Page 9 of Under Locke & Key

“I just—I’m conflicted. What if I’ve wasted the best years of my life there and now I’ll be starting from scratch?”

Farren takes this question, her smile kind and understanding.

“As someone who has had a slew of jobs as long as my arm and am only now finding my groove juggling substitute teaching and game design part-time, I can say definitively that no time is wasted if you can learn from it. Take what you can from your stint at Lakin-Cole and use it. Even if you don’t employ the same skillset, use the way they make you feel and make a promise to yourself that you won’t let anyone do this to you again. ”

All my programming revolts against the concept of letting a mistake just be a mistake because as long as I’m in it there’s a chance I can fix it and not be a failure.

I balk at the idea of stepping away. But she’s right.

I cannot keep going like this and I should have seen the writing on the wall before now but I thought my time and effort made me immune.

Sebastian wasn’t weaker than me. He had the strength to put himself first.

I’m not sure I know how to do that when all my worth has come from the mouths of others.

“I—I don’t have the funds built up the way you did.

If I leave Lakin-Cole, I’m screwed. D.C.

rent is no joke and even though I have a job interview lined up, it wouldn’t be enough to cover my current expenses.

” My faults are piling up. Admitting anything even relating to money feels wrong, another way I’m stepping off the path laid for me. Money talk is crass.

“Is it in D.C. or would you be willing to try something else—somewhere else temporarily—to ease some of the financial strain?” Sebastian asks.

“I’d be willing to try but I want to stay close to the area.

Maryland or Virginia is okay, though I wouldn’t want to go much further.

My parents are getting older and they live in Delaware, so I need to be able to get to them if they need me.

” Though I doubt they’d reach out even if they do.

I learned the mask of perfection from them after all.

Admitting need is tantamount to admitting incapability.

Farren has a sharpness to her gaze as if she’s latched onto something I’d prefer stayed hidden and she asks, “Any reason Delaware isn’t on one of your relocation options?”

“Delaware is a place I worked hard to leave. I’d rather not bruise my ego even further by slinking back.”

They both nod, a shared understanding. I sip my wine, more melted ice than anything else now but it gives me something to do rather than talk for a second.

If I start I might not stop and I’ve done such a great job of keeping the different parts of my life separate.

Combining them is just messy and allows too much leeway around my boundaries.

Eventually I condense it down as impartially as possible.

“The interview I have is for a longer-term position—so not a one-off—and it’s in Maryland, about an hour from D.C. It’s something I would do if I wasn’t living here, and unfortunately commuting at least an hour each way isn’t for me. I’d have to move.”

“Where?” Farren asks.

“Some place called Dulaney. It sounds like a fun project too, but I’m torn.”

Farren bites her bottom lip as she thinks for a moment. “Show me. Let’s take a look at the town and see if moving there is a possibility for you.”

“But . . . my lease?—”

“Can be dealt with. Trust me.” She pats the top of my hand and I let a rush of air out, relieved that someone else is here to help.

I pull out my phone, search underway and it’s a charming historical town.

Victorians and Colonials and a quaint downtown surrounded by suburbs on the outskirts.

It looks like the kind of place you’d go to for a weekend trip.

Antiquing and wine tasting, and farm-to-table vibes where you can “support the local economy” and pretend that Dollar Generals and Walmarts don’t exist. Not bad.

At all. I pull up the rental app I used to get my current place and search for the Dulaney zip code.

The first place I find is at least seven hundred less a month for an actual one bed with a full-sized window. God, that would be nice. The sliver I have now is barely enough to light the place and I always feel a little oppressed when I wake up, as if the ceiling is too close.

There’s a spring festival on the first of the month, and the weekly farmer’s market starts up in May.

They have a June Pride parade and downtown stores are littered with LGBTQIA+ flags with the town emblem on them.

There are local Facebook pages with people asking for advice or help and getting responses in the hundreds of others trying to aid.

Dulaney screams “community” in a way that feels encouraging.

My first instinct is to run. Not away but toward and I don’t know if I’m trying to outrun myself or the expectations that D.C. embodies.

