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“I am. I got the job!”
Olivia squeals and jumps to her feet. She comes around the table and throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight. We embrace for a minute before she goes back to her seat, a wide smile on her face.
“I'm really happy for you, babe,” she says. “I'm sure it's a big weight off your shoulders.”
I nod. “You have no idea. I was getting pretty nervous,” I confess. “My savings are dwindling, and I really don't know how long I was going to be able to go without a job.”
“Well, I'm glad you don't have to worry about it now.”
“Yeah, hopefully my new boss is less of a sexist pig than my last one.”
“Here's hoping.”
We both fall silent for a moment, each of us taking a drink of our wine. I know Olivia better than most anybody and can tell by the expression on her face that there's something going through her head. There's something she wants to say, but I can tell she's holding herself back from saying it.
I set my glass down. “Spit it out.”
She looks up at me. “What do you mean?”
“I can see it on your face,” I say. “What's up?”
She lets out a breath and sets her glass down. “I don't know, Emily,” she says, her voice soft. “I mean, I'm glad you got the job. Believe me, I am.”
“But...”
“I don't know, Emily. I just – I remember when you were so driven, when you had dreams of being a lawyer and –”
“I still have those dreams,” I offer.
“I know. And I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I remember a time when there's no way in hell you would have been celebrating landing a menial job.”
I take another drink of my wine, feeling deflated. Not because of what she's saying, but because I know she's right. The idea of celebrating getting hired on to be somebody's assistant would have turned my stomach once upon a time. My dreams and goals were higher back then. Much higher.
“Yeah well, circumstances change,” is all I can muster.
“I know, babe,” she replies softly. “I just think you should consider my offer. I really think you should give serious thought to what we talked about.”
I let out a small breath, trying to collect myself. I hadn't expected her to turn cartwheels about my news. I mean, I know the job I landed isn't glamorous or anything. I just hoped to feel good about getting it for at least a night.
In addition to being my rock, Olivia's also always been my reality check. It's something that's equal parts appreciated and frustrating as hell. Olivia doesn't sugarcoat things, and I can always count on her to give me her honest, unvarnished opinion. Even if it kills me a little inside to hear it.
Her feeling about friendship is that friends don't just shower you in sunshine and rainbows – true friends will always be excited for and with you, but they'll always give you the truth. It's sometimes a bitter pill to swallow, but I know she's right. I need that person who will help keep me in my lane and keep my head on straight.
While she will always celebrate or commiserate with me, Olivia never lets me get too high or too low about anything – which is probably good for me.
“I don't know if I can do that, Olivia,” I say. “I mean – I don't want to impose on you and your family.”
“It's no imposition, Emily,” she says. “We have a guest house out back that's all yours. All you have to do is say the word.”
Olivia's big idea is for me to sell the condo – I can get a pretty penny for it. With the money I’d get for the sale of the condo, I'll have way more than enough to finish law school. All the while, I'll live in her guest house.
It's an idea that isn't without merit, and one I've given a lot of thought to. But I don't know that I can actually do it. I mean, for all of his faults, and for as angry at him as I still am all these years later, this condo is my dad's last gift to me. After the creditors came in and took everything, other than a few boxes of photos, I have nothing of him left.
This condo is it. I don't know that I can just get rid of it like that. Not to mention the fact that I can't quite wrap my mind around the idea of living in Olivia's guest house. I feel like I'd be a squatter, like I'd be mooching off of her. I know she would never feel that way. But no matter how often she tells me her guest house is just sitting there, entirely unused, I can't get over the idea that I would only be living by the good graces of somebody else.
The thought of being somebody's charity case never fails to turn my stomach.
My dad taught me to always stand on my own two feet. He taught me that the only person I can truly rely on is myself. He instilled in me a strong work ethic, but also a sense of pride that makes it difficult, if not impossible, for me to accept help from anybody.
