I’d told the girls about my fiasco with Evan West, and they didn’t seem surprised. According to them, it’s typical Evan, although they did try to convince me that he’s nice when you get to know him.
Sure, walking into the kitchen and seeing me standing in front of his flour-covered son was probably a shock, and he was being defensive for a reason. But I still hated the way he judged me and acted like it was my fault, as if I hadn’t done enough to diffuse the situation.
But maybe I’m just bitter because his son was the most adorable kid I’ve ever spent time with, and I’m sad I’ll never see him again.
“Nope, I’m put off for life, thank you.”
“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad?”
“I taught his son the word ‘Fuck’, and made his kitchen look as if a deranged baker had experienced some full-on meltdown within just an hour, so yeah, it was that bad.”
My friends erupt into laughter, and Mae sets her coffee mug down. “Okay, fine, I believe you, so what are you going to do job-wise?”
I shrug, the stress my creamy matcha latte had just ridden me of coming back full-force. “I don’t know. I’ll probably get something part-time while I figure out what I’m gonna do.”
“Good idea.”
“I was also sort of taking a look at that six-month trip around America and Canada that I put on hold all those years ago… for research purposes.”
Or maybe I was so close to impulsively booking it to feel like I hadsomeof my shit together that I had to call my mum to distract me.
“But I eventually want to move closer to the city, so just don’t want to put too much pressure on myself, you know?”
Except that’s precisely what I’m going to do, because again, I like to remind myself how behind I am in life compared to everyone else. How I’m going to regret not chasing my dreams when I finally look back at my life in my late forties and realise I’m stuck in some crappy desk job that gives me neck pain and a flat ass from sitting in a rolling chair ten hours a day.
I force myself to remain happy-go-lucky, and sure, for the most part, I am, but I can’t help but also feel like my life is unfulfilled.
Like I’m cruising along with no real purpose or goal I’m working towards. And if I’m being honest, I’m jealous of the people who appear to have it all figured out. I know who I am, what I like, and what I dislike, but when it comes to being sure of what I’m going to be doing for the rest of my life, I draw a blank, and it really fucking scares me.
There’s so much pressure these days to start in the career ladder young and work your way up so you’re some kind of billionaire CEO by the time you’re thirty, and it’s all I see on social media, so I can’t help but feel a little crushed when I think about how these are supposed to be the best years of my life, and I’m spending them worrying about my future.
“Wait, you’re actually thinking of going on that trip?” Mae chews on her lip.
My shoulders roll in a shrug. “Maybe. I think it would really benefit me, you know?”
Or just distract me.
“The reviews say it really helped people find themselves, and some other deep, meaningful crap. But I’d get a part-time job in the meantime. It doesn’t start until the end of September. I’m talking hypothetically, though.”
“Six months without seeing you…” Mae and Poppy both pout, and I chuckle.
“You girls could come and meet me somewhere. Fancy a Las Vegas trip?”
I’ve never seen Poppy smile so big. “Oh, absolutely,” she says, and Mae stands.
“I’d be so down. Come on, let’s head to the stadium early. I need to stretch.”
“Thanks for letting me come and watch you practice, guys. It’ll be a good distraction.”
“As long as you promise not to join in. Nobody wants to see your hot pink panties.”
I grin, remembering the high school accident I’d had last time I’d danced publicly—not that I’m any good—where my yoga pants ripped and everyone saw more than they’d bargained for.
Ever since then, I've forced myself not to feel embarrassed. I swear, it’s an emotion that’s lost on me.
I wink at my best friend. “No promises.”
4: Evan
