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Lilly

“No, no, no!” I yell as my car sputters to a stop on the side of the road. My only saving grace is that there’s hardly any traffic on this side of town.

“Today of all days!” I exclaim, trying to get the vehicle to roar back to life without any effect. “Come on, sweetheart.”

My car, predictably, doesn’t listen. I’ve had her for five years, ever since I turned sixteen. She was past her prime even then, and I don’t even want to think about how much money I’ve poured into this vehicle.

With a sigh, I call my mechanic and tell him my location. Then I call my best friend, Wendy. The death rattle that my car just gave doesn’t make me optimistic about the mechanic’s chances of fixing her, so I’ll need a ride home at least. Plus, after the day I had, I need to vent.

My mechanic gets here quickly — I think he feels sorry for me. It’s not a good thing, but I’ll take the fast service. This might be the only good luck I have all day.

As I’m running through the issue, Wendy arrives, parking behind my useless vehicle. The mechanic tells me to wait in her car while he takes a look at mine, and I do, grateful to be out of the cold. Wendy hands me a cup of hot chocolate from our favorite local coffee shop.

“I figured you could use that,” she says as I take her offering.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I confirm, taking a sip and letting the sweetness wash over my tastebuds. “The car is just the icing on the cake.”

“Your boss?” she guesses.

Mr. Tomlinson, who is technically my boss's husband, has what some might call a wandering eye. Ever since I started nannying their toddler a few months ago, he’s been…friendly. I thought it was innocent at first, and I was more than happy to accept the extra money on top of my salary to spend time with him after my shift once or twice a week. His wife works a lot, so I thought he was just lonely.

Boy, was I wrong.

“What did he do this time?” Wendy asks, reading the expression on my face.

I sigh, recounting the event in my mind. I mutter, “Honestly, nothing really .”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, Mrs. Tomlinson came home,” I reply, my hand tightening on the cup. “But, uh, you know how I told you I was going to turn down his offers for those extra shifts?”

“Don’t tell me you broke that promise to yourself, Lilly,” Wendy groans. “I told you I’d help you look for another job.”

“Of course I didn’t break it,” I respond, bristling at the implication. “But…it upset Mr. Tomlinson. He, uh…well, he called me some choice words and kind of backed me into a corner. I thought he was gonna—”

I grit my teeth, feeling myself get angry all over again. At the time, I was frozen with fear. As soon as Mrs. Tomlinson came in, I saw red. I was ushered out before I could say anything, though. I had only barely calmed down when my car went kaput, and now this conversation was bringing back all those emotions I was desperate to push back inside.

“That fucking jerk,” Wendy says, her jaw tightening. She doesn’t curse often, so the phrase hits hard and makes me even angrier. “Who does he think he is? And his wife is gorgeous! Not that you aren’t, but I mean, come on!”

“No, I agree,” I say, my body heating up with rage. “When she got there, I wanted to lay into him, but he basically pushed me out of the house.”

Wendy goes quiet, her eyes locked on the mechanic as he works. After a moment of silence, she says, “I bet we could convince this guy to rough him up.”

I hum as I consider it, but shake my head after a moment saying, “It’s not worth it, Wendy. Plus, if I do anything, I want Mr. Tomlinson to know it’s me.”

She huffs, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. Then, her face lights up as an idea strikes her.

“Just tell him off right now!”

“Wendy—”

“No, listen,” she says, turning toward me. “You have his phone number. Send him a text. Tell him he can’t treat you like that or you’ll quit!”

“I can’t just threaten to quit,” I say, but the protest sounds weak to my own ears.

“You can’t keep putting up with his harassment either,” she replies with a shrug. “Like I said, I’ll help you look for a new job if it comes to that. I know you can’t start teaching until you get your degree, but I’m sure you could do more tutoring or nannying until then.”

“You’re right,” I reply, her enthusiasm bolstering my resolve. “I can’t keep putting up with him. I’m going to tell him right now.”

“Good!” she says, her energy infectious. As soon as I get my phone out of my pocket, she says, “Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“I’m getting to it,” I say, scrolling through my contacts, huffing when I realize I never programmed his number into my phone, since it’s always his wife who texts me, and he’s not stupid enough to leave a digital footprint of his flirtation. “Hold on.”

I dig into my purse, pulling out his business card and flipping it over to where he scrawled his personal phone number on the back. Honestly, I should have known something was fishy when he gave it to me. He literally stopped me at the door and slipped it into my pocket with a wink.

He’s been a creep since day one.

I’m in the process of copying the digits into a message box when the mechanic knocks on the window. I curse, fumbling with my phone. Wendy rolls down the window so he can speak.

“We’re gonna need a tow,” he says apologetically. “I won’t charge you, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell him.

“I’d be a lifesaver if I had another car to give you,” he admits, jerking his head in the direction of my out-of-commission vehicle. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get her running again.”

I sigh, resisting the urge to scream. Wendy seems to sense my tension and jumps in saying, “Things will work out.”

“You’re right,” he replies, straightening out. “You two are free to get out of here. I’ll give you a call when I know more about what went wrong.”

“Thanks,” I say, meaning it.

With that, he walks away, pulling out his own phone, probably to call for the tow truck. Wendy puts her own vehicle into drive and pulls away. I let my head fall back against the seat.

“You send that message?” she asks after a few minutes of driving in silence.

“Not yet. Besides, if I’m going to have to buy a new car, now might not be the best time…” I say, shaking my head. I’ve already finished entering Mr. Tomlinson’s number, but my nerves are starting to get the better of me.

“Tell him he can’t keep treating you that way,” Wendy says, and I copy down her words — even though I want this message to come from me, it’s nice to have her doing some of the legwork.

“It’s inappropriate,” I mutter, transcribing what I’m saying. “Not only does he have a wife, he has a daughter too.”

“Good!” she praises, taking a turn a little too enthusiastically. “Now, what’s going to happen if he does it again?”

“I’m going to quit,” I say, typing the threat into the message box.

“And?”

“And I’m going to tell his wife.”

“And?” Wendy pushes.

“And I’m…” I frown at the screen. “I’m not sure what else there is to say.”

“If he doesn’t stop, you’re going to kick his ass!” she says as if that should have been obvious to me.

“I don’t know about that …” I admit. Then, I recall how uncomfortable he’s made me and the way the anger boiled in my gut when Mrs. Tomlinson got home. “No, you’re right. If he does it again, I’m going to kick his ass!”

As soon as I finish composing the text, I send it. If I dwell on it for too long, my self-preservation might kick in and convince me that I just need to suck it up until I get another job. He needs to be put in his place, no matter how non-confrontational I am.

“It’s done,” I say, taking a long drink of my hot chocolate.

“And how do you feel?” Wendy asks, a grin on her face.

“Good,” I reply. “Invigorated.”

“Excellent!” she says as she pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex. “Now, keep that energy. I’m going to help you apply for jobs. I don’t think you’ll have one after he sees that.”

Conceding that she’s right, I get out of her car, but not before turning my phone off. After all, I’m job hunting; I can’t be distracted checking for Mr. Tomlinson’s reply. I’ll worry about that later.