“Please tell us if you need help,” India says, and although her voice is gentle, her eyes are serious.
“I will,” I promise. “I really will,” I add when she gives me a skeptical look; possibly because I rarely shed tears. “But I have to go to work and act like everything is fine, so let me go, okay?”
“Boo,” Juliet says, but she steps back again, a few tears still on her cheeks. “While you’re there, please contemplate one last midnight egg adventure?—”
“No more egg adventures,” I say, even though in the past I’ve been as on board as anyone.
I have changed my ways. Time in a holding cell will do that to you.
“All right, I need to go.” Incredibly, my heart feels lighter than it has since opening that stupid letter. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll figure something out after work, okay?”
“Wewill figure something out after work,” India corrects me, pinning me with a stern look and folding her arms as she leans back against the kitchen counter.
I swallow. “We will figure something out.”
“I bet Cyrus could beat Tyler up pretty good if you don’t want to do the eggs?—”
“Stop it, Jules,” I say with a snort of laughter. She’s only half joking. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to eat breakfast!” I add as I hurry toward the door.
Gaining the peace and quiet of my car is a welcome relief, so that I can think things through and let my emotions settle. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for me to come to one inevitable conclusion:
I’m going to need another job. If I can swing it, that is. It’s not ideal, but I’d be willing, and I don’t want to wait years and years to build my savings slowly up again.
I need more work. And for that, I need…
“Ugh,” I say. “I need to talk to Denice about my noncompete.”
Because I’m pretty sure it’s down in my contract that my job at Soul2Soul is the only job I’m allowed to have. If I could even pick up a dumb weekend job it would be better than nothing.
An image of myself in an apron flits into my mind, of me leaning out a drive-thru window and passing greasy bags to customers. A hairnet is my new accessory of choice. The scent of french fries is my new perfume.
I want to gag.
“I have options,” I say to myself, holding firmly to the steering wheel as though it will somehow ground me. “I will have plenty of options, and I will do what needs to be done, and that is that. If I want to save over a longer period of time, I can do that. If I want to get another job, I can do that too. It will be fine.”
See? Options. Lots of them.
Or maybe a few.
Or…just two.
“Two is fine,” I breathe.
I’m surprisingly normal at work. I’m cordial to Bart and Mindy when we meet up for a few minutes so we can discuss our trip to Lucky tomorrow. And I tell myself it’s because they’re not worth my time or energy, but a little voice in my mind insists I’m afraid to show that I’m hurt. Emotions have no place at work, but more than that, emotions create vulnerability.
If there’s anyone who I can’t trust with the deepest parts of me, it’s Bart. So he and Mindy get brief head nods and flat but polite words as we discuss the marketing budget for our upcoming event. My hands don’t shake as I get in touch with our usual vendors and look things up and fill out forms. I don’t sneak off to wipe down random counters.
I am a queen of normality.
Of course, my sisters would say it’s unhealthy, the way I put my feelings away. But it’s not like I have any other choice. They affect the way I function, which means they need to go.
It’s only at the very end of the day that the weight of my situation begins to wear on me. I’m more tired than usual even though my work load has been the same, and I’m irritable too. So when it’s time to visit the boss before I clock out, I take a few extra minutes to prepare.
Inhale and exhale. Cordon off the panic that’s trying to re-emerge in my sternum, trying to claw free from the cage I’ve put it in. Remind myself that everything is fixable.
Then I stride down the hall to the makeshift office Roman Drake has set up.
AURORA
