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I walk out of her office and into my cubicle. I use the box under my desk assigned to shredding to start packing up my stuff. Melinda told me I’d be paid for another week, but I don’t see the use in hanging around. She’ll be lucky if I send all my work to my backup—her secretary Cindy, who can do the bare minimum.
Makes sense why she was in a hurry to have me train her as a backup.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye.
“Hi. This sucks.” Christa pats me on the back and rubs it.
Shrugging, I try not to cry. I know they aren’t firing me because I did a bad job, it’s just budget cuts. But it still stings. “I’ll live.”
“Dinner tonight, my treat. I have gossip.”
I turn to her. “About who?”
She shakes her head and chews the side of her bright-red lip with a smirk. “You’ll see. Gotta show up to find out, though.”
I’m in no mood to go to dinner. I want to do what I do every night. Go home and wallow.
“Please,” she says as I continue emptying out my drawer and unplugging the mouse from the computer tower. It’s my personal one.
“Fine,” I say on a sigh. “Where? No Thai, I’m sick of it.”
“Anthony’s?” she questions.
“That place is too fancy,” I comment.
“Yeah, but they have the best eggplant parm, and it’s Thursday, so... wine specials. We’ll sit in the bar with the rest of the losers.”
That elicits a laugh from me. “Okay, fine.” I finish up the rest of my packing.
Christa grabs one box and I take the other as we weave our way through the office. Everyone is smiling sadly, some even have tears as I leave. I don’t speak to anyone, I just keep walking with my head held high, avoiding eye contact.
After she helps me load the boxes into my little Audi, I drive home with the landscape blurred by tears. Why did they even let me come back on a Monday after my bereavement leave if they were just going to let me go on Thursday?
I angrily swipe my face with the back of my hand and push the gas down.
***
“Ah, this is just whatI needed,” I say, smacking my lips after setting down my wine glass.
“Me too,” Christa says, signaling the bartender.
He comes over with a smile on his young face. “Another?”
She nods. “Yes, refills for both.” She points to her glass, then mine.
“You got it,” he replies with a charming smile.
Christa checks out his ass in his black slacks. His white shirt fits snug around his waist and arms, and she lifts an eyebrow. “Mmm.”
“Hitting on bartenders now?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Maybe,” she replies.
He returns with the bottle and fills our glasses. “Let me know if you ladies need anything else.”
“A dessert menu?” Christa asks, batting her large false lashes at him.
He reaches down and pulls out a thick book-like menu and sets it on the bar. “Let me know if anything looks good. Are you done here?” He points to our nearly empty plates.
