Chapter Fourteen
Now—March
Late on an uncharacteristically cold and blustery Thursday afternoon in March in Tallahassee, I’m sitting at my desk, with my earbuds in and music cranked while I’m working. A late cold front swept through early yesterday, bringing snow to states north of us and turning our little slice of hell cold and damp. Went from hot and mid-80s to down in the 50s the next day.
My boss is still in her office because we had one of the dreaded department meetings a little while ago, but since it’s nearly six, there are only a few others still up here. One of the nice things about my job is the flexible hours.
Dang sure isn’t the salary.
I mean, I can mostly pay my bills—yay—but if it wasn’t for the free meal plan my department head wrangled for me, I’dliterallybe a starving grad student, even if I already have a pretty impressive résumé and portfolio for only being twenty-nine.
An impressive résumé and portfolio doesn’t pay the bills.
Dang sure can’t afford a car or auto insurance with it. I have to watch every penny, so I don’t blow through my savings.
Fortunately, there’s a bus line from my apartment to nearby shopping, so I don’t have to use a bike, or hoof it, or pay for a ride-share every day. My apartment sits literally just off campus, meaning I can get by with walking. I don’t mind the walk most of the time. If I’m running late, or the weather’s horrible, sometimes I splurge for a cab or ride-share, or ask someone from my department to come pick me up and I buy them lunch in return.
Yes, I still have a comfortable savings, which grew in no small part thanks to the salary I drew while working at the White House. I cannot touch that for anything nowbuttuition and basic living expenses my salary doesn’t cover.Period. I pretend it’s not even there, usually.
That’s how I know when I finally finish school that I’ll still have plenty of money left over and be able to start my own business.
If my heart’s even in it by then. Every day, I find it more difficult to drag myself out of bed. I’m feeling so apathetic that the weekly, pointless, disorganized department meetings don’t even bother me anymore.
As a TA, I work doing administrative tasks for the department, plus I help juggle the student interns and all that related garbage. Basically, the same shit I did before I was chosen to work for the president-elect over six years ago.
Exciting, right?
Not.
I also do some private design work and consulting, but again, that money goes right into my savings.
I’m no dummy.
I’m lucky I got a good deal on my efficiency apartment. My timing was perfect, moving back to Tallahassee when I did. I guess when it comes time to renew the lease, I’ll do it. I’ve been looking around—sort of—and the thought of moving again fills me with dread, not to mention dredges up painful memories. Plus, finding something else somewhere close, in the same price range, and having to physically…move?
I really don’t have the emotional energy to do it. Because then I think about how much I cried as I packed my stuff and cleared out the storage unit in DC, and then how much I cried after arriving in Florida…
Depressed.
The word I’m looking for isdepressed.
Because I suppose part of me hoped Leo would swoop in once I’d been gone a couple of weeks, scoop me up, woo or order me back, and I’d return to DC with him.
Or he’d quit and move here to Tallahassee, show up unexpectedly on my doorstep, and we’d live together happily ever after.
Guess it’s time I grow the hell up, isn’t it? Leo didn’t stop me from leaving. Why would I expect him to come after me?
I guess if it didn’t feel so much like he’s sometimes looking over my shoulder, like I can practicallyfeelhis presence, it wouldn’t be so bad.
Again, I know, wishful thinking.
But some days I might be out somewhere, and I look up, certain I’m going to see him standing there with that handsome goddamned smirk on his face, and…
I’m alone.
My own fault, too.
Mimi’s probably shaking her head at me, disappointed that I made myself miserable.
