Page 21 of Under the Weatherman
I clearly had a void in my life if I was letting this dominate my thoughts after two weeks. Maybe I needed to join a cult—or a karate school.
Chelsea set another latte on the counter and shouted, “Candace,” before turning back to me. “Well, he knows how to contact you if he wants to. Plenty of other fish in the sea.”
I slumped. “What is wrong with me? All I want is someone to grow old with, and I keep making the same mistakes. You’re a bad influence, you know that?”
“Am not.” She reached for an empty cup with a name written in sharpie. “Besides, you had a good time.”
I groaned. “Whydid I have to sleep with him?”
A college-aged boy in a rugby shirt shot me a funny look, and I scowled back. I was missing whatever gene should make me feel embarrassed in front of people I’d never see again. And this was my problem. Chelsea knew how to exploit that for her amusement.
She dumped some coffee beans into a grinder and pressed the button, talking over the din. “I’d say he was partially responsible.”
The rugby-shirted guy said, “Amen,” and I gave him a once-over. Cute. Too young. Probably feigning feminism to hit on Chelsea.Good luck, buddy.
“Changing the topic, where are you off to dressed like that? Not the library?”
Most mornings, I caught up on copy editing. I could have worked at home in the comfort of my own bed, but I loved the atmosphere deep in the university library stacks. It helped me focus. I could dress in a sweatshirt and jeans, prizing comfort over fashion.
Not today though. Today I sported my rarely worn navy blazer and matching skirt set, purchased for an ill-fated job at a bank. Oh, to find my true calling.
“Um, actually, no.” I shifted my feet, aware of the heels pinching my toes, longing for the moment I could slip on some fuzzy socks and curl up to read later.
“Mysterious.” She looked at me quizzically. “You’re obviously not going to the inn today. Are you working an early shift at the bar?”
“Nope and nope.” I’d never tended bar in anything other than the same old tired pair of black chinos and Converse sneakers. “I’ve got an interview.”
“Ajobinterview?” She packed espresso into a metal filter.
“Well, I haven’t been invited to talk about my unpublished novel on NPR, so yes. A job interview.”
“Seriously? Do you have time for another gig?”
“I’m hoping to swap out.” If I could land a job with real hours, maybe I could quit both the bar and the inn.
At that she nodded knowingly as the machine screamed and gurgled out coffee. “You know what that means?”
“Oh!” I grabbed my phone and pulled up the list to mark a check besideApply for a new job. “One more point for me!”
“So what’s the gig?” Chelsea asked, topping off another coffee with steamed milk and a lid, setting it on the counter. “Harold!”
I leaned against the wall, trying to stay out of the way of the increasing throng of impatient customers. “Something Evan suggested actually. He mentioned that newsrooms are often hiring writers, and he was right. I found an opening at the station a couple of blocks from here. I was shocked when I got a call asking me to come in today.”
“Ooh. Walking distance. We could commute together.” She laughed, like walking to work was anything new.
“I probably won’t get hired. I mean, look at me.” Despite the suit, I still exuded nothing more than existential dilapidation. I was made of dusty books and musty libraries, and my soul reeked of it.
She scowled at my self-deprecation. “You know what your dad would say?”
“You miss every shot you don’t take?” There wasn’t a sport my dad wasn’t a fan of.
She snorted. “That’s a good one. I was going to say, ‘You’re talented, Princess. Don’t sell yourself short.’”
I chortled. She was exaggerating but not wrong. I sometimes felt bad that I’d won the dad lottery while hers had psychologically fucked her up so hard she didn’t trust men past their usefulness in the sack. “I won’t,” I promised.
“Act like the badass you know you are.”
“Pretendyou mean.” I thought back to how I’d pretended to be someone else when I met Evan, and even though that hadn’t turned out so great, it had made me braver.
