Page 21 of Meant to Be

JOSIE

When I step inside the supermarket the next morning, I’m craving the cool splash of air-conditioned air, only for it never to come. I exhale and move down to the freezer section, hoping that will offer me some relief.

“So, he hasn’t called you?” a voice floats from the next aisle over.

I lean against the glass pane, not able to peel myself away from the cooler temperature quite yet. I hear footsteps moving down the aisle across from me.

“No,” another voice replies, and my head snaps up at the sound of it. “I know it’s taken him a long time to heal, but he is so confusing,” the girl continues, and a scatter of goosebumps spike over my skin. “We’ve been out so many times now. He knows I like him. I don’t understand why he would suddenly go quiet again.”

“You know why, right?” says the other girl, whose voice is much more obnoxious than the other. It takes me a moment to place her, and I internally cringe. I despise both girls, and here they are, together.

“No?”

“Apparently, she’s back.”

Silence.

“Who’s back?” It’s definitely Jessica Thompson speaking. The girl who loved Nick almost as much as me. Maybe even more. The girl who wanted everything I had and would have gladly taken my place when I left.

“Josephine.” The other voice belongs to Rianna Seeds, the girl who told me once I was too fat to be in her dance group. I grimace at the memory. That’s something I’ll never forget. “It’s Josie now, apparently. And …”

“She’s back?” Jessica squawks. “And what?”

“They had dinner together last night.” Rianna doesn’t sugar-coat the truth, and I almost feel sorry for Jess. It’s like Rianna wants to rub it in her face that everything she’s been working towards has basically collapsed underneath her. Still a bitch, then.

“Joseph—Josie is back?” Jessica’s voice has dropped to a whisper, and I have to step closer to the shelving to hear her. “Of course she is. It all makes sense now.” I hear the tremor in her voice, and my heart sinks.

I don’t want to hear any more. Jessica and Nick. Dating. I shouldn’t be surprised. It mustn’t be too official if Nick took me out. He is Good Guy Nick, after all.

“He loses all sense of rationale when it comes to you,”his mother’s harsh voice splinters through my mind. “Leave this town and never come back. Do everyone a favour.”

The air is still and suffocating. I turn and exit the store, forgetting to grab the bottled water I went in there for. I swallow down greedy gulps of air once I’m outside. I drive to a secluded area and wait for the anxiety to settle. I press my fingers flat on the burning leather of the steering wheel and even out my breathing, until the pounding in my head fades, and I can think clearly again.

Don’t think about it, I tell myself.You have a plan. You’re going to apply for a job. Get yourself together.

I check my reflection. I blink at myself and fix my makeup. When I’m calm enough, I turn the car back on and head to Danny’s Dental, the only dentist in town. Inhaling a steadying breath, I walk inside. A bell above me dings as the door opens. Small, old, and cluttered. Nothing like the places I’ve worked before.

Daniel Sherlock appears, dressed in a faded scrub top and half-moon spectacles perched low on his nose. He offers me a friendly smile, wrinkles appearing over his face like lines on a roadmap.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asks.

“Hi, Mr. Sherlock. Do you remember me? I’m Bruce Mayor’s daughter.”

His white eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at me in surprise. “Josephine? Goodness, I didn’t recognise you!”

He asks the usual questions: where have I been, what have I been up to. I skim over my time away, highlighting my degree and work experience.

“That’s why I’m here,” I conclude. “I know Fern Grove is a small place, but could you offer me any days to work here? I can take all children off your hands, up to the age of eighteen, and any standard or periodontal cleans.”

He ushers me to the back of the surgery, where his office is. It consists of a small wooden desk, a computer that looks like it was bought fifteen years ago, and a wall of filing cabinets overflowing with patient files. It looks like he still does most records on paper.

The interior is extremely outdated, and the furniture is shabby, but I try not to focus on that too much as I take a seat on the only other chair in the room. The cushioning is protruding out the side of it, and when I sit, bits of stuffing fall onto the floor.

As Danny is semi-retiring, we negotiate that I will work three days a week, taking on any patients under the age of eighteen, and cleans. The pay is much lower than in the city, but I have a lot of savings and the cost of living is much different here. I’m honestly stoked he has given me any work, let alone as many days as this.

His hand feels leathery as he shakes mine, as if he has spent too much time out in the sun.

“You decide what you’d like to wear in regard to a uniform and invoice me. I don’t mind what it is, as long as it is scrubs and covers everything it needs to.”