Me
Yes. And stop calling me that!
Hunter
Naw, it suits you.
Me
Quit, or I’ll tell the car wash story to the girls at work.
Hunter
Bruh, why are you coming for me?
Me
You started it. Night!
Hunter
Goodnight, .
Me
Finally minimizing the application screen, I check my inbox for the last time. An email sits at the top from the LA County Recreation Centers with a subject line that reads:Swim Director Position Still Available.
I sigh.My dream job.One where I think I could finally feel successful. I started an application a while ago, getting a confidence boost from a few glasses of wine. But doubts got the best of me and I never finished. Maybe one day I’ll feel brave enough to go for it. Right now, though, keeping this dream locked up inside feels like the safest thing for me to do.No chance of messing it all up.
CHAPTER FIVE
HUNTER
The music blasting through the speaker behind me pauses right when the beat drops, a text notification making me lose my focus completely. “Message from Dad,” Kiri’s robotic voice echoes across my apartment.
Motherfucker.Forgot to set Do Not Disturb again.
Leaning away from my computer, I grab my phone off the filing cabinet against the wall. I keep it up there to help me focus while working, which is only effective about half of the time. The impulse to scroll is always at the back of my mind. Hitting play, I bob my head to the beat as I lounge back in my office chair and check the notification.
Dad
Hey, still good to grab Artie from practice? Tied up at work.
Shit. Totally spaced it.
Me
Remind me what time…
Dad
5:30
An hour?Looking back at my L-shaped desk, I contemplate whether I’ve made enough progress to deem myself productive for a Tuesday. I’ll have data reports to present in the office tomorrow. Since I’m a remote employee, I need to keep on top of my game, but especially now. After several years at EdTechU, I’m gunning for the remote data analyst supervisor position. My performance review is in a few months, and even with my accuracy rate in the top 5 percent, I don’t want a careless mistake fucking up my chances. I double-check my report, cross-referencing a few more numbers before feeling satisfied enough to call it a day.
My home office spans the entire loft of my revamped industrial apartment. Two bedrooms downstairs, a wide-open first floor, and this nook upstairs. Natural light filters in through the two-story paned windows, making it so I rarely need to turn on the overhead light during the day. Exposed brick walls, painted white, offset the black trim and espresso hardwood throughout. It’s perfect. Sometimes a little too perfect, leading to midday naps in the beanbag under the window. But it beats having to deal with daily workplace distractions. I get sidetracked easily, and the idea of being distracted at corporate every day sounds like literal torture. Going in only once a week has panned out nicely. The dip in my productivity on Wednesdays is proof of that.
Me
