Page 101 of Left-Hand Larceny
“I hate my job.”
Everyone turns to look at me.
Quinn blinks. “You mean—like, your job-job? Or—”
“All of it,” I say. “Grad school. Rehab, charting. Sports medicine. Ice baths, pre wrap and resistance bands. I hate all of it.”
Jen whistles low.
Tristan sets down her drink. “That’s not shocking. But also—wow. Okay. Say more.”
I lean back in the booth, already regretting opening my mouth. “I don’t know what I want instead. And I don’t have a plan. And I’m really scared that I’m going to disappoint everyone who gave me this shot if I walk away. So I’ll probably just whine and then go back to my routines.”
Quinn frowns. “But are you happy?”
“No,” I say without hesitation, and the word hits hard and sharp.
Tristan pulls out her phone like she’s about to start a research paper. “Okay, then. Let’s find something else. You’re smart, you’re capable—”
“Please don’t.”
She pauses.
I shake my head. “I appreciate it. But I don’t even know what I want. I just know it’s not this. Admitting it is step one. I’ll let you know about step two when I’m there.”
Tristan shrugs but pockets her phone.
Her sister, Mads, tilts her head. “What would you do if there were no rules? No expectations?”
“I dunno.” I admit. “Travel, take photos. Learn about different cultures. Maybe write. But that’s not a job.”
“Why not?” Jen asks.
“Because I’d be broke in five minutes.”
Quinn shrugs. “Then do this job until you’re ready to make the leap. But at least let yourself imagine the leap.”
“I feel like I’ve wasted so much time.” I push my hair out of my face. I wasted a whole degree.
“You haven’t,” Quinn says gently. “You’ve just been trying really hard to live someone else’s idea of your life.”
I bite my lip.
The girls shift the topic back to something lighter for a minute, but I can’t quite stop the spinning in my chest.
Quinn leans over. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just… thinking about telling my parents.”
The table goes quiet again. Wow, I’m a downer tonight. Maybe I should have stayed home. Or gone to Ragnar’s.
“I don’t even know how they’ll react,” I admit. “It’s not like I have proof they’ll be angry. But they got me the job. They liked Christian. They still want me to date him, for God’s sake.”
Quinn winces. “Do you want to talk about him?”
I stare into my drink. “He saw me as property. Everything I did was wrong. He made me feel small. And because my parents always liked him, I thought maybe they’d take his side if I ever said anything.”
“They won’t,” Quinn says. “And Ragnar would never let that happen.”
