"Thanks, I'll start my job search immediately."
My dad and Molly nod their heads, and I wait for the other shoe to drop.
"What was the surprise you had to tell me?"
"Oh, it was nothing. I was excited is all," my dad reveals.
"Nothing? Oh, okay. I'll come back downstairs in a little bit."
I turn on my feet and ascend the steps, fearful there's a marching band and parade waiting to burst out of my room to welcome me home.
But when I turn the knob, I'm met with welcomed silence.
My room is as I left it, an unspoken promise my dad and Molly would preserve it as best they could. It's not like a time warp back to the 90s with band posters taped to my walls and a floral pink bedspread.
When I moved out for college, I cleaned it up and left it mature enough to return to when I visited overnight for holidays.
The design of the house is unique, not only because it sits in the curve of a cul-de-sac, but because of the expansive side yards where the pool, Jacuzzi, and waterslide were installed.
The master bedroom is downstairs, while three other rooms are upstairs. Mine, an office, and the guest room Theo took over for the three long months we lived together.
There's one full bathroom on the second floor that's rarely used since my dad isn't in his office as much since he retired. It will now be mine for the time being.
I have a small balcony off the side of my room that overlooks the backyard. It's the best room in the house, in my opinion.
I fall backward onto my bed and stare at my ceiling.
Remember, Amelia, it could be so much worse.
I could be crammed underneath a staircase on a cot. Or Molly could force me to live in the nonexistent attic likeCinderella,where I'd be stuck talking to rats.
One month. You can do this.
WhenIcomedownstairsfor breakfast, I'm greeted by my dad reading a newspaper.
"They still have those?" I joke.
"Yeah, turns out Twitter isn't the only viable news outlet nowadays."
"You're living in the old days, Dad. Twitter gets breaking news down to the minute."
"I'll stick to my dinosaur ways and rely on good ol’ black-and-white print."
"Suit yourself. That's where I got most of my traction for my movie trailers..."
My sentence falls flat as I relive the firing all over again.
How embarrassing that was. I came in ready to conquer the world, only to be met with an NDA.
I've gone through bouts of rage and denial this past week.
Anger because I finally had a foot in the door. This wasn't my dream company, but it was definitely a stepping stone. I loved creating two-minute masterpieces that had you running to the theaters.
The self-pity is hitting me in full force. My appetite comes and goes. I'm finally hungry, yet the only interesting thing in the pantry is Cheerios. Not frosted Cheerios, not even Honey Nut Cheerios, but the plain, "I'm watching my cholesterol" kind.
I pour myself a bowl anyway and take a seat on the barstool next to my dad.
I thought I'd wake up to a ton of emails reaching out for an interview. The five I applied to last night, plus the dozens earlier in the week, haven't produced any hits.
