Great. I’d humiliated myself in front of a famous surfer.
No point in dwelling on it, though. Don’t look back yada yada. Instead, I walked home with purpose, mentally crafting some descriptive text for the first Craigslist ad I was going to place. “Six-foot bong, gently used. Resin included at no extra charge!”
My phone began to buzz in my pocket. From the continuous drone, it was clearly an incoming call. Which meant it could only be one person.
“Hi, Natasha,” I said.
“Hi.” She sounded tightly wound, like a slingshot pulled taut and ready to launch. “What are you doing today?”
The question felt like a personal attack. “Figuring out how to make rent money by Sunday. Why?”
“Well, I have an appointment in Bird Rock this afternoon and I was wondering if I could drop by your place beforehand.”
Strange. Natasha hadn’t been to my apartment since that failed attempt to help me reorganize, and that was months ago. She also never “dropped by” without a Swiffer in her hand.
“You’re not planning another guerrilla decluttering session, are you?” I asked. “Because I’m really not in the headspace for it right now.”
“No, it’s not that. I...just have something I want to give you.”
“Promise me this has nothing to do with cleaning my apartment.”
“Promise. I’ll be by around noon, okay?”
“Okay. By the way, when do you think you might hear back about my car?”
Natasha paused, as if contemplating her response. Then, in one hasty breath, she said, “Listen, I’ve gotta shower and get my stuff together before I head out, I’ll see you in a few, love you.”
“Love you, too,” I said, but she’d already hung up.
So that’s what this was about.
Natasha didn’t come out and say it, but she didn’t have to. I knew the truth, deep in my bones: my car was hosed, and it was never coming back.
Chapter 5
Normally, I would’ve tried to straighten up a little before Natasha came over. Despite her promise, I knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from making helpful “suggestions” about how to get my apartment in order, and it was in a particularly horrific state right now. Jamming some of these dirty clothes into the closet and cleaning off my coffee table would’ve made me appear slightly less slovenly.
But at the moment, I had bigger fish to fry. Like coming up with two hundred dollars in the next forty-eight hours and finding a new job that didn’t require a car.
I have no car.
I have no job.
I can’t pay my rent.
As the reality of my situation sank in, I fought the desire to curl up on my futon in a sniveling, shivering ball. There was no time for that.
After posting the bong for sale on Craigslist, I applied for accounts at half a dozen websites that catered to gig economy workers like myself. Opportunities within walking distance were seemingly limitless. I could do odd jobs with HandyMinion or walk dogs with BarkBuddy. The odds of me getting approved and hired in time to make rent on Sunday were slim, but in the meantime, maybe I could search the neighborhood for some of those electric scooters in need of a charge.
I was reviewing a list of paid medical research studies seeking participants when I heard the distinct sound of footsteps climbing the stairs leading to my apartment. It was 11:59. Natasha was one minute early.
As soon as I opened the door, she thrust a Tupperware container into my hands. “I brought you lunch. Enchiladas. Don’t worry, they’re not keto.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to notice her eyes bulging at the sight of my mess. To her credit, she didn’t comment. She just stepped inside and flashed an uncomfortable smile.
“How are you?” she asked, but I was eager to cut to the chase.
“My car can’t be fixed, can it?”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you in person, but I should’ve known you’d have figured it out.”
A queasy feeling socked me right in the gut, and for a moment I was sure I would puke. But the nausea quickly passed, replaced by a burning sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. Like I was having an internal core meltdown.
As I collapsed on the futon with my head in my hands, Natasha said helpfully, “It will be fine.”
“Natasha, I have no car. Which means I have no job.” My voice was craggy and I sounded slightly unhinged.
“Well, there’s a silver lining in all this.” She sat down beside me and plucked a white envelope from her purse. “A thin one, but still.”
With shaky fingers, I tore open the flap and pulled out the contents: a single check, made out to me, in the amount of $467. It was signed by Jerry, the owner and proprietor of Encinitas Auto Repair.
“I don’t understand. What is this?”
Natasha breathed deeply, held it for a second, then said, too brightly, “It’s the scrap value of your car.”
“Oh.”
At least I no longer had to worry about coming up with two hundred dollars by Sunday. This check from the mechanic covered my rent and then some.
It did make me a little sad to think about my car getting torn apart at a junkyard, though. Sure, it was hideous and long past its prime, but we’d been through some good times together, and now my trusty Honda Civic was nothing more than a shredded pile of rusty metal. The image made me whimper.
“It’ll be fine,” Natasha repeated, more firmly this time, because whenever I threatened to fall to pieces, she was the glue determined to hold me together. “I have a book I want you to read. I think it’ll help you a lot.”
There was a time in my life when I believed a book might have solved all my problems. Sadly, that time had long passed. “A book.”
“Yes, a book. And don’t say it like that.” She scowled.
“Unless this book has four wheels and gets forty-two highway miles to the gallon, it’s not gonna help me.”
“I’m serious. It changed my life and I think it could change yours, too.”
This was all too reminiscent of the conversation I had with Rob on this very futon seven months ago, in which he told me all about the Divine Mother Shakti and the book that changed his life.
“You’re not gonna suggest I run off to an ayahuasca lodge in the Amazon, are you?”
“I’m not your loser ex-boyfriend, Bree.” Her tone was sharp. “I’m your big sister, and I’m trying to give you some important advice. It would be nice if you listened to me for once.”