“What’s the job?” Sebastian asks, breaking the silence.

“Developing for an escape room company. They are wanting a more interactive and higher tech experience for their clients. Honestly, it sounds like they might need a collaborator rather than a developer but it’s not expressly stated in the job title, just the description giving that impression.”

An escape room in some town I’ve never even heard of before now. God, saying it out loud makes it sound like such a downgrade. This choice feels too big for just me to weigh in on.

“Let me see,” Sebastian asks and I hand my phone, and the email thread I’ve shared with Mr. Dawson, over to him.

Sebastian mumbles as he speed reads the job description aloud and hearing it from someone else, it sounds like more creative freedom than I’ve had in my job, ever.

They are definitely open to implementing ideas based on the developer’s expertise.

Collaborating instead of just doing what I’m told feels like a blast of fresh air after the over-air conditioned office I’m used to.

“They’re offering a flat daily rate instead of hourly, which seems a little off, but the job is listed for the next nine months.

They want ‘Locke Box’ ready to open for some kind of Christmas extravaganza—Dulaney’s December Fest.” I offer the information even though it's on the listing he's looking at, awkward with the silence.

Sebastian then passes the phone off to Farren to get her opinion on all this.

“It’s not perfect but it could be a good refresh.

There’s nothing saying you can’t leave if it doesn’t suit you.

Sebastian can keep an eye out for other opportunities if this one doesn’t work out, but personally”—Farren looks at Sebastian with what I can only describe as concern—“if you’re anywhere near where Sebastian was a few months ago, you need out.

Sooner than later. They don’t consider you as a person, just your output and impact on the bottom line.

They don’t take care of their employees at all.

You don’t deserve that, Rachel. Give yourself a chance at something else. ”

“What do I tell my parents?” It sounds stupid to say. I’m twenty-nine years old for god’s sake.

“You tell them whatever you feel comfortable telling them.”

Even if that’s nothing at all? I just nod.

“You owe it to yourself to try. We can help you sublet your place if you get it.”

Phone back in my hand, I close out the email app and reopen the search on Dulaney.

I’m lost in between rows of Colonial brick and trees arching over roads to keep out the sun.

I’m mentally sitting on my parents’ floral couch like when I had to wait for them to go over my report card and hope I didn’t mess up somewhere along the line. Torn.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Sebastian says, as if he can read my mind—or maybe just my face.

“It’s kind of—immense.”

Sebastian nods. “It’s always scary going from what’s comfortable to what’s good.”

When we say goodbye, I thank them. Farren pats me on the shoulder as if she wants to hug me but knows I’m not a hugger. All the way home I ruminate on Sebastian’s statement because it never occurred to me that those things weren’t interchangeable.

Comfortable. Stable. Stalwart. Pillars I built my house on.

I didn’t even let myself consider things that wouldn’t contribute to the soundness of my life.

Even the majority of people I date are good on paper and terrible on my heart.

I’m sure there are still visible cracks where I caulked over the holes left by Riley’s duplicity last year—a house I thought was built to last.

Sturdy. I’m sturdy and dependable. And totally forlorn. My willingness to “keep my chin up” and push through and hope things improve clearly isn’t working. I’m being overlooked and taken advantage of for my efforts. It’s time to change that. Starting with printing the resignation I drafted.

I can’t stand to keep working there.

Not after what Andrew said and Keith did at the bar.

I’m choosing what’s good.

* * *

I’ve never believed in love at first sight.

Anything amounting to fanciful can’t be trusted.

I might’ve stayed closer to my convictions if it were a person rather than a place, but it’s hard to dismiss my immediate reaction to Dulaney.

The U-Haul I’m renting coughs up some fumes as I idle at the stoplight but the sweet scent of early blooms carries on the wind and cuts through the smoke.

The apartment I found is perfect and it took some finagling but I was able to get them to agree to letting me move in immediately. It’s premature, I know. I haven’t even gotten through the interview yet, let alone been offered the job. But I couldn’t sleep on Saturday and?—