Page 2 of Wasted On Us

I think she would like it very much.

Chapter One

Eden

I didn’t plan on getting fired today. Not that I was particularly in love with my job or anything. When I became the social media manager for a small but successful food truck in Frostvale called Pickle Me Crispy, my heart didn’t swell, and the heavens didn’t open and shine down upon me while a choir of angels cheered me on. It was never my lifelong dream to tag videos of pedestrians eating deep-fried pickles from the curb, nor did I tell my fifth-grade teacher that when I grew up I wanted to slave over the lighting and contrast of a pile of cucumbers at a farmer’s market. I did it for no great passion or love, but because it worked. Also, my vegan, health-conscious sister is an influencer herself, so I had advice at the ready whenever I needed it. It kept my parents off my back, my belly full, and my bills paid. And it didn’t leave old beer permeating under every layer of my skin like my kid sister Elowyn’s waitressing gig.

The ability to morph yourself into whoever someone else wants you to be comes with being a middle child, and I’m damn good at it. Nobody ever really looks at you. You keep your head down and do whatever comes your way. Maybe there isn’t any fanfare, but there isn’t any conflict either. And I guess that’s fine by me. Besides, I’m different. And flying under the radar just feels safer to me.

The world operates in a rhythm, a dance of chaos and order. It’s a dance I’ve never quite mastered. I’ve got this head of mine, a head that spins with ideas and tangents, like a carousel set to warp speed. Details, nuances, patterns—they don’t whisper to me, they scream. It’s part of me, my own rhythm. It doesn’t make me less, just different. I have my ways, my rituals to keep the cacophony at bay. I do love a good list, and order… oh, how I crave it. It’s not always easy, but it’s me. And no matter what anyone else says, I’m worthy just because I exist.

“Why are we meeting here and not at Earth’s Embrace?” my eldest sister Ensley questions, entering the corner of the coffee shop. We initially planned to convene for lunch today at a much more organic restaurant in town. But I redirected her here. I’ve always cherished Rebecca’s, a small haven owned by two local sisters. It might not be the most lavish cafe around, but it brims with charm and authenticity, and feels lived-in, like humans made the choices, not a focus group or an algorithm. Earth’s Embrace, in contrast, emanates a Bohemian vibe that aligns with Ensley’s preferences ever since her vegan blog gained popularity. And when you leave there, you’re usually still hungry.

She places her fringed, faux-leather tote bag on the side table next to us, grimacing at a discarded napkin from a previous customer. As if a single used napkin symbolizes the collapse of polite society. Don’t even get her started on straws. Right now, she has at least three—made of glass no doubt—inside that tote bag of hers.

The moment she sits down, the server appears, and Ensley orders an iced latte with oat milk.

“I thought I should be a little more frugal.” I try to casually take a sip of my iced espresso withrealcream and invite a mini head freeze in the process. It takes everything I have not to spit one of the ice cubes back into the glass. Which would be just the cherry on top of an already embarrassing afternoon.

“Why?” Ensley’s eyes narrow even as her signature bangles clang together. She’s always been the most attentive of the three of us girls. My older sister, despite her bohemian lifestyle, possesses the keen observation skills of a detective. Even the tiniest inconsistency in conversation is like an intriguing puzzle piece for her. I think she’s got a lot of eldest child in her. She enjoys control. “I thought you were doing quite well with Pickle Me Crispy.”

“Oh. I was.” I pick at the lemon bar I purchased, take a small bite, and then brush the powdered sugar off on my jeans.

Setting her coffee down with a sigh, Ensley rubs at her temples. “....was?”

“I’ve been let go.” I let the words rush out of me in a single breath, closing my eyes and scrunching up my face like a kid who just told their parents about the window they broke playing baseball in the house.

“You had that performance review today, didn’t you?” she asks, her thoughts flitting from one topic to another, just like a butterfly. Ensley has always had an uncanny knack for remembering events, even the ones that aren’t her own. “Wait, why? Why would they let you go? I saw your posts for their business, and not only were they good, but they also got people talking and engaging.”

“Julie, the owner, asked where I saw myself in five years.” It’s been a running gag in the family for as long as I can remember that you don’t need to ask me what I want. It never changes. It’s been the same three syllables since I ate my first bowl of spaghetti and watched that Olsen twins’ movie where they go to Rome. I wantItaly.

“Oh. You didn’t.” Ensley’s face tells me she already knows the answer.

“I might’ve mentioned that I pictured myself in Venice.”

“And there it is.” Picking her coffee back up, she takes a long sip, and then another, as if the caffeine is the only thing keeping her from murdering me in front of all these witnesses. “So, what did you say? I know you had the last word.”

“I mean…” I try to stall, waving my hand in the air in the hopes that some kind of intelligent diversion will come to me. Sadly, it does not. “Not much. What was there to say?”

Panicked, I shove the rest of the lemon bar in my mouth.

My sister continues to stare at me. I’ve seen reptiles at the zoo blink faster than her. Come to think of it, they seem to have warmer blood. “Ensley…”

“Okay,” I mumble around my food, trying to swallow as fast as I can. “Ciao. I just said ciao.”

Ensley’s eyes twinkle, a ghost of a smile on her lips. She has an ability to find amusement in life’s complexities, her free-spirit ever-present. Even though she’s an overachiever, she’s also pretty chill in a crisis. “Clearly, we cannot let Dad discover this. With Elowyn’s upcoming wedding and training the new pharmacist, he’s already got his hands full. And honestly, who’d have guessed our younger sister would be first down the aisle?”

“I’m well aware.” My agreement comes swiftly. Mom’s over the moon for Elowyn, while Dad seems perpetually anxious. His wallet and mine appear to share the same anxious heartbeat, every dollar spent a tiny stab of pain. Now’s the worst time to need him for more than emotional support. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Find a job before anyone catches wind of this,” she offers nonchalantly, taking a casual sip of her coffee as if this is the simplest solution. “It’s the most logical route.”

“Oh, right. I’ll just mosey on over to the ‘employment for the over-educated and under-qualified’ office, throw my Italian Literature degree on the pile with all the other liberal arts graduates who haven’t found themselves yet.” Ensley’s constant pragmatism swings between grounding and infuriating. Right now, it’s tipping toward the latter. But her success with her own venture, despite her laid-back approach, leaves her confident that anyone can do it if they just chant positive affirmations loud and long enough.

“You could have attended a local school, majored in something practical with a minor in Italian. But did you listen? No.”

I fold my arms across my chest, matching her playful defiance. “I followed my heart, chased my dreams. Is that a crime?”

I didn’t just ignore her advice. I did the exact opposite. I attended an out-of-state college with a study abroad program I couldn’t resist. The semester in Venice was a dream, and the following European tour was a sweet bonus. But these priceless experiences left a bitter taste in my financial life. The crushing student loans seem eternal, and my Italian degree hasn’t made job hunting any easier. The occasional freelance translation gig doesn’t pay the bills, forcing me into a string of odd jobs. So far, nothing good, or even decent, has come along.

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