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My smile wobbles a little. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
She slides a severance agreement across the counter, followed by an acknowledgment of my final paycheck.
When all I can do is stare at the forms, she squeezes my hand. “I’m sure it won’t take you long to find something else. I’ll write up your reference myself.”
I squeeze her hand back and force out what I hope is a more convincing smile. Then I pluck the pen off the counter and sign the forms that signify the end of my employment. She photocopies them and hands me the still-warm duplicates. After tucking them into my bag, I give her a final farewell, then leave.
On the bus ride home, my mind races, calculating how long my severance will last after I add it to the modest savings Dad and I have. To give my hands something to do, I pull out myphone and make a list of steps I need to take, including updating my résumé and looking into applying for unemployment.
By the time the bus reaches my stop, I need a distraction from overthinking. As I start the short walk home, I call my friend Lola.
When she answers, I’m greeted with the piercing cry of her son. “Is this a bad time?” Dammit, I hope I haven’t woken either of them from a nap.
She gives a tired laugh. “It’s never a bad time to hear from you. Just hold on a second.”
She coos softly, and the crying stops.
“Okay,” she says. “He’s on the boob. I can talk.”
“How are things going being a mama, anyway?”
Christopher is two months old now, and I’ve only seen him twice, since they don’t live close enough for quick visits anymore. Lola seems to have taken to her new role naturally. She might only be twenty-four, the same age as me, but she and her high school sweetheart, Jamie, married young, and starting a family was high on their to-do list.
“Exhausting, but I love it. He’s such a sweetheart. And he’s starting to sleep longer at night. So that’s a bonus.” She lets out a contented sigh. “What’s going on with you? Have you found out about your job yet?”
My shoulders tense with worry again. “As of today, I’m unemployed.”
She gasps. “You’re kidding me. Geoff the creep didn’t fight for your job?”
I swallow back the disgust and anger that the sound of his name brings. “I’m an idiot for thinking he might. The only thing I did wrong was let him know I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
“For some men, that’s all it takes.”
“I have to find another job quickly.” I gnaw on my bottom lip. “My severance package is a joke.”
Lola is quiet for so long I worry the call has been dropped. I’m about to pull my phone away from my ear to check when she says, “Why don’t you take this as a sign to start painting again? You won that competition, and I bet you could make decent money if you give it a go. You don’t even need a gallery these days—just sell your stuff online.”
My laugh comes out slightly hysterical. “Lola, that competition was in high school. And I don’t have the time to paint anymore. Let alone guarantee I could sell enough to cover our bills. Dad’s only got one month left of his medication before he needs a refill.”
Lola exhales. “I know, I know. It’s not realistic. But it’s a shame to waste your talent and passion. Maybe if you started painting as a hobby again. Then you could build an online shop while you have a day job. Once you start making money, you can resign and paint full time.”
“Maybe one day.” I appreciate her faith in me, misguided as it is. I loved painting as a kid. I might have even been good at it—I’m my father’s daughter, after all—but I know how hard it is to make a stable living as an artist. Even Dad struggled. And now, with him dependent on me? I can’t risk it. Because what would happen if everything I built crumbled around me?
That’s far less likely with a good job and a regular paycheck—barring another incident like today’s, of course.
Lola hums, that single sound laced with far too much skepticism. “I may have another solution, then. Jamie’s sister-in-law works for a recruitment agency. They fill administrative positions in high-profile companies. If you submit your résumé, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Really?” Hope sparks in my chest. A high-profile company might mean a bigger paycheck, which would make Dad’s treatment and medication more affordable.
“Of course. As soon as I finish feeding Christopher, I’ll send you the details.”
We talk a little longer, only saying goodbye when I get to the front door of Dad’s apartment building.
Myapartment building. After two years, it should be easier to remember that.
I pause before I go in, closing my eyes and composing myself. Things are hard enough for Dad without the added stress of my employment worries.
I take a deep breath, paste on a bright smile, and turn the handle.