Page 8 of If the Ring Fits

But then his voice filters through again. “So, what do you do for a living?”

“I used to be a senior technology developer engineer at the fintech company on the seventeenth floor.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, impressive. You must be smart, then.”

“Not so smart, apparently.” I trace my fingers in idle patterns on the cool metal wall. “Got axed today along with the project I’ve been busting my ass off for the past six months. Budget cuts they said, but I suspect my boss couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

“I’m sorry. Bet he’s a walking midlife crisis.”

I crack a wry smile despite myself. “That’s strangely accurate.” I sigh. “I never thought I’d regret not having him lord himself over me.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t sweat it too much,” he assures me. “This city is crawling with hedge funds, banks, brokerages… They’re always hungry for talented software engineers. I could even put in a good word at my firm, see if we have any openings.”

His words give me pause. That’s… incredibly kind of him to offer. “Where do you work?” I ask.

“Fulton Capital. The hedge fund on the top floors.”

My eyes widen. Fulton Capital is among the elite wealth management funds in the city. I vaguely recall the sleek logo emblazoned on the building’s directory—they’re one of those innovative investment firms always splashed across the financial news.

This guy must be the real deal.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. After the traumatic emotional blows of the day, ironically, it’s his compassion that has me breaking down. Hot, salty water streams down my face against my will. I’ve lost control of everything, even my body. I choke down the sobs, but a muffled one claws his way out of my throat.

“Hey,” he says gently, no doubt hearing my sniffles. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry, I just… That’s such a thoughtful offer, and I appreciate it, but…” I swipe at my wet cheeks, snorting pathetically. “I… I can’t take you up on it right now.” I blow my nose, wiping it on a wad of toilet paper. “I’m not hiding in here just because of the job loss,” I admit, my words echoing in the confined space. “Actually, me getting fired is the least of it.”

There’s a pause. “Oh?” His voice sounds surprised, but still kind. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, only if you’re comfortable. No pressure.”

I grip the toilet paper harder as the truth bubbles up insideme, wanting to spill over. And why not? This guy is a total stranger; it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again—not that I’ve seen him now.

“I found out this morning that I’m—I’m pregnant. With my ex-boyfriend’s baby.” Saying the words out loud makes it real. Tears well up again and I choke back another sob. “We only just broke up and he… he’s not a good person. At all. And now I’m stuck with this… this situation.” Once the floodgates open, I can’t seem to stop. “I’m exhausted. And scared. The thought of interviewing, trying to find a new job in my condition…” I let out a humorless laugh. “No one will hire me when I’ll need to go on maternity leave in less than a year.” I bury my face in my hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “But I don’t know what to do without insurance. Without money. Without a job… I’ll have to move back to Nebraska. Live with my parents.” A whimper slips from my lips. “Leave my friends behind. My life here is over. Everything is ruined.”

My stomach roils again and I fight down another wave of nausea. I must be trapped in a bad dream. I had a plan—focus on my programming career, find someone to share my life with, and start a family when we were ready. Not like this. Not alone and powerless, hiding in a bathroom.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is full of sympathy. “That’s… a lot. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must feel.”

“Yeah. It’s a disaster. My life is imploding as we speak.” I stare at the gray metal stall door, wondering how things spiraled so far out of my control. “I bet your lie doesn’t sound so bad now.”

A mirthless laugh sails over to my side. “No, still does. But look, our company has great policies for working parents,” he encourages me. “Generous leave, flexible hours. I’m positive wecould work something out if there’s an open position that fits your skills.”

His optimism is sweet, but misplaced. I shake my head before realizing the futility of the gesture. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t think?—”

My stomach suddenly bloats and an uncontrollable, loud burp forces its way out, reverberating off the bathroom walls. Mortification burns through me. “Oh gosh. I’m so sorry.” I want to disappear into the floor. “See? Even if I landed an interview, I doubt I could make it through without puking on the hiring manager. Not a stellar first impression. So, unless you can find me a job that requires no interviewing skills, has great health insurance, unlimited sick days, and doubles my salary…” Between hurls, I re-did the math and realized I couldn’t afford New York as a single parent on my old wage anyway. “I’m screwed.”

Despair settles over me like a gravity blanket, wrapping me into the opposite of comfort.

Seconds tick by in heavy silence. I wonder if I’ve scared off my surprisingly supportive bathroom confidante. Then…

“How badly do you want to stay in the city?”

His question takes me by surprise. I frown at the stall divider. “Um, a lot? I never wanted to live anywhere else. But what does that have to?—”

“Because I might have an offer for you,” he interjects. “I’ve been thinking, and… well, just hear me out before you say no, okay?”

I blink, taken aback by his sudden intensity. “Okay…” I reply slowly, bafflement and curiosity whirling inside me. “I’m listening.”

6

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