The thought of the note card being ruined spurred genuine fear. But why? Why did I want to stay stuck in this moment?
I’ve got about three more weeks before this note card becomes my whole personality. Delia’s right. I need to snap out of it.
I peeled myself off the couch and decided to try acting halfway human again. I cleaned my kitchen. I washed my face. It was pathetic how much that felt like progress.
But I wasn’t ready to face the world yet.
A few days later, though, Gemma called, and it was like someone tossing me a tether back to real life.
Gemma had been a confidante since that day James botched the numbers on his advertising budget and I had to rewrite halfthe board deck in a three-hour panic. Afterward, I shuffled into Greenleaf near closing, and Gemma sent me home with a bottle of wine and a to-go charcuterie box labeledEmergency Cheese.
“On the house,” she’d insisted.
Maybe Gemma is the friend I need right now.
“Hey,” I answered, hearing the limp enunciation in my words.
Her tone edged toward worry. “Are you sick?”
Am I?
“No,” I said.
“Well, where have you been? It’s been like three weeks. Simon’s been in, but I haven’t seen you once. Your usual stool is gathering dust. Are you okay?”
I took a deep breath. “Simon fired me,” I confessed in a voice that didn’t sound like my own, saying words I never thought would be true.
I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “What the fuck was he thinking?”
I didn’t answer. Because if I did, I might cry. And then I’d be back to yelling at a note card.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m at home.” The last word wobbled a little.
“Right,” Gemma said, her voice firm now. “Listen, I’m still working, but come here. I’ll pour you something decent, and you can tell me what happened. Or, you don’t have to tell me. But don’t sit in your apartment alone, Este. It’s too sad.”
Something in my chest loosened by a fraction.
“Okay,” I said.
It was close to noon, and I told Gemma I’d be there soon. Then I showered for the first time in days and put on jeans—real pants, a triumph. Then, I made my way to the bar.
Maybe the fresh air will be good for me.
But the light flooding Greenleaf and the din of conversation were a riot of sound and sensation after weeks alone in the hollow silence of my apartment. It was like I was reentering Earth’s atmosphere after weeks on the moon.
The bar looked the same, but I was different. My phone didn’tbuzz with urgent work messages. My T-shirt and jeans were a far cry from my usual designer-label business casual. And I was pretty sure the light behind my eyes was permanently dimmed.
Simon fired me.
Gemma was behind the bar, eyes trained on her phone.
“Hey,” she said, still scrolling. “Hold on. I’m in the middle of something.”
I slid onto my stool. “What, sexting?”
She barked a laugh. “Please. I’m trading.”
