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Natalie
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I groan as I chuck another moldy food container into the ever-filling trash bag. As if I wasn’t in a bad enough place mentally, now I’m dry heaving over spoiled groceries. So much of what I had in my fridge was ruined during the fumigation.
Like I can afford it.Just another moldy cherry on top this already shitty sundae.
I close the fridge and vow to do a proper clean later. I’ve had all I can take. I lug the trash bag to the door and give it a spray with some perfume from my purse.
It doesn’t help. So, I retreat to the opposite side of the apartment, which takes all of three seconds, given how small it is. I pause as I walk. Though we’ve hardly gotten to know each other, and it’s only been a few nights, something about the place feels different.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s far too much unpacking still to do so I let it go. I hear my phone ding and I sigh. Of course, I left my purse near the trash. Holding my nose, I stomp over to retrieve it.
It’s a text from Roger.
Nope. Not dealing with that currently, no, thank you. The last thing I need is the kind of trouble he brings. I pocket it without even reading the preview text and set to work on a box.
It’s been over ten days since my little ‘eruption’ at his penthouse. So, he ought to be over it, right? Because… I mean I totally am.Totally. No question.
My cellphone buzzes in my pocket and a big part of me hopes it’s Roger. What is wrong with me?Chase me, Roger, chase me!I could puke, and not just from the moldy trash.
I pull out my phone to find it’s an unknown number. It’s like being in a horror movie. I half-expect I’ll press the phone to my ear and some heavy breathing will tell me the exact time of my death. I’m wary, but I pick up anyway.
“Well, hello there! I’m calling to have a little chat with Natalie Ashcroft?” Some sort of yippy young thing is on the other end, and I’m baffled for a moment, trying to guess why anyone of this sort would be calling.
“Speaking!” I say brightly. Well, I attempt to say it brightly, I’m sure I sound more suspicious than anything. After all, she could still be a serial killer. It’s rare, but after the month I’ve had, I almost expect that very thing to happen.
“Oh, great! How great! Hiii!” Am I supposed to know this creature? Am I about to find out I’ve got some long-lost sister?
“Hello!” I reply, “To whom am I speaking?”
“Oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh, hahahaha, I’m so sorry! I’m so silly, sorry! This is Tabitha from Dino’s! We got your resume, and we would love to have you come on down for a quick little interview!”
Right, I forgot. In an act of desperation, I applied for a job at this family dining franchise in midtown. I assumed they’d look at my resume, call me overqualified and chuck it, but lo and behold, here we are.
“That’s great,” I lie through my teeth, “I’d love to come in. What time works for you?”
“Oh gosh!” she gushes, and I have to laugh. It’s kind of nice I suppose to hear someone excited about such a crappy job. Maybe I ought to be a little more grateful. At least they’re giving me the time of day.
I thank her and take down the time. As demoralizing as it is, I realize I’m not getting back into publishing anytime soon. And if I want to restock my spoiled fridge, I’ll need a paycheck.
“Well, now can I just say, Natalie, it’s been a wonderful treat to speak to you today! We aim to hire only the best and brightest at Dino’s and we just know you’ll fit right in! I can’t wait to have you down here!”Yeesh.
“Thank you!” I try (I really do), and after another five minutes of midwestern goodbyes, we finally hang up. “Phew!” I breathe as I set my phone down on the table.
Okay. So, this is good, right? I’ve got an interview.
An interview working in a mega-happy-blow-my-brains-out restaurant chain, but, hey! An interview. The smell of moldy food stings my nostrils and any good feeling I’ve mustered is gone.
“Okay, you have got to go!” I shout as I point to the trash bag. I wish it had been this easy to get rid of my ex-husband. I still hear his creepy warning in my head.You’ll regret this, Natalie.I shiver as I lug the trash bag out of my apartment and down to the dumpster.
We’re not supposed to bring it down this early, but we’ve been allowed “special privileges” due to the fumigation. I know, this place really has it all. On the plus side, I’m most likely lice-free.Peachy.
I chuck the trash over my head and hear it hit the other bags with a satisfying clunk. With all this exercise, I’m definitely hungry. But it’s not like I can afford room service, even if they had it. The fridge food is totaled, but what about the freezer?
I make my way back to my apartment, grateful that the house is starting to smell like its normal musty self again. It’s better than trash. I fling open the freezer door, andvoila!There’s a pint of ice cream and frozen chicken breasts.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I’m depressed, I’m hungry, and Ben and Jerry’s has never let me down. I rummage through my cutlery box to find a spoon, and plop down on my kitchen chair to go to town.
“Augh fuh tha gooood,” I moan with a mouthful of peanut butter toffee deliciousness. Normally, I’d reserve this kind of dirty talk for Roger, but what can I say? Love the one you’re with.
