“Will do!” It’s no sweat off her back. No world crumbling for her. “Let’s meet for lunch soon, yeah? It will be my treat.”
“Sure,” I said. “That’ll be great.”
My throat went dry.“Difficult to work with. Didn’t deliver.”The words rattled around in my skull, not just echoing but traveling down my chest till they expanded, compressing my lungs. I pressed my palm against my sternum, forcing my ribcage to settle. With, each inhale needles scraped at my throat. The missing chip of paint on the wall in front of me swam in and out of focus. People talked, yeah, but if that rumor made it to HR, no firm in Chicago would hire me.
A whistle snuck into the base of my breath, high-pitched and wheezy, so I slowed my breathing. My head swam from the effort it took just to breathe. I fumbled in my bag, hands trembling, searching for my inhaler.
I finally pulled the rescue inhaler free, shaking it as I uncapped it, then pressed it to my lips. One puff. Then another. The metallic taste coated my tongue, but my lungs held back as if they didn’t trust the medicine. Another puff. Then the sensation relented.
No corporate job. No insurance. And this prescription, the only brand that actually worked for me, was already on its last few doses.
Three daysand countless rejections later, I was at the cupcake interview. The shop looked like someone had thrifted it together out of broken dreams and mismatched furniture. Its hand-painted sign—Reality Bites Cupcakes—hung crooked above the door, the lettering chipped but intentional. Their brand was jilted and imperfect. It shined through even more once I was inside and glimpsed a wall lined with faded Polaroids of customers making ridiculous faces mid-bite. Every table was a different salvaged coffee table from decades ago, with two or three metal chairs spray-painted in pastel pinks and teals around each one. Two small TVs played silent clips of old MTV music videos on a loop, while an equally evocative playlist added texture to the place with a good dose of ’80s and ’90s nostalgia.
Running my finger over the chipped paint of a chair, I realized all these discarded items had found a home here—maybe I would too.
The girl behind the counter had streaks of teal and pink in her chin-length bob, matching the chairs. Her eyes shone with honeyed warmth behind big, thick-framed glasses, and her baggy black T-shirt showed the logo of the store on her leftsleeve while sporting a bold white declaration that read “I was really going to be something by 23.”
We’ve both run out of time.
“Hi! Welcome to Reality Bites Cupcakes!” Her chirpy tone was a sharp contrast to the “I’ve given up on life” vibe the store had going for itself.
“Hi. I’m here for the content and media position. Nina Reyes.”
She let out a high-pitched squeal and rushed around the counter, her arms stretched out, looking dangerously close to hugging me. “Nina Reyes? No freaking way! I’d recognize you anywhere!”
I weighed my chances of still getting the job if I sidestepped her hug, but her arms enveloped me in a cocoon of cinnamon sugar and coffee before I could decide.
She lifted her shining eyes up to me, her arms still around me. “I thought it was too good to be true!” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I told myself there was no way. But here you are.”
While she was still close, her arms on my shoulders, I noticed a tiny scar at the corner of her mouth. Amber-brown eyes. Thick frames. Freckles under a blush that spread fast. It clicked.
“Lynnie,” I breathed out, warmth rising in my chest despite everything. Lynette Harris. Mom’s best friend’s daughter. Our families had spent every other Sunday together before… “You’re the owner?”
She laughed, finally loosening the hug. “Mom and I opened it two years ago. Take a look around.”
I did, paying closer attention now to the intentional messiness: milk crates used as shelving for cookbooks and mismatched mugs, Lisa Loeb and The Cranberries blasting through the speakers. The iced latte special called “ExistentialCrisis,” and the slogan on her T-shirt. The name of the freaking place.
I swallowed thickly, tracing the faded counter with my fingertip. This place was a monument to sitting on a fraying couch by the window, wondering if you were selling out or simply surviving.
I lifted my eyes to Lynnie. “Maddie did this?” I asked.
Lynnie’s brow knotted. “You used to call Mom Aunt Maddie.”
“Yeah, I guess… it’s just been a long time.”
She nodded. “Mom never forgot your mom or you. They dreamed about this place together, you know? I don’t know about the cupcake theme; that’s more me. But they really wanted a Reality Bites-inspired place.” She inhaled. “That movie really spoke to them.”
“It did. They had us watching it once a month, didn’t they?”
Lynnie hugged me again, and I forced myself to pat her shoulder. There was this natural affection from her, as if we were still teen besties and no time had passed. It had though, and I didn’t go around handing out hugs and friendship anymore.
“We never forgot your parents or you, Nina.” Her eyes gleamed.
Time to move on. Knowing my mom lived in someone else’s memories was heartwarming, however, it wouldn’t get me this job or healthcare. I swallowed. “Thank you. For this opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” She tilted her head. “Nina, you’re hired. Your website looks amazing, and I trust you more than any of these kids applying. I just wanted to sit down and chat strategy. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with social, and Mom keeps getting locked out of her email.”
I let out a shaky breath. This was something. Relief, humiliation, and gratitude all tangled together in my chest. My knees buckled, and she guided me to a counter stool.
