Page 13 of Bite Your Tongue

“Damn telemarketers,” I huff, but something pulls me to answer the call.

Reluctantly, I swipe my pointer finger across the screen and bring it to my ear.

“Hello?” I say, less than enthused because I’m sure it really is just some random recording, telling me about my extended car warranty.

“Hello. I’m trying to reach Saylor Sawyer,” a kind female voice says on the other end.

Still … I’m skeptical of this bitch.

“Regarding?” I toss back, tucking my phone between my shoulder and my face while I fill my water bottle because hell no will I make the same mistake as yesterday, not hydrating myself. I’m going to be twenty-three in a few months, and I feel like I’m twice that on some days. Nursing isn’t easy. My shifts are long and strenuous—oh, and really fucking stressful.

“Hello. My name is Cynthia Roberts. I’m calling from Charles Dixon Hospital in Charleston, South Carolina.”

When she pauses, my eyes must be the size of pizzas.

“I was hoping to speak with Saylor Sawyer …”

“This is she,” I squeak awkwardly, embarrassed because I really did treat poor Cynthia like she was about to scam me into buying a fake extended car warranty. “Hi there, Cindy—”

I clamp my mouth shut. She didn’t say her name was Cindy; she said Cynthia. I’ve talked to her for, like … thirty-five seconds, so why am I trying to give her a nickname? Maybe she was named after her mother, and her mother is dead. Or an awful person. Or maybe Cynthia has no significance. Either way, this is why my brain and my mouth need to have acome to Jesusmoment and figure their shit out.

“Hi there, Saylor. I’m calling about the nursing position you applied for. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” she says, seeming unfazed. Her voice sounds warm through the phone, settling the nerves in my stomach slightly.

“I do,” I say quickly, sounding creaky as hell.

Last week, I was having a bit of a pity party for myself, and I went online and searched for traveling nursing jobs. Charleston has always been a bucket-list place for me to go to—mostly becauseSouthern Charmis my favorite show in the world and I have a fantasy that, one day, Craig might declare his love for me, and Madison might want to become best friends and give me all her hair tricks and tips. Her beauty ones would be welcome too.

“Great,” she says warmly. “We received your job application and résumé, and after looking through everything, it really does seem like you may be a good candidate to join our staff. If you’re still interested, we’d like to meet with you in person first. And if all goes well, we’d be happy to offer you a position here.”

My mouth won’t work to respond right away. I mean, I was, like, three glasses of wine deep and crying into my pillow when I applied for that job. It’s not that I don’t want it. I guess I just didn’t expect to hear back so soon—if at all.

Most of my family lives in Maine, and despite my bitching about the cold, I do love it here. I have friends at the hospital. I have my small but cozy apartment here. On paper, it would seem like everything is perfect.

But you’re all alone. You throw yourself at every good-looking guy you come across. You do anything to try to feel something, but your life is becoming a downward spiral. Your best friend lives across the country. So many women your age are getting married or having kids. Not you. You’re … stuck. You should get a cat or maybe a turtle. Yeah, definitely a turtle. They are easier.

You’re a loser.

“When would you need me to come out there?” I blurt out in an attempt to quiet the voices in my head from making me feel like a bigger loser.

“Well, when works for you? We can start there, and I’ll see if our hiring director is available during that time.”

I think about my schedule for a moment. “I work today and tomorrow, and then I’m off for three days. I could come out then.”

“Let me write that down, and I’ll get in touch with her. Then I’ll let you know?”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, feeling my head become a little fuzzy because this is a big deal.

I might not even get the job, but … I also could. And then what? I’m just going to say,Peace out, Maine. It’s been real, but I’m going to Charleston to become besties with theSouthern Charmcast?

It would appear so.

“All right, thanks so much for your time, Saylor. We’ll talk soon.”

“Sounds great. Thank you,” I chirp just before the call ends.

I drop my phone to my side and put my hand over my mouth.

Dear Lord … what did I get myself into?

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