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I came to a stop inches away. My cubicle was made for one. Two was a crowd.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re here, but I have a meeting to get to.”
“This.” He held out a paper. It was gone so quickly. As his arm dropped, I had only been able to read the State of Nevada boldly written at the top.
I met his eyes. “What does this have to do with me?” I asked, my annoyance at his domination of my workspace beginning to show.
“Everything,” he all but growled.
“I get Chris is gone, but I can’t talk you through whatever problem you have right now.” My sister was in New York with her new husband, who was Eddie’s older brother. “I’m not sure why you can’t talk to your wife, but can we do this later?”
I tried to sidestep him, but he was like an immoveable boulder.
“No, I cannot do this later,” he practically yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls and any office noise instantly quieted.
He too sensed we now had an audience and leaned in the few inches to my face and said, “Besides, I am talking to my wife and the State of Nevada frowns on bigamy.”
That caught my attention and stole all the air from my lungs.
“Wife?” I repeated.
“Yes. Apparently, someone didn’t turn in the annulment papers.”
I may have struggled for words a second ago, but I had them back then. “I did.”
At the time, Eddie had still been in school, and between us, neither had the money to pay a lawyer to help us annul the marriage. Eddie had done the research himself to fill out the forms necessary to void our ill-conceived marriage after a night of debauchery.
“State of Nevada says otherwise,” he countered as if suggesting I was a liar.
His voice had risen again as his anger grew, but so did mine.
“I did. And if they misfiled it, that’s on them, not me.”
“Well, I’m facing four years in prison. Do you have proof or a copy?”
I didn’t.
“A copy? Why is this on us?”
“It’s not, sweetheart. It’s on me and I don’t fancy going to jail. So sign this.”
He produced another document at me.
“I can’t sign this now.”
Outside of the fact I was so going to be late, I needed to know what I was signing.
“Now,” he sneered.
I straightened. “Would you advise any of your clients to blindly sign anything?”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine. Read it and sign it asap and that doesn’t mean five days from now.”
Then he stomped off past a cluster of people. Margret whispered something to her assistant and the group was led off in the direction of the large conference room.
Shit.
When she reached my cubicle, I ran on at the mouth. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She laughed like she was cool and I expelled a relief breath.
“You’re right. It won’t happen again because you’re fired.”
“Wait. What?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t heard her correctly.
“Gather your things and leave the building immediately. Security will be up to show you out.”
She spun on her heels and left in much the same fashion as Eddie had.
This was so not happening.
I fought back tears as I began to gather the few personal things I’d left in my space. Security arrived with a bankers box and I went to work with what dignity I had left, packing up the little things I’d accumulated to make my home away from home feel like my space.
Then my mind drifted to how I was going to pay my student loans and the little credit card debt for the Christmas splurge I’d done for Mom I was still paying off. Not to mention the pricy top I wore that hadn’t saved my job.
That’s when I recalled I wasn’t the only one responsible for my dismissal. No, that honor belonged to a man I’d craved for as long as I remembered.
I lifted my chin for the walk of shame and prayed I didn’t trip. What could be worse than walking past my co-workers who witnessed my firing and then ending up sprawled over the floor with my Mrs. Thor Ragnarök framed picture with my face photoshopped over Natalie Portman’s? It spelled complete loser.
Gratefully, I didn’t and the sidewalks outside weren’t jammed with commuters. I made it to the parking garage the next block over with minimal embarrassment.
Okay, there was that kid with his mother who loudly proclaimed, “Mommy, Mommy, why does she have a box of things? Is she a bag lady?”
Homeless wasn’t a far cry for where I was headed. Although my sister’s husband, Cameron, the NFL’s leading quarterback, had paid our rent for the next three months, through the end of the lease, I should have been saving for a new place in the rising market of the area. Now, I was saving nothing. I’d likely end up moving back home with Mom.
