“I know.” I attempt a smile. “At least I paid my share of this month’s rent.”
Things got pretty tight over my months of unemployment. I racked up an impressive credit card debt. I ended up taking out a loan at the bank to pay it off, and I still owe money on that. Carlin was generous enough to pay my half of the rent many months so I didn’t go homeless.
“Don’t worry about the rent,” she says. “We’ll find something else for you. Fuck ’em.”
I nod, trying to appear optimistic. “Of course I’ll find something else.”
I rise from the table and move into the tiny kitchen where more pancakes await me. I fork up a couple onto my plate. “Want any?”
“Wow, you’re really carb loading. Oh, what the hell, sure.”
She joins me and pulls a plate out of the cupboard. I slather butter all over the tasty circles then pour syrup and hand it to Carlin.
“I think I put on ten pounds just now,” I tell her. “But I love pancakes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Right?”
“You got this, Lilly. You know that, right?”
“Of course!”
I don’t know that. There were a lot of days when I was unemployed where I could barely get out of bed. Why bother? I had no purpose, no meaning to my life, and the constant rejection destroyed any self-esteem I may have had. I used to be a confident, ambitious young professional with my whole life in front of me. Now?
I swallow a sigh.
I’m not going there again. Yes, I was using some unhealthy coping mechanisms—pancakes being one of them—but I’ve learned. This time I won’t spend days in bed, drink a bottle of wine every night, and not shower for days.
I hope.
“Let’s make a plan,” Carlin suggests. “You love making plans.”
“No, you love making plans.”
“Come on.”
“I need a day or two to wallow, okay?”
She eyes me worriedly. “I guess.” She pauses. “It’s Friday night. Let’s go out.”
“That’s not wallowing.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll get the squad to come over here. We’ll wallow with you.”
I shrug. “I’m okay with that.”
She starts sending messages.
I’m still dressed in the black skirt and white shirt I wore to work this morning, although I’ve pulled the shirttails out. I came home after being canned and started making pancakes. “I’m going to change.” I slide my plate into the dishwasher and drop the cutlery in.
“Sounds good.”
I climb the curving staircase to my tiny loft bedroom while unzipping my skirt. First I toss it onto the chair in the corner, but with a sigh I pick it up and hang it in my closet. Likewise with the shirt. Since I’m not leaving this apartment tonight, I dress in leggings and a long, loose sweatshirt that says Time to wine down. Very appropriate.
Then I lie down on my bed.
I can’t believe this happened. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good at my job. Even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do, I didn’t look at it as beneath me. I did my best. And my dickbag boss who screws around with his employees fired me, the one not screwing him.
I’m so tired of getting fucked in ways that don’t end in an orgasm.
I close my eyes against the tears that sting the corners. Nope. Not gonna cry.
Last time I lost my job, I was trying to do the right thing. I knew it could cost me my job. I didn’t know it would cost me my whole life. I’ve second-guessed my decisions back then about a million times. I’m still pretty sure I’d do it again. I have to live with myself for a lot of years. Hopefully.
But this? This wasn’t fair. I mean, I know life’s not fair; but this is fucking ridiculous.
I’m not going to be a victim. I’m not going to quit. I know I have much to be thankful for, including the friends who are coming over to help me mourn.
I just need a few minutes to…remind myself of all this.
I might have fallen asleep, because the sounds of the door opening and closing and voices jerk me to wakefulness. Okay. Time to be brave.
I rub the inner corners of my eyes with my ring fingers, run my hands through my hair, and straighten my shoulders before joining my girls.
“Hey.” Adriana spots me and heads right to me to wrap me in a hug. “What the fuck, Lilly?”
“I know.” I submit to her warm embrace. “ ‘What the fuck’ is right.”
“I can’t believe this,” Maya adds. “Don’t they know who you are?”
“I’m afraid they do, and that’s why they fired me.”
“You said it was because the boss’s wife thought you were having an affair with him,” Carlin says.
“Maybe that was just an excuse.” I shrug and move to the dining table where Carlin has set up a bar. I grab a wineglass and fill it with pinot grigio. “Maybe they just wanted to get rid of me.”
I feel the collective sigh of my friends, because this is a definite possibility.
“Well, fuck them,” Maya says.
“Yeah.” Adriana holds up her glass. “Let’s get drunk and set shit on fire.”
I have to laugh. “Sounds good to me.”
I love my friends. We met in college and formed a bond that has lasted all these years. Okay, it’s not that many years. We’re all twenty-six. But we’ve stood by each other through all kinds of shit—breakups, family deaths and divorce and midlife crises, and my epic career flameout. They’re what’s most important. I’ll get things back on track. Right now I’m going to drink wine and eat Cheetos and let my friends prop me up.
* * *
—
I’ve given myself the weekend. I cleaned and organized my bedroom and the kitchen cupboards. I threw out a bunch of crap I don’t need anymore. Now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m taking Lola for a walk in the park.
Lola is my neighbor Kent’s Jack Russell terrier. While I was out of work, I started walking Lola pretty much every day. Kent works long hours, and Jack Russells need lots of exercise. He was already paying someone to walk her and thought it might as well be me, since I needed the money and had the time, and I love him for that. I also love Lola. I love dogs in general. I also volunteer at an animal shelter once a week.