I bite my lip to keep from reminding her that she lives across the country.
“And your uncles.”
Also, I restrain myself from telling her they’re out at sea, closer to Mexico than New York.
“We’ll figure this out.”
The use of ‘we’ jolts me out of my thoughts. This isn’t Kandace or my uncles’ problem to solve. It’s mine.
I left my uncles’ home at eighteen, and for the past eight years, I’ve figured things out without having to run back and beg them for help. I can get through this now, too.
“I think I’m going to lay down for a while,” I tell Kandace.
She doesn’t respond right away. I know she doesn’t want to hang up.
“I’ll call you tonight.” There’s no room for pushback in her voice. “Once I get up to get ready for my shift.” She works nights, which means she sleeps most of the day.
While she’s getting up to get ready for work, I’m usually settling in for the night to work in the morning.
I used to anyway.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice coming out hoarse.
I yank my journal off the bed and open the top drawer of my nightstand, but stop before tossing it inside. The stack of graduate school brochures innocently stares back at me.
My gaze lingers on the picture of a young woman with curly, brunette hair gleefully looking toward the sky after tossing her graduation cap into the air. Her smile is vibrant as if she stares into the brightness of her future.
The letters Ph.D. are written directly above her head.
I slam the drawer shut. There’s no time to think about that right now.
“What am I going to do?” I murmur as I crawl into bed.
CHAPTER 6
Alyssia
“Alyssia, when you’re done with this walkaround, remember to clear all of the glasses from the balconies for me, please?” Grant, the manager of the catering company, requests.
A month after being laid off and confirming my pregnancy, I stand in the center of a celestial themed gala.
In a sea of black velvet walls and draped chair decor, soft gold candles on each of the tables, orb pendant lighting and swirling ceiling projections, dressed in a white button-down and black slacks, I dissolve into the background like the rest of my fellow servers, standing with a serving tray full of champagne glasses.
I acknowledge my boss’ question while holding the tray out for a passing guest.
I’ve managed to parlay my part-time catering position into more hours while I search for a full-time position with actual benefits. Though out of about twenty-eight applications sent out over the past four weeks, I’ve gotten exactly one reply back.
A rejection notification.
Tonight, however, will be different. This event is hosted by the Jacqueline Reed Foundation, an organization created by one of the biggest socialites and philanthropists in the city.
A former colleague told me that the foundation may be looking to hire a new market researcher. It’s one of the nonprofits that’s still hiring right now. While I can’t do much as a server besides hold champagne glasses, I can keep my ear open for a name that I can address my resumé to when I apply for the marketing research position.
Professional smile in place, I extend my arms for a male guest to take a glass of champagne as I make my way toward one of the balconies that Grant mentioned.
“Excuse me,” I say lightly to the pair who stand out on the balcony, talking in low tones.
They move aside, giving me room to retrieve the empty glasses and small plates sitting on the table.
