Page 5 of Wasted On Us

“Quick. What do I like to do?”

“Drone on about how much better life was in Italy. How they make gelato the right way, and how the sunrise is prettier, and how no one here pronounces ‘mozzarella’ correctly,” my sister quips. All of that came to her a little too quickly, and I have to wonder how longthat’sbeen brewing in the back of her head. Is that what I really sound like? Yikes.

“No, I mean for work. It’s for the temp agency paperwork.” I pause, considering her reaction. “Could there be a job for that, do you think?”

Ensley, ever the carefree spirit, lets out a giggle. “You mean professional wanderer? You’d be perfect for that role. We just need to find you a beret!”

I can tell she’s only half joking, but her offhand comment gives me an unexpected sprig of hope. Ensley has a knack for lightening up situations, no matter how severe they may seem. It’s a breath of fresh air amidst my relentless need for order and precision.

“Excuse me.” I cradle the phone on my shoulder, turning back to the receptionist. “Do you have anything in Italy?”

The look that she gives me in response makes me want to disappear into another dimension, never to be seen again. Strike two for Eden. “No. We’re more of a local company.”

“Thanks anyway,” I sigh, returning to my call. “I’m getting the feeling that staying on the phone any longer is going to significantly impact my chances of employment here, so I’m going to cut this short. Thanks for answering me anyway. I’m going to shoot you a text with a few more questions, okay? You’re the best! Love you, bye!”

Before she can argue with me, I hang up the phone, type up my short list of inquiries, and hit send. I fiddle with my pen, trying not to make eye contact with the receptionist lest I draw any more of her ire, and wait for Ensley’s response. The second my phone vibrates, I copy the answers down onto my application. My sister really is a lifesaver. I owe her a bottle of wine. Once I’m not a literal pauper and can afford something nicer, I’ll get her one that comes in an actual bottle and not a box.

After double and triple checking all of my contact info, I saddle up to the desk with my clipboard.

“Match me,” I announce, dramatically offering the clipboard with a small bow. The lack of change in the woman’s expression tells me I’m not nearly as cute as I think I am.

“You’re in the wrong office for that,” she drawls, giving my paperwork a quick once over before setting it on top of a concerningly large pile of others. “Someone will call you to set up an interview.”

I’m becoming aware of the speed with which this process is going to move. And something tells me it’s more tortoise than hare. “In the movies, they walk right in and sit down with an HR rep.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Does this look like a movie to you?”

It takes everything in me to not tell her about the time I saw a silent film adaptation ofDante’s Infernoin my Italian cinema class and just how much this reminds me of more than one circle of Hell. For the first time in my life, I bite my tongue.

“If it was, I’d go with tragedy,” she continues with a sigh. Okay, maybe my joke would have worked. After the cellphone debacle, I’d still like to err on the side of caution.

“Point made.” I don’t want to be pushy, but I can’t ignore my near-empty bank account. Squeaky wheels, and all that. “When can I get an appointment?”

“So, it’s going to be like that. Fine.” She turns to her computer screen, scrolling with pursed lips. “Tomorrow at 1:00 PM. Don’t be late.”

“I may be a lot of things. But I amneverlate,” I insist, already turning on my heels and heading out the door.

The full weight of my situation doesn’t sink in until I close my car door and start doing some hard math. I was always so good with money and budgeting, especially before that life-changing trip to Italy. Now everything seems harder. Even if I get an interview tomorrow, and start the day after, it will still likely be two weeks from the day I start until I get paid. For all I know, they might have an even longer delay to process payroll. Bottom line? I can’t float this. There’s no way. I can barely cover food and gas as it is. And that’s if I stick to an exciting rotation of dollar menu fare, instant noodles, and drink a whole lot of tap water. The fact that I need to get new contacts doesn’t make things easier. I can’t pay my utilities, those collection letters are starting to get really threatening, and then there’s the rent looming in the back of all of this. I am well and truly screwed.I’m going to have to do the unthinkable.

I’m going to have to move in with my parents.

I don’t imagine they’ll say no. My kid sister Elowyn pretty much just moved back out after crashing there for a few months. She dropped out of college, had a rough relationship with a real piece of work, and ended up right back in the nest. My circumstances don’t seem nearly as dire, so I should be fine. But it’s always different for the youngest child. They treat her a lot gentler than they treat me. I’m the middle kid. I’m not supposed to cause problems or get extra help. Ensley’s the perfect one, and Elowyn’s the baby they won’t say a bad word about. Eden? Who is she but another mouth to feed in the middle?

My phone keeps vibrating in the center console. If I had a better car like Ensley, I’d have it connected to the Bluetooth system and it would just read my texts for me. But my credit score is too low to finance anything, and this hunk of junk is the best I could do out of pocket. It at least gets me from A to B and has air conditioning, even if it is the weakest AC I’ve ever felt in my life. I know I shouldn’t do it, but the traffic is bad enough at this time of day that we’re barely moving, so I take the phone out and start reading.

Ugh. We’re supposed to be doing a wine night to talk about Elowyn’s new engagement, and they probably want to see how I’m holding up and how things went at the temp agency. I should go. I want to go. It would be good for me to not go back to my apartment that I don’t even get to live in anymore and cry into a glass of boxed rosé the size of my face. But I just don’t have the energy to act like I’m okay or to put on a happy face for Elowyn. No amount of healing crystals or positive affirmations is going to fix this.

Her life is soaring while mine’s in the shitter, and it’s hard to put a genuine smile on my face, no matter how happy my heart is for my sister.

I’m in the middle of typing a reply when suddenly my phone flies out of my hand and onto the dash as my car comes to a complete stop.

In full contact with the car in front of me.

Today just keeps getting better and better.

Chapter Four

Mateo

---