Page 8 of Love Bitters

Looking mildly impressed, Nancy waves me over to her desk, turning around as we walk to ask, “So you haven’t had a job since graduating. Is there a reason behind that?”

I explain about Lizbeth the best way I can without making it too personal. Most employers like the whole professional, leave your problems at the door workplace. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if she hadn’t asked.

“Also,” I carry on, “I was hoping to find a job close to what I got my degree for. I didn’t want to have gone through years of college only to get a job where it’ll be of no use.”

Smiling softly, she agrees. “Yes, I can understand that completely.” Clasping her hands together in front of her, she adds, “Well, to be honest, you’re a little wet behind the ears even for a teller position. We like to hire people with a little more experience.”

My heart falls, but I maintain my composure.

“However,” she continues, kickstarting a sprig of hope in my chest, “we’ve had those signs up for weeks, and I can’t tell you how much I’d rather hire you than anyone else who has applied so far. As long as you can pass a background and credit check, the job is yours.”

I know I wear my shock on my face, so I quickly try to hide it as I thank her several times. She brushes all of it off with another soft smile and pulls a stack of paperwork out of her desk. It takes us a little while to get all of it finished while making small talk, but by the time I’m walking out of the bank with a promise of a future phone call when the checks go through, I’m so emotionally exhausted that it overrides the elation at having found a job. And so easily at that. I swear it’s as though Lizbeth is smiling down at me right now, saying I told you so. If it hadn’t been for me needing money from the account, I never would’ve seen that flyer. She’s still sending me support even from the grave.

A hiccup kind of sob leaves my chest, barely giving me time to sink into the seat of my car before the tears start to flow. Covering my face with my hands, I let all of the emotions I’d held onto inside free. Not just for the coincidence of getting the job on the same day as withdrawing money from our shared account that still has both our names on it. But for the extra that she’d been keeping a secret from me, too. It’s going to go a long way in helping me start a life for her niece or nephew over the next year. As if both of those weren’t enough, I haven’t been able to shake the mental image of the little girl and thoughts of which daddy my baby is going to look like. Losing my sister isn’t as raw as giving up my boyfriends, but one is like salt in the wound of the other right now. It all seems to be flowing together into one puddle of suck and pain.

Fortunately, my stomach doesn’t allow me to sit and wallow in the pity party as it emits a growl loud enough to sound like it’s coming from a car next to me. It’s enough to have me letting out a weak laugh that then makes me feel like I’m truly going insane.

If anyone were to ask, I’d answer honestly and say I don’t remember the drive over to the icecream shop. Autopilot kind of takes over the mechanics while my thoughts drift to a list of things I’ve got to get done and what small amount of time I’ve got to do them in.

After ordering the largest peanut butter milkshake the joint offers, I claim one of their two-seater tables and pull out my phone. Ignoring the unopened texts for now, I tap the notes app and start working on my list.

Just to feel like I’ve accomplished something, I go ahead and add ‘get a job’ before checking it off. The second thing is finding an apartment. I had an idea about that last night but wanted to wait until I was able to check off the first thing since I’ll have to rely on asking my mother. It’s always better to approach with full hands rather than empty ones with her. Third is making a doctor’s appointment. It feels silly not adding that to the very top of the list, but I don’t think I was quite ready to accept it until I was sure I could make the changes to better our lives.

That one will be easier to check off than all the others, so I switch to my contacts, scrolling down to my OBGYN. It takes all of a minute and a half to get an appointment scheduled for next week. My nerves are frazzled by the time I’m pushing end on the call and I’m thanking Jesus for HIPPA laws. Otherwise, there would be a chance of them calling the house number and confirming my appointments and shit with my mother. That’s a whole can of worms I don’t want open right now.

Now able to check that one off too, I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting stuff done. Taking a sip of my shake, I’m contemplating what should go next on my list when a photo message makes my phone beep. I blame my distractions for the reason why I click on it, opening the message to a pouting man’s face. Bright blond hair and the prettiest set of hazel eyes greet me. His lips are poked out in a full pout, making me recall just how those full pink lips feel against mine. A wide stripe across the screen holds text that reads I miss you, beautiful.

The amazing shake I'd been enjoying just seconds ago now churns like choppy water in my belly. Withheld tears burn my eyes, making everything around me blurry. In a moment of weakness, I type back, I miss you too. My thumb lingers over the send button, but I let my phone fall to the table with a clatter before I can press it. Clasping my hands in front of my face, I glare down at the offensive piece of technology as salty wet droplets land around it.

Everything I’ve managed to accomplish over the past couple hours feels like nothing now. None of it means as much to me as the man kind enough to text me, knowing good and damn well I’ve been purposely blowing them off. He and Murphy both have the same brand of phone as I do, so they can see when I read their texts. Which also means he was informed the second I started writing a reply.

“Shit!” I gasp loudly, drawing attention from the people at the counter. The mom’s eyes shoot daggers at me, likely for tainting her poor teenage daughter’s ears.

Keep it up, Karen. Karma is a bitch. Take it from someone who knows it best.

The likelihood of me appearing to be a complete and utter psycho is strong. I know I pulled at least one face making that inner comment.

“Is there anything else we can get for you?” one of the chicks behind the counter asks.

Lifting my gaze to her, I realize she’s talking to me which obviously means I’ve worn out my welcome. Feeling like an awkward homeless person, I delete the eleven letters that could make or break everything right now before gathering my shit up and heading for the door. Having been brought up with manners, I thank the girls behind the counter with a quick few words and a wave of my hand without turning around. I’d rather not see their faces. There’s a good chance I’ll be back soon, and I don’t want to go burning bridges. Especially when those bridges are built out of peanut butter and ice cream.

Well, with my craving now partially kicked and my emotions acting like they’re riding a roller coaster, I think I’ll make a quick run to the grocery store. I may have better luck breaking out of Alcatraz than I will sneaking food into the house without my mother finding out, but I’ve got to at least try. I don’t think I’ll last too much longer having to sustain myself around the stuff she’s cooking that makes me heave like a newbie sailor at sea. Yep, that sounds like just what the doctor ordered. More peanut butter and maybe some chocolate chips to go with it.

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