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Handcock rubbed against my legs. I bent down and rubbed the back of his neck and found myself smiling as I remembered his namesake. Not that I actually believed that was his real name. He was some cocky, rich guy that thought he was funny by giving me a creative name. Sitting on the edge of my bed in the small apartment I shared with my friend, I couldn’t help but wonder if walking out on that man had been the wrong decision. Where might I have been in my life if I had stuck around? Would we have actually stayed together? He had all kinds of flowery words, but it was hard to believe I could meet a man that perfect and fall in love—or for him to fall in love with me.
“Too late now,” I said, sighing.
I showered and dressed in basic black slacks and a light sweater. I didn’t have to look out the window to know it was probably raining. We were about through the rainy season in San Francisco, but there was always a stray shower or two. I popped some bread in the toaster and a pod in the coffeemaker.
Handcock meowed again. It was the deep demanding meow that meant he wanted something. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll get you some of the canned stuff, but you can’t only eat canned. You’re spoiled.”
“One of these days, that damn cat is going to talk back to you,” Trisha said, coming into the kitchen.
“It would be much better for our communication.”
She made her cup of coffee once mine was finished, and I buttered my toast. Because Trisha was a bit of a health nut and rarely ate bread or anything remotely good, she grabbed a yogurt from the fridge.
“Busy day today?” I asked her.
“I’ve got a few client meetings,” she said. “One client wants a whole new marketing campaign. Some of these people just don’t understand branding. We work so hard to give these companies a brand and then they change their minds. You can’t just change your mind.”
“My exciting day will likely include looking for sweaters that smell like mothballs,” I said. “Professor A leaves it in the lounge. He leaves it in the lounge every day, but every day he can’t remember where he left it and I’m supposed to go find it. I’m not going to lie. I pretend like I don’t know. The longer I’m away, the better. Then I’m going to have to try and read notes that resemble hieroglyphics and transcribe them. For the really exciting part, I have to take lunch orders. They are all going to hem and haw and debate what they should get before they decide to eat the same thing they do every day.”
“You are in such a rut,” she said.
“Don’t I know it,” I groaned. “This is not what where I’m supposed to be. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, but this cannot be it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with sympathy. “I am constantly keeping my ears open. If one of my clients needs an assistant, I will let you know.”
“It doesn’t even need to be an assistant job. I’ll take just about anything. I’m almost ready to consider cleaning toilets. Harold’s breath smells like a dirty toilet anyway. At least the toilet wouldn’t talk back.”
She giggled and sipped her coffee. “Very true. I will keep my ears open.”
“Thank you. With that, I must go. Handcock, enjoy your leisurely licking yourself and sleeping. I’ll do my best to stay employed. We would hate for you to have to eat cheap cat food.”
When I got to work, I did my best to shift my attitude. Wallowing and leaning into the fact I loathed my job wasn’t going to make it any easier. I had to try and stay positive. I needed to do all I could to keep my head straight. I couldn’t afford to lose my job, even if it wasn’t great. Rent wasn’t cheap and it didn’t pay itself. Trisha made more money than I did as a marketing agent, but no way was I going to let her support me. I just had to suck it up. My mom knew I was worn out with my job. Thankfully, she was kind enough not to give me the “I told you so” speech.
I chose not to go to college. High school was enough for me. I wasn’t a good student. I was a good student in relation to grades, but I didn’t like that either. I hated learning about stuff I was certain would never help me in life. I preferred learning while doing. When I got the job at the university with the group of professors in the history department, I thought I hit the jackpot. It paid well and I thought it would be fun.
“Good morning, Harold,” I said. I handed the head of the department his coffee.
He grunted something without looking up from his paperwork.
“Are there copies in the print office?” I questioned.
More mumbling.
“I’ll get them.”
I headed down the hall, my low heels clapping against the wood floor the only sound in the quiet building. Posters advertising various seminars and conferences about history lined the walls. It wasn’t exactly the most popular hall. I technically worked for the department head, but somehow, I ended up being the paper girl for the other professors. I didn’t mind. It kept me busy. It did tend to get boring working in a mausoleum of sorts.
I collected the copies from the print room and made my way back to my desk. After organizing the copies, I took them to Harold. “Do you need anything?” I asked him.
“No.”
His gruff, abrupt way wasn’t personal. The man was just really tuned in to his work. At first, I thought he didn’t like me. It took me a while to figure it was just his personality. I didn’t think he liked anyone. He was all about history. He loved his books and was always studying new archaeological finds.
I went back to my tiny desk stuffed into a corner. This is where I basically acted as a receptionist with a couple of chairs for students to wait in. The professors each had their own small offices.
I started the process of checking emails, replying to requests for the professors to speak or offer comments. Then it was time for voicemails. I had to give my total attention to those. It seemed all the history professors from colleges around the world spoke in that same, gruff way without doing a lot of enunciating.
“Macy!” Harold was standing in his open doorway.
