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College had been the best four years of my life. At first, I thought it was because I got to surround myself with people like me who were passionate about music, but it was also because I was away from home.
No drunk father to hide from, no brother to worry about, and as much as it pained me to say it, there was no sadness following me every day because of Mommy’s passing. Everything in this house reminded me of her, and everything she left behind slowly lost its spark.
And right now, I knew that the next best thing for me was to move out.
“Then maybe it’s time for me to look for my own place, yeah?” I gave my father a fake smile before gathering the shopping bags and walking upstairs.
“You think you’re going to survive out there without my help, sweetie?” he called, chuckling. “I’ll give you two weeks at most. Then you’re going to come crawling back home.”
I wasn’t. Because I knew I needed to step out of my comfort zone and do something worthwhile. I didn’t want to feel like I was forever indebted to my father. Mommy wouldn’t want that for me.
I packed three suitcases that night after I booked a business class flight to Florida. I counted the cash in my wallet and took my one credit card that I knew Daddy couldn’t close. And as I stuffed my makeup in a pouch, Mommy’s voice echoed in my ears.
"Time to shine your light, sweetheart."
Being late today wasn’t my fault, okay?
I had woken up at six a.m. for this eight a.m. interview. I only had coffee for breakfast and a bite of cold pizza from last night, which wasn’t really the best choice, but it would do.
I ventured into the Florida streets at around six-thirty, and even that early, I could feel the growing humidity in the air along with the salty breeze off the ocean. I wasn’t going to die in poverty, I was going to die from commuting.
Because this Dior pink dress I was wearing wasn’t built to survive the crowdedness at the bus stop. Hell, I wasn’t built for this either. It felt like the people around me were heathens fighting for their lives the way they were pushing and shoving just to have a seat on the bus.
Three buses stopped in front of me until I finally got in one, and it was already seven-fifty-five by then.
The hotel was supposed to be only a twenty minute drive by car, but my journey with the bus had taken hours. I knew complaining would get me nowhere, so I told myself I was going to do better next time, to learn how to navigate the current of people. It was a good workout, anyway.
Tired and annoyed and fucking sweating like a walrus, I turned into an empty hall. It was bathed in soft, dim light as I entered, my heels echoing along the white marble floor.
One long table was set up in front of the stage, and there were three chairs behind it where the interviewers were to be seated. White folders and pens sat on the table, all of which contained our resume information.
A polished, ebony grand piano graced the center of the stage, its surface shimmering in the gentle glow of the lights, and my heart skipped a beat just at seeing its beauty. I couldn’t help but miss playing the piano, the soft ivory keys under my fingers, promising melodies flowing through my mind—
“Can I have everyone form a line facing the table, please?” A pretty redhead interrupted my train of thought as she instructed fifteen of us where to go.
I spotted Mr. Obnoxious in the sea of people and jogged until I reached his side. God, he was on his phone again. Was he not taking this interview seriously?
“There’s a place for texting, and this place is not it,” I hissed beside him as we walked further into the room.
“You should mind your own business, babe,” he said playfully, still on his phone, typing something. I hoped he didn’t get the job. Some other people here deserved it more. And c’mon. He was wearing an Armani suit. I was sure he could afford to live without a hotel salary.
“Double time, people. Go, go, go!” The ginger yelled. “We’re late already. C’mon.” Her eyes then met mine, and my cheeks turned hot and red for being the tardy culprit of the day.
“She’s talking to you, by the way,” I hissed at the man in Armani, walking away before he could say another word, and I was proud of myself for getting in the last word. I jogged along with the other employees who were now in a single-file line facing the empty table as instructed.
I found a spot beside a middle-aged woman wearing jeans and a young man who looked to be barely in his twenties with the ugliest bowtie I’d ever seen. My eyes scanned the room to look for the man I left behind.
And he was still there, texting on his fucking phone by the entrance, looking all serious even though everyone was in line except him.
The redhead coughed to get his attention as she took the chair on the right side of the table. A plump woman wearing a navy blue collared dress with white hems on the sleeves, a white collar, and a white apron sat on the left, leaving the middle spot empty.
Mr. Obnoxious took one absent-minded step, his fingers still tapping the screen of his device, keeping everyone waiting. I rolled my eyes just as the redhead cleared her throat again, louder this time.
He snapped his head in attention, and his eyes grew wide in surprise when he saw that everyone was waiting.
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his phone in the inside pocket of his black blazer. Then he started walking, but not over to where the line was but toward the empty spot in the middle of the table, his lips tugged to the side from amusement.
It was when the realization hit me. The Armani suit, the entitled actions, and the intimidating charisma. Fucking hell. Have I just ruined my chances here?
