Safe flight!I text back.
They’re traveling with another couple, Abe and Ann, and they’ll be gone for six weeks. They’ve known Abe and Ann since before I was born, and now that they’re all retired, they’re going on tripsto all sorts of incredible places, Costa Rica and Switzerland and South Africa.
At this rate, I won’t have anyone to hang out with when I’m retired. I’ll have to get a bunch of cats. (Which actually sounds quite nice, but you can’t take a bunch of cats on vacation to Costa Rica, now can you?)
My phone dings again in my hand.
[3:08]Mom:Your father is asking if you’ve heard anything from that film studio in Calgary?
My stomach twists unpleasantly.
[3:08]: Nothing yet!
[3:09]: Could be a while
This is a slight lie. I applied for an internship at this small independent film studio a few weeks ago, and about a week later, I got a rejection. But I’d already told my parents all about it, and how I thought it might be the perfect stepping stone into the industry because the posting specifically said, “People of all experience levels encouraged to apply!”
[3:09]Mom:Hopefully you’ll hear soon!
[3:09]Mom:Going on airplane mode now. Love you!
[3:09]: Love you too!
I put down my phone with a sigh. I should really stop telling my parents about all the jobs I apply for, but I don’t want them to think I’ve given up trying. They’ve never once told me they’re disappointed in how my life’s turned out, but I think deep down, they sort of are.
Like, there was this one time when I accidentally overheard my mom talking to one of her friends in the kitchen, and her friend said something like, “What’s Emily up to these days? Still doing fill-in jobs?” And when my mother confirmed I was still doing temp work, her friend clicked her tongue in sort of a regretful way and said, “She was always such a bright girl.”
I don’t remember exactly what my mom said in response—something like, “Oh, she’s just sorting things out”—but I do remember her tone. Like she secretly sort of agreed. Like she didn’t quite want to admit it, but deep down, she knew I was squandering my potential.
Which is why I keep telling her and Dad about all the jobs I’m applying for, even though they all end up in rejections. Iamstill sorting things out, and Iwillfind my dream job. Someday, my mom’s friend will ask her what I’m up to, and she’ll be able to say, “Oh, Emily? She’s doing such-and-such. Oh, yes, she absolutely loves it!”
This auto shop job, and Waldon, are only temporary. A stop on the road to my dream job. My dreamlife. A life where I’m happy and fulfilled and have close friends to share it with.
On impulse, I open the group text between me and my three university friends. The four of us really did have one of those magical friendships you see on TV. We met during frosh week and were basically inseparable for the next four years. Almost everyphoto I have from university is of the four of us. Squished together on the bleachers cheering on our university hockey team, posing on the library steps wearing matching sequin headbands (we were going through a Gossip Girl phase, all right? And I never said that we were cool). If I’d killed someone in university, they definitely would have helped me bury the body. If they weren’t too hungover from partying the night before, I mean.
We’ve kept in touch since then, but our lives have gone totally different ways. Divya moved back to India for a while and now lives in Toronto with her fiancé, whom she met in law school. Fallon and her husband started their own company selling cold-pressed juices and they now have four locations across Canada. And Martha moved to Maine, where her husband is from, and is pregnant with her third child.
I scroll through our last texts—a debate on whether Martha should name her next child Harold (I voted no; I kept picturing this creepy old-man baby with wrinkles and a monocle)—and then start to type.
[3:36]: Miss you girls! We should plan a reunion trip sometime soon!
I don’t really have money for a trip right now, but if you book way in advance, you can sometimes get flights from Charlottetown to Toronto for less than a hundred dollars.
No one answers right away, which isn’t unusual. I take my lunch break at my desk and scroll through information on a degree in classics. I think I can see myself doing that. I really like Roman history. Or at least, I really liked this podcast I listenedto last week about Julius Caesar. And I bet you could get a job in an art gallery with a degree in classics. I picture myself striding through a gallery, my hair drawn up in a bun, a long skirt swishing at my ankles, my heels clicking on the marble floors, talking to someone about... whatever art gallery workers talk to each other about.
I’m Googling “What does an art gallery worker do” when my phone dings.
[3:38]Fallon:That would be so fun!
Divya texts a moment later. It’s a GIF of a bunch of girls dancing. I quickly search flight prices on my phone.
[3:39]: Maybe we could all meet in Toronto in September!
[3:40]Fallon:I’ve got the new store opening in Calgary then
[3:40]Fallon:Maybe next year!
[3:41]Divya:I’ll be way too pregnant in September lol
