"What do you mean you aren't sure if you want to be a teacher anymore?" Grant’s voice is sharp with surprise, and anxiety floods my chest. I chew my lip, my hands growing clammy in my lap as I fight the urge to shrink away.
I knew this wouldn’t go over well.
Grant gave up so much to support my dreams, and he’s always been the most responsible person I know. How could I ever explain that, even after getting everything I wanted, Isometimes feel lost? I force a smile, even though my cheeks ache from the effort.
“No, I mean…I don’t mean that I don’t want to be a teacher. I just think it will be fun to try something new for a bit. I’ve only ever worked with kids; I’ve never tried anything else. I love teaching. I’m young—why not take the opportunity to try something new?”
He continues to stare at me, though the tight look of concern starts to fade, and relief moves through me.
“So what’s your plan?” he asks. “You’re obviously not going to start putting up drywall with me, and you’re not going to run off to California to become some hippie artist.”
That’s what our parents did, after all. They’re hippies and while they were always happy, Grant and I were the ones who suffered. They never had real jobs, refusing to work for The Man, and instead always had odd jobs that barely kept them fed and in art supplies. Soon after Grant was born, they dumped him on Grandma and Grandpa to watch while they chased their dreams. For a while, I think everyone thought they’d actually do it—land some big gig and then fly Grant out to be with them—but when I came along, and it was more of the same, I think our grandparents and Grant both became a bit jaded. It’s why Grant has always pushed both of us toward the most practical jobs, with him running a contracting business and sending me to school to be a teacher.
Normal, respectable jobs with consistent income and reliable hours.
I lift a shoulder, leaning into my regular happy-go-lucky attitude. Despite the fact that I don’t have a job, the mere fact that the worst of this conversation is over has my spirits lifting.
"I don’t know. I just…I'm going to figure it out, because I’m very lucky—things always seem to work out for me," I say, trying to exude confidence.
“Jobs don’t just fall into your lap, June.”
“They could,” I say. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but we’re turning into the lot for Surf, the luxury beach club that was built a few years ago and sold over the winter to Daydream resorts and Grant’s newest contract. They’re creating a new line of their luxury day resorts, and this is the first location. Apparently, Claire’s older sister, Sutton, encouraged her boss, the VP of Operations for the large luxury chain, and his girlfriend to spend a week vacationing here, and they fell in love with the area.
As soon as he puts the truck into park, I open my door, eager to get out of this jail cell.
“June,” he says, looking at me, and my entire body stills. “We’re not done with this conversation. We have to figure out what you’re going to do.”
“I’ve got it covered, Grant. I’m lucky; it will all work out. It always does.” It’s what I’ve been telling myself all week, desperately trying to believe it myself, but I force myself to sound convincing enough for Grant. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.
“What am I going to do with you, June Bug?”
“Love me eternally. Unfortunately, you’re my big brother, and that’s your only option.” He sighs and looks up at the roof of his truck as if looking for some peace he might find up there, and while he’s distracted, I hop out of the car and toward the entrance. A door slams behind me, and the locks bleep before Grant is taking long strides beside me.
“I’ve gotta see what the guys are doing. You stay here since those shoes aren’t great for a construction zone,” he says, looking at my feet, which are in a pair of sandals. “Don’t think construction is really in your future.”
“Excuse me, I would rock a pair of steel-toed boots,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Just stay in the business area, okay? Don’t get into trouble,” he says, walking me through the front door.
Stepping in, I take it in. The place looks totally different from the last time I was here, taking shots with Claire and Lainey on the night Claire fell into Miles’ arms, literally. It’s wild to think that was barely a year ago, considering it feels like it was an entire lifetime ago. In place of the dark nightclub vibe it boasted then, it’s bright, open, and fittingly beachy, with a small stand at the front where I assume someone will check guests in and a dining area right beyond it. I follow him through a hidden door to the left of the entrance and into a much less interesting area with a few desks and offices, white walls, and fluorescent lighting. Grant wanders off with one last reminder to behave before I move through the space, too nosy not to inspect. I’m wandering around the office area, which looks almost clinical compared to the beauty area for customers and clients, when a door opens to an office. On instinct, my head turns to it, and I see a familiar face.
“Hey, June!” Sutton Donovan says, walking out of an office and scanning the room, smiling when she sees me there. “I didn’t realize you were my next interview!” Her light blonde hair is tucked behind her ears, and she’s wearing a pretty purple dress and sneakers, somehow looking both effortlessly cool and businesslike.
“Sutton! Hey! What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping toward her.
“My boss sent me here to help out at the beginning of this project,” she says with a roll of here eys. Sutton is Claire’s older sister and works for Daydream Resorts. “Come on, come on! I am in desperate need of a coffee, and we can chat in the break room. You’re perfect for this job, kind of a shoo-in.” My brows furrow, and I look over my shoulder, confused and wondering ifmaybe she’s speaking to someone else, but I’m the only one in the room.
“Job?” I ask, hesitantly.
“Yeah, honestly, it’s so easy, mostly making sure everyone leaves Julian alone so he can handle the important stuff. Making sure his calendar is sorted, deadlines for permits and whatnot are going well, that kind of thing.” She leads me into a break room, pours herself a coffee, and offers me one, though I shake my head, still totally lost. Finally, Sutton sits on the edge of a table, an iPad in her hands.
“The rest of the candidates were okay, but they didn’t have the personality required to handle a job like this. You’d be perfect. Hell, if you can wrangle a group of fifth graders, you can handle this easily.” Claire must have given her an update on my current jobless status, something that doesn’t bother me, since I like Sutton and always have. “Plus, your brother is the contractor on this, and the person you’ll be working to keep him on target. I can’t think of anyone better.”
“I, um,” I say, biting my lip and looking around. “Do you have my resume?” I know I applied for a dozen jobs the other day, but I don’t remember filling out one for…whatever this position is. She shrugs a shoulder and grins.
“Something happened to the docs, so they accidentally got deleted.” My eyes widen. “Don’t tell Graham, okay? I can’t figure out for the life of me how to undo it, and he’d never let me live it down. I’m so lucky you were one of the candidates because I already know your qualifications.” I should tell her that I’m not here for an interview and I will, but what could learning about this position Sutton seems to think I’d be perfect for hurt? I did say I was going to try harder to say yes to opportunities, didn’t I?
“Can you, um…can you remind me what the job is for?” She nods eagerly, then turns the iPad toward me, an email on the screen.
