Page 3 of Breaking Point
Before Layla can so much as utter a word, I blurt out, “I was fired.”
A gasp explodes from my speakers. “Oh god, B, I’m so sorry.”
“I saw it coming. I was prepared.”
Yet despite my controlled words, my heart is sinking, and with every second that passes, panic builds more and more.
“Did they give you a fair severance?”
I scoff. “After I blackmailed him. Before that they were only going to give me a week.”
“Aweek?” Layla’s high-pitched voice explodes through my car again. “They don’t deserve you, Bella. Truly, they don’t. They took your hard work for granted.”
Sighing, I can’t help but relent, “I shouldn’t have taken on Alex and Kristy’s workload. I was just trying to delay the inevitable. Did you know someone proposed using AI art?”
Another gasp of dismay comes over the line. “No, they didn’t!”
“Oh, yes they did…withmein the room.”
The line goes silent, the only sound my tires on the highway as I drive toward my mother’s house.
“I have it on video if you want a laugh,” I offer as the silence stretches.
“You know I wouldn’t laugh at that.”
No, she wouldn’t. Layla is too loyal to find humor in my misery.
But….
“Jason’s face when I lifted the phone was priceless. I’m tempted to send a screenshot of it around the company before I’m kicked from the system.”
“Maybe you can turn it into a meme about using AI.”
A bark of laughter bursts from me, proving that the best person to call is always your best friend.
My laughter dies off in a painful death as I slow my car and pull into my mother’s driveway. It’s nothing fancy, just a quaint one-story house with three bedrooms, but the Spanish-style house has always beenhome. Until it turned into a memorial of all we have lost as a family.
It no longer smells like cinnamon. Instead, hospital-grade cleaning greets me every time. It’s no longer warm or comforting but freezing, as if I took a portal to Antarctica. Laughter is no longer heard; the only sounds that fill the house these days are curses at the universe and quiet sobs.
“Bella?” Layla asks softly.
“I don’t think I can face her right now,” I admit begrudgingly. It’s the first time my words lack their semblance of control.
Something rustles over the phone.
“I’ll send my mom over. You can’t take care of someone when you need to be taken care of yourself.” She pauses. “You need tofill up your own cup, B. You can’t keep pouring when you have nothing to give.”
I’m shaking my head before I remember she can’t see me. “It’s too much. Your mom has enough on her plate as it is?—”
“Don’t be silly, I’ve already sent the text. She’ll be there in fifteen minutes, so I suggest if you don’t want to be coddled by Mama Bear Carson, you hightail it out of there.”
A wobbly laugh escapes from my lips as the image of Layla’s mother squishing me in one of her famous small yet mighty hugs fills my mind. The woman is tiny and yet makes you feel like you’re being cocooned by a friendly bear.
I love Mrs. Carson—she is like no other, and when you meet her, you understand how Layla is so soft-spoken and kind—but the last thing I need right now is to talk about my feelings and healthily deal with this.
“Let’s get drunk,” I suddenly declare.
“Already dressed and have my keys. Any requests?”
