the best.”
“I feel that.” She nods.
We go silent again. I tend to get really tipsy if I drink without food in my stomach, but it feels like I’m not feeling it fast enough to kill my anxiety.
“Where did you move here from?” I ask, trying to keep the air filled, so I don’t slide into my panic mode. “Do you like it here?”
One Night Flame Page 11