Page 39

Camila

“It says hereyou were at your last company for five years?”

“Yes. That’s correct.” I’m lucky my bones haven’t snapped from how hard I am twisting my fingers in my lap.

“Okay great.” Mr. Moris flips over his stapled stack of papers while simultaneously grabbing a pen. “And Camila, what would you say your greatest weakness is?”

I should have canceled this interview the minute I woke up this morning. I was mentally drained. Instead, I laid in bed for twenty minutes, imagining a life where I was the type of person who could cancel anything last minute. Specifically an interview for a job that I don’t want.

My face starts to heat because even though I don’t care if I get this job or not I still want this man to be impressed by me, to like me. “Well,” I shift around in my seat.Fuck. Calm down.The stale air is making it difficult to breathe. The moment I recognize the panic building inside my chest I start sweating and my voice comes out shaky. “I have a hard time saying no,” I manage to get out. “But it’s something I recognize about myself and I’ve been working on it.”

“Great. And what are some steps you’ve taken to begin working on that? Because I’ll be honest, we’re a fast-moving ship here at LG & Co. and we tend to just pile on the work and it’s up to each individual employee to know their limits. Especially before they get to that breaking point, you know?” His carefree chuckle has my nails digging tiny crescent moons into my palms. The sound of my thrumming heart battles the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead and I have approximately two minutes left in me before I run out of here in tears.

I can’t even tellmyselfno, let alone others and it’s a bullshit lie that I’ve been working on that at all.

“Well let’s just say it’s an ongoing learning experience for me.”

His lips press together in a straight line before looking down at his papers and shuffling them around. “Well, I think that’s all I have on my end, do you have any questions for me?”

I shake my head harder than necessary, desperate to get out of here. I’ve made a complete fool of myself. I know it and Mr. Moris knows it. He moves to stand, reaching his hand across his desk. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sanchez. We’ll be in touch.” I give an embarrassingly weak shake and force a smile before I turn to leave.

My heels clack on the marble floors as I dash through the lobby. Desperate to get outside. I can’t get through the revolving door quickly enough. As soon as my feet hit the concrete outside, my shoulders rise on a massive inhale. But not even the fresh air is enough to get the oxygen needed to my lungs.It’s over. Breathe.You’ll likely never have to see that stranger again. The job wasn’t for you so who cares what he thinks.‘I don’t give a fuck if someone likes me or not.’Miles’s words ring in my head. It was a bad interview for a job I didn’t want. The strain on my chest is still present but not as painful as I let those words sink in.

When I decidedto take the long way home I didn’t take into account that I was wearing my interview heels and not my sneakers. The pinching pain digging into my toes is a sick distraction until my phone vibrates against my side.

Hobbling a few steps I make it over to an outdoor bistro and sit at an empty table before digging through my bag. I’ve taken so long that when I finally find my phone I answer it without even looking to see who’s calling.

“Mija!” My stomach churns and my only saving grace is that I’m sitting down. “Hello?”

“H-hi mom,” I answer, clutching my purse in a death grip to my chest.

“Hi honey, how are you?”

“I’m…” I’m having a difficult time breathing. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Busy, busy as usual.” A waiter comes over to my table and I feel guilty for sitting here, not ordering anything so I cover the speaker of my phone and mouth ‘coffee, black’ and when she doesn’t reply with an over-the-top smile, a cartwheel, or a ‘great’, I assume she hates me and I begin picking at a notch in the table. “Are you there, mija?”

Moisture begins to burn behind my eyelids. I haven’t talked to my mom other than a few texts here and there over the last few weeks. I tried a few times. The least I could have done was let her know I left my job and I’m looking for a new one. Every time I picked up the phone to make that call I saw the disappointment across her face. I heard her asking a million questions that I either didn’t have the answers to ordidand couldn’t stomach telling her the truth. The nausea rolled so heavily that it was enough to make me put the phone down every time.

“Yeah.” The high pitch of my voice trying to fight back the cry is threatening to give me away. “I’m actually out to lunch with Taylor right now, and it’s just kind of hard to hear.”

“Okay, honey. Give me a call later then, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Tell Taylor, I said hi. I love you, both.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I drop my phone in my purse and put my head in my hands, focusing on my breath. The clink of my coffee hitting the table forces me to look up in time to see my waitress already heading back inside. I pull out cash to cover my drink and a tip and leave it next to the full cup.

Between the interview from hell and a phone call from my mom, caffeine is the last thing my anxiety needs right now.

Miles

“One, one two, five two!”

Sweat is dripping into and burning my eyes as our coach, Ray, calls out combinations.