Page 15 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

Well, that ought to make everything all better.

I force a smile I don’t feel. “Thanks.”

It’s not her fault, and I’m sure she feels terrible about this. There’s no need to make her feel any worse when there’s nothing she can do about it anyway.

I turn back to continue staring at the screensaver.

“Emerson.”

Again, I zone out, and she waves her hands in front of my face.

“Hm?”

“There’s no sense in you sticking around here, honey. No work is being done, and I feel like things are just going to escalate. I’m fairly certain I saw someone trying to unhook the urinal from the men’s room a minute ago.”

I wonder if she wasn’t the one responsible for that particular act of anarchy, but I don’t ask.

“You might as well go home before you get caught up in it,” she says.

Swallowing, I stand. “Good idea. I might as well get a head start looking for another job.”

Sadly, she nods. “Me, too. Good luck, and stay in touch. If I hear of any opportunities, I will let you know.”

I make no promises to stay in touch, my heart sinking into my shoes as I head out of the office and forsake the elevator for the stairs. In the parking lot, I stare at the nondescript building I’d given the better part of five years of my life to. I want to curse at it, at the economy, at the company, but I can’t muster the anger. There’s no sense in it. It’s just wasted.

Telecommunications had never been my dream job, but the pay was good, and it enabled me to live comfortably enough here in Austin, at a time when so many people are struggling. It allowed me to use my tech skills, even if the company itself was something of a hamster wheel. I should have had a backup plan, a side gig, something else to fall into just in case. Or at least better ambitions for myself.

I don’t have any emergency savings—at least nothing big enough to carry me through this catastrophe until I find a new job. That damned trip to Vegas had taken a huge chunk out of my savings.

I silently curse Belle again, though I know it’s not her fault. It’s mine. I should have planned better… somehow.

It’s all that damn avocado toast and fancy coffees, I think sarcastically.

I need to find another job right away.

Nausea seizes me abruptly, the stress of the moment overwhelming me.

I barely make it five steps before I’m throwing up in the parking lot, attracting the attention of other displaced workers.

“I hear you, girl,” one of the receptionists calls out as she sashays past. “I wanna puke, too.”

Embarrassed, I wave, and rush to my car to hastily dig napkins out of the glove compartment. I slide into the driver’s seat and slump back against the headrest, willing the wave of dizziness to pass.

A part of me just wants to go to the nearest bar and drink away my sorrows. And if my stomach wasn’t so unsettled, I would do just that.

Instead, I back out of my spot and head home, fighting off the uneasiness inside me.

I need to call someone. Maybe my mom and Greg, or Mae. But I’m humiliated and exhausted.

Sighing, I dial out anyway. Mae’s chirpy voice fills my car through the Bluetooth.

“You’ve reached Mae Dupuis. I’m either in class or avoiding you because you should text like a normal person. Anyway, leave a message.”

The phone beeps, but before I can speak, my other line rings, and I see Mae’s face on my phone screen.

I answer.

“Hi,” I respond, switching lines.

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