The last stragglers join us, and the questioning whispers die down into anticipatory silence.
“Before I start, I just want to preface this by saying that I’m very proud of this team, and this announcement has nothing to do with the quality of the work performed here. Regal Health has just announced a strategic initiative to lower costs by leveraging offshore call centers. Under a new relationship with Chennai Teleservices, Regal Health will outsource all call center positions to India. Our West Hollywood unit is closed, effective immediately.”
A murmur rises among my coworkers. “But I need this job! How can they do this with no notice?” pink-haired Emily cries.
I can’t bring myself to say a word. My cheeks feel cold, as if all the blood has drained from my face. I don’t just need this job. It’s a lifeline. Regal is the only company, after more than four hundred applications, that would give me a chance, given my poor work history. And I applied for everything.
Rachel raises her hands again. “Regal is offering a voluntary severance package. If you agree to part ways with the company in the next forty-eight hours, you will receive four weeks’ pay. If you choose to stay on, you may apply as an internal candidate for a select few positions in our Omaha office. However, if you choose that option and are not offered one of those few positions, you will lose the offer of severance, and your employment will be terminated.”
Omaha. Jesus. I rub my face. I’m sure there’s a music scene in Omaha, but the idea of uprooting my entire life and leaving everything I’ve built here behind, to do a job I don’t want to do, in a state where I don’t want to live, is just too much for me. My eyes burn, and then my cheeks grow wet as I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
“What are you going to do?” pink-haired Emily asks, as everyone heads back to their desks to pack up the few things we were allowed to have here.
“I’ve only worked here six months. My chances of getting one of the few coveted positions in Omaha are almost nil. I’ll have to take the severance,” I say.
She nods. “Me too. I mean, I’ve worked here longer than you, but Gary is the primary earner in our household. It wouldn’t be worth it for us to leave the state for a job that pays minimum wage.”
I slip my purse over my shoulder and grab the crystal obelisks of rose quartz and black obsidian I keep on my desk for protection and healing. That’s it. That’s all I have. Other workers have photos of their families, children’s drawings, plants, and drawers full of snacks. Not me. I’m not in a relationship, and I don’t have kids. The only people who might have made my wall are my parents, and honestly, after everything I put them through last year—how much I cost them—it’s been a long time since we enjoyed a photo opportunity. I slip the crystals into my bag, hug Emily and a few of my other colleagues on my way out, and reassure Rachel that I’ll complete the electronic form opting in or out of the severance package within two days.
Goddess, this sucks.
I ride the bus to my apartment building and enter the stairwell to climb the stuffy staircase to my third-floor apartment. When I moved in several months ago, the landlady, Mrs. Everett, said the elevator would be fixed “in a few days.” It isn’t. And the stairwell isn’t air-conditioned. To make matters worse, Mrs. Everett’s second-floor apartment is just inside the door to the stairwell. She can hear me coming and going, and she loves to stick her head out to inquire about my business or tell me the latest on the other tenants. She’s an awful gossip. I try my best to step as quietly as possible as I pass the second floor, but even on my tiptoes, the floor creaks.
Sure enough, the door to the second floor opens, and Mrs. Everett steps into the stairway. “Ms. Willow, I’m so happy I caught you.”
“Hi,” I mumble, my throat still thick from crying on the bus.
She holds out a piece of paper. “What’s this?” I ask as I take it from her.
Hands folding in front of her hips, she tucks her chin and frowns. “As you know, the estimated cost to repair the elevator is significant.”
In fact, I did not know this. All I know is that the repair is well overdue.
“To afford it, I have to raise the rent. Your lease is up June first. If you want to stay in your unit, we’ll need you to come in and sign a new lease agreeing to the new monthly rate by May first. Oh, I hope you do. We’d be so sorry to see you go, Zoe.”
I look down at the paper in my hands, remembering that my lease is almost up, and I’ve procrastinated signing the new one. Shit. “This is $400 a month more than I’m paying now!” I say, my voice rising with my mounting panic. Even if I hadn’t just lost my job, I couldn’t afford this.
She frowns. “It’s commensurate with other rent in the area with similar square footage.”
I hold up the paper, fighting back tears, but I don’t know what to say. I can hardly breathe through my constricting throat. I open my mouth, thinking that I should advocate for myself somehow, but no words come out. I finally give up, just shake my head, and continue up the steps.
She calls after me to “have a nice day,” and I refrain from giving her the finger, which I feel makes me a candidate for sainthood.
Pushing into my minuscule efficiency apartment, I flop onto my sofa. There is really only one option. I’ll have to move back home. I have no other choice. It could take me months to find another job in this market, and finding one that pays enough to cover this rent increase is going to be a major challenge.
I reach for the phone while the idea is fresh in my mind and before my brain has a chance to talk me out of it. Moving back in with my parents is going to be humiliating, especially since they covered the month I spent admitted to inpatient rehab. Technically, I owe them tens of thousands of dollars. They forgave the debt, but whenever I see them now, I sense a weariness in them. I required too much. I tested their faith in me. I was a blight on their reputation within the coven. It’s going to take time to rebuild their trust in me.
So, even though I’m better now, asking them for help feels wrong. It feels like failure. It’s an enormous step back. I dial my parents’ number, and my mother answers on the third ring.
“Zoe? What’s wrong?” Her voice holds a note of dread, as if she expects me to ask for bail money or for her to come to the hospital because I’ve overdosed again.
“Nothing. Mom, I’m fine. I’m safe. I mean, it’s just…”
“Oh, thank the goddess.” She breathes out a sigh of relief. “You know, I’m sorry to say, I still worry about you, Zoe. You’ve done so well this last year, and Dad and I are incredibly proud of you. But you must understand, I might never get over the fear of your relapsing after everything that happened. Are you still seeing Jeremy?”
“Yes. I haven’t missed an appointment all year.” Jeremy is one of the coven’s healers, part doctor, part psychiatrist, part witchy herbal and energy expert. He’s both physically healed me over the last year and mentally helped me to manage my addiction to gold dust, the powdered potion I once snorted to boost my power. All witches draw power from the goddess, but it takes years of practice in the craft to draw enough power to change our circumstances. Gold dust is a shortcut. It gives instant access to a level of channeling that would require decades of persistent practice in the craft to attain naturally.
Gold dust itself isn’t problematic for witches. All young witches use it to help advance their magic, and I’ll likely have to use it again someday to do the same. But the way I abused it to propel Raven’s Wish to the brink of fame and fortune almost destroyed me. While it opened doors for us and increased our talent tenfold, it almost destroyed me.
