1
JANIE
This is it. This is rock bottom.
It has to be.
First, I’m at an industry expo. That’s insufferable enough. Not only that, I can’t simply hide as a restock volunteer or tech staffer behind the scenes. No, I have topeopleall day.
Smiling and chatting.
While standing, handing out mayo samples.
Dressed in the world’s stuffiest, itchiest, smelliest mascot costume.
Mascot is not the right word for a jar of mayo costume but with the cartoon hands, and the fact that it’s huge and structured and reaches to the floor, making sure no human body parts show except for my face in the aptly labeledface hole,I’m not sure what else to call it. It’s so big I considered just standing frozen like a display, but my face’s dark bronze skin stands out against the big tub of white, making me too noticeable for that tactic.
“What do you recommend, the tang or the spicy?” The eleventh young, lanyard-clad suit asks me.
You need this job. Smile, Janie. Talk. Because you really, really need this job.
“I’d go with the tang,” I say, knowing that…
He scrunches his nose, “Think I’ll go with the spicy.”
Every.
Time.
As if all of this isn’t bad enough, I’m in Las Vegas.
Man, I hate Vegas.
Actually, I hated Vegas wheneverhebrought me here. I hated being dragged around from hot spot to hot spot like it was our life’s mission to see and do as much as possible, as quickly as possible. Hated the fight every night, as if I would miraculously become a night owl in a different city.
Why are you always so damn boring?
Even the way you vacation is lame.
I’m just teasing, baby, don’t be so sensitive all the time.
I shudder, remembering as I look around, which is silly. It’s not like I can see the city lights from in here. Maybe I could enjoy Vegas at my own leisurely place—seated at a low-key coffee shop with views of the street for endless people watching.
Keyword: seated.
I resist the urge to look at my foam-arm-covered-wrist out of habit and instead glance at the giant event clock on the far wall. Two hours and fifty-three minutes left. I can do it.
Probably.
My phone buzzes on the pub table and my nerves light up along with the screen. First there’s a twinge of fear that the nursing home is calling again. Then there’s a stab of panic that it’s yet anotherremindermessage that I don’t want to answer. But I will have to. In a string of 67 messages that won’t go away, no matter how long I avoid it.
The bubble on the screen is just a Google calendar notification though.
“Chill, Janie,” I exhale.
But I can’t. Because after being here, which is terrible, I’m headed there. Home. I almost threw up in my mouth when Gran said, “At least you’ll be home for the holidays.” Ugh. Moving to be closer to Gran was supposed to make things better, not worse.
“Ha!” I laugh aloud at myself, grateful none of the attendees milling around heard me.
