CHAPTER 1
KATE
There’snothing quite as humiliating as getting fired from a job you didn’t even want with a coffee stain on your shirt.
“You can’t be serious, Joe.” I stare at the scraggly orange beard that should really be put out of its misery and shaved off of his pale face.
“I’m afraid so, Kate. You’ve been a nice addition to the team here, but we’ve got to make cuts. Your track record isn’t as great as the others in your department.” He gives me a weak smile. The atrocious beard moves with it.
I gape at him. “You mean, Glenda? She’s the only other one in my department, and frankly, the reason her attendance is better than mine is because she comes to work when she’s sick. I can’t help that I get the flu every year.”
Joe glances over at Glenda’s cubicle and coughs weakly into his fist. “Well...her dedication to the workload is the kind of thing we need right now. You’re a pretty girl. You’ll land on your feet.” He pats my forearm stiffly and scoots out of the tiny square box I’ve basically lived in for the last two years.
So, pretty privilege is getting me fired.
I stare, openmouthed, at his retreating back as he scurries to the safety of his office with a view.
Two years is what I’ve thrown away on this job, hoping to move up in the ranks.
Two years, I’ve clung like static to the position I was hired for on day one, fresh out of college.
Being a children’s book illustrator for a big publisher is all I’ve ever wanted to do. Working for a graphic design company wasn’t my first choice, but at the very least, it’s in the realm of artistic work. I was hired to be the general system coordinator—file away shit—but I hoped that by working hard, I could advance to a position that actually used my college degree and eventually pursue my dream.
Apparently, getting the flu can also result in losing your job.
There’s no sense in arguing with Joe anymore, so I pack up my little mug shaped like a cartoon house and the frame with a picture of my dad and me on a boat when I was a kid.
I should call him. . .
Later—when I don’t think I’ll be crying over the phone.
I really need to find a new job first.
“See you later, Glenda. Stay healthy.”
I wave at my cubicle neighbor as I meander through the narrow path, awkwardly carrying the filing box with my work life in it.
“Bye, sugar. You take care now.” She smacks her gum, not even dignifying my shameful exit down the stained grey carpet with a look or wave.
The parking garage is already hot at nine a.m. because this is Dallas and it’s early summer.
The heavens smile upon me because merging into traffic isn’t that bad, and I actually hit seventy-five percent of the lights on green.
“Maybe this day will start to look up from here,” I mumble to myself, exiting toward my apartment complex.
“Should I stop for wine? Or do I have some left?”
Talking out loud to myself is kind of my thing, and if people stare, that’s their problem.
I pull into the faded white stripes, amble out of my car with my sad little box, and make my way up the three flights of stairs that keep my calves nice and defined.
“I hope Stephen is still here. Getting extra time to spend with him will be a nice break. Maybe he knows a bar that’s looking for a waitress.” I’m musing again.
My boyfriend is a sweetheart, one of those guys who brings me flowers and cute house-shaped mugs “just because.” He almost always remembers our anniversary and my birthday too. My best friend, Mel, is mortified by this fact, but she doesn’t get what it’s like when you’ve been with someone for eight years.
I stick my key in the door, twisting it open to the blaring sound of Stephen’s album playing.
“Wow.”
