“Life on my own? Are you serious?” Panic coursed through my veins. Kenzie knew how badly I needed purpose during the day and how lost I’d be without this place.
“Yes! You have not adjusted.”
I scoffed at her statement and couldn’t help it when my voice raised a few decibels. “Oh! And I guess you know everything about being well adjusted?”
“No, I don’t.” Her face was flat, refusing to betray her emotions. “But, I do knowyou. And drunk driving, risky adventures, working thirteen hour days, and avoiding friends and family is not healthy. You aren’t healthy.”
I swiped at the sweaty trail my hands left on a plastic binder in my lap. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I blinked them away.
She continued, “Eight weeks out of the office starting Monday. Get a good therapist, stay sober, join a support group, and have some fun. Find something that fills you up and helps you relax.”
“Work does that.”
She cocked her perfect, blonde eyebrow. I knew she saw straight through me. “Living and breathing marketing is not life and you know it.”
She handed me a blue folder with the company’s logo on it. “I took the liberty of printing information about local Alcoholics Anonymous groups, grief circles, and activity clubs. Check them out.”
My throat tightened as I thumbed through the pages. Grief circles? I didn’t need that stuff. “What if I refuse and come to the office anyway?”
Kenzie drew a breath and gave a half smile. “Then I’ll fire you.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Unfortunately, letting one agent show up smelling of alcohol and clearly hung over is bad for my company’s image and against our protocol. You need help or a new job.”
My jaw dropped.
“Look, you should feel lucky your boss considers you a friend. If I didn’t, I would’ve fired you a long time ago.”
Her words were like a sucker punch. I looked into my lap, dreading the weeks ahead of me. I’dneverrisk being fired. But eight weeks? I blinked as a sticky, hot flush crawled up the back of my neck. Tears were dangerously near.
She shattered my thoughts with a bombshell. “Jules, it’s not my place to say this, but have you ever taken time to grieve? I know you’ve—”
“Stop.” My knees involuntarily brought me to standing, and I tucked the folder underneath my elbow. “Please don’t act like you know what I need. I’ll take the eight weeks since I have no choice, but what I do during that time is my own prerogative.”
“Fair enough.”
I turned to go. My voice was tight and sarcastic. “Thanks for the help.”
Before I reached the door, she stopped me. “Will you still come to our housewarming?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Would like for you to see it. You did help me pick out the colors after all.”
“I don’t know. Sounds like I’m gonna be at AA.”
THREE
Patrick
Valdez Construction Group built the most ridiculous house I’d ever seen. Sure, it was beautiful, but I couldn’t understand why a family of two would need such an expanse. Carl, my supervisor, insisted I come to the reveal party of the mansion. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but when the man Valdez himself told me I had to see the place, I agreed.
No expense was spared. I’ll put it that way.
I took a quick tour around the posh home and lavish pool. Of all the sights I beheld, one spot stuck out in my mind—the family’s bookshelf in the main living room. The moment our tour ended, I parked myself in the cushy chair next to the ginormous shelf so I could busy myself with the books. Maybe the other party-goers would think I was anti-social and extremely introverted. If they thought so, they’d be right. It was the vibe I aimed for. Better yet, I hoped they assumed I was mute.
Only two people had taken the time to approach me. To my relief, talk stayed small. The effort of chatting didn’t seem worth it. Just sitting there having to smile and nod occasionally was making my neck hurt and my thighs tense. Besides, I couldn’t be real with any of them. We had nothing in common.
Actually scratch that. I did notice one person who might share a commonality. A brunette across the room was sipping on root beer the entire party. She didn’t talk much. But no matter what she did or how she milled around, she sipped the root beer. Refilled her glass about three times. When she sat on the couch, her foot tapped. Sugar rush I figured.
When you are refraining, you notice others who are refraining. At a party where Fat Tire and Hazy Little Thing are flowing, those not partaking stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe the people getting buzzed don’t notice the folks sipping cola, but the clear headed ones do.
