He would not win.
Hecouldn’t.
Janel told me to take the day off after the unexpected change of plans, even though I could tell she was swamped with work. When I asked where Cody was, because I hadn’t seen him lurking around, she’d gotten quiet and said he took time off. Then told me to enjoy the day, dismissing me from asking more questions.
And, frankly, I don’t want to be there anyway. I’m still getting emails and calls about the event, which I’ve had to direct to Janel and add to her workload since I’m not allowed to participate.
The problem with having a sudden day off is not knowing what to do with it. I’m so used to working, I don’t usually get to have a life. My version of fun is watchingThe Secret Lives of Mormon Wivesusing my sister’s Hulu account and playing free games on my phone because I typically can’t afford to do anything else.
I’m not much of a reader. I used to go to the library when I was younger and use their computer to play games, not pick out books. The head librarian tried to convert me into a bookworm, with no luck. She’d given up after the third time I failed to returnone on time, and eventually waived the late fee when Kourtney came in saying she didn’t have the money to pay it. Then I’d felt bad for stressing my sister out and stopped going entirely.
I enjoy listening to audio books, but they get expensive. Kourtney buys me audio credits for my birthday so that I can enjoy all my fairy smut—her words, not mine. Not that she’s wrong. I love book boyfriends with large wingspans as much as the next girl.
But the credits from my last birthday were used a long time ago, so I’m back to zero. Which means no wingspans for me.
What do poor people do for fun? Cook? I don’t have food at the house, unless you count Hamburger Helper, eggs, and ramen noodles. Work out? I snort at the thought. The only workout I do involves running my mouth to Kourtney when someone pisses me off.
Which reminds me.
I type out a message.
Me:Eggs cost way too much money
Me:Would ramen have the same impact?
Kourt:It would smell delicious, not bad. We could raid the fish market for carcasses. Luca would easily fit into a dumpster
I laugh at the thought of her telling him to climb into the trash to dig out fish bones. She would too. If Luca knew someone had hurt my feelings, he’d volunteer in a heartbeat if it would make me feel better. God, I love that kid.
Me:Don’t do that to my favorite boy
Kourt:You’re right. Then I’d have to smell him
Me:We’ll think of something
Unfortunately, there isn’t much revenge to be had that wouldn’t backfire on me. I got banned from an event for doing nothing. I can’t imagine what Moskins would do to me if I did something to his car. Would he call the cops? Have me arrested?
Revenge is not worth that.
I suddenly wish I’d done better at keeping up with friends. I still talk to a few people I went to college with. Once in a while, I even have dinner with my high school bestie, Rayna. But everyone has lives now. Nobody prepares you for how hard making new connections is as an adult. It can be isolating trying to exist in a world without friendship.
Sadness engulfs me, then more anger.
Because I shouldn’t be bored or pity myself for not having more people in my life. I should be at the animal shelter helping set up and petting cute puppies and cuddling with fluffy kittens. I was even thinking about adopting, dammit!
Okay, maybe adopting would be too far. Sure, I’ve always wanted a kitten, but I can barely afford my own food. There’s no way I’d make a cat suffer with my lifestyle.
I told myself that when one of my student loans is paid off, I can get something for myself. Ideally, a car that isn’t covered in rust with two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. But a feline companion sounds nice too. Maybe that’s not the responsible choice, but falling asleep with someone soft and warm sounds pretty good to me.
When I get home, I kick the front door closed and drop my things on the small kitchen table pushed against the wall. My space is small, a little cluttered, but clean. Mostly because I’m sick of my sister complaining whenever she comes by for movienights. But it beats going to her place and listening to Brad moan about our poor movie choices because it doesn’t involve the military or someone being abducted. In hindsight, maybe I need to have a serious talk with Kourtney the next time she’s over. Because what the hell is with that?
I’m not sure why I’m pulled toward the piece of paper I hung on the refrigerator, or why I even kept it to begin with. I should have thrown it out the second I got it. Dumped it in the coffee shop trash on my way out the door.
But I didn’t.
I stare at the two numbers jotted down in smeared ink from where I’d accidentally rubbed my hand against it. The numbers are still legible—too legible.
And maybe it’s loneliness.
