Page 20 of Wasted On Us

“I am happy,” I insist, the words tumbling out of my mouth slowly, deliberately. I’m not entirely sure if I’m trying to reassure her, or if I’m attempting to persuade myself. I mean, I should be happy, right? At least, I hope so.

What could possibly be awry in my life? I get to live in a comfortable house, keeping my father company while simultaneously aiding him with his bustling business. I have the privilege of caring for a woman who stood by me during my darkest hours. With a cozy bed to sleep in every night and Abuelita’s amazing cooking filling my belly, what more could I possibly ask for?

Yet, despite all these comforts, my thoughts keep drifting to Eden. Her smile, her unique way of seeing the world, and that endearing quirk of her rambling speech. It’s as if she has added a new dimension to my life, something I didn’t even realize was missing. The idea of ‘more’ with Eden is starting to feel less like a fleeting thought and more like a longing I can’t quite shake.

Pausing her vigorous toss of cucumbers and tomatoes in the tangy vinaigrette, Abuelita brandishes her wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton. “Move out. Get married. Populate the earth with adorable babies. Now, that would surely fill my heart with joy.”

Maybe Abuelita has a point. Maybe such a life would elevate my happiness from a comfortable hum to a jubilant roar.

Can I see myself as a husband and a father right now?

Well, it's definitely food for thought.

And now that Eden’s on the scene, I can’t help but let my mind drift there.

She’s refreshing, with a spirit and an artless way about her that’s impossible to ignore. The thought of a future with her, though premature, sneaks into my mind. Could she be more than just a fleeting connection? It’s a new and tantalizing idea, one that adds a spark to my growing curiosity about Eden.

Chapter Nine

Eden

I stare at the inside of my closet, trying to ignore the mountain of failed selections littering my bedspread. Never mind the fact that most of this should be packed already. Holding two near identical micro-floral blouses in my hands, unable or unwilling to choose between them, I’m realizing that maybe I don’t understand what “business casual” actually entails. At my last gig, I just showed up dressed in whatever I felt cute in. Before that, everywhere else had a uniform, so I never had to think twice.

In a state of utter defeat, I lie back down on the bed, making room for my head between a wool skirt that is out of season and a dreadful pair of khakis I wasn’t aware I even owned. It would be so easy to just fall back asleep and pretend none of this is even happening, but I want to make a good impression. I mean… if I don’t, Elaine will have my head on a pike. I want to prove to myself that I don’t need saving from my family—that I’ve got this. I could still sell all my things, ghost everyone I know, and fly to Italy. What I would do there is anyone’s guess, but it would beat the hell out of sitting here feeling sorry for myself.

A chirp from my cell phone interrupts my train of thought. It’s the temp agency finally giving me my assignment for today. My heart sinks when I open the email. Shit to the hundredth power. I’m in no way surprised that things have turned out like this. Every silver lining or fleck of gold I’ve found in the past few days has turned out to be pyrite instead. My first assignment? My one speck of hope in this barrage of misfortune?

García and Son Auto.

They want me to be a temporary receptionist at Mateo’s dealership. If Dad finds out I stepped foot in that building, let alone worked for Salvador, he’ll never speak to me again. This certainly won’t help with my plan to cut Mateo off for good. And being at that receptionist’s desk is like being in the middle of a fishbowl. I can’t take being gawked at by all the salespeople and not having a moment of privacy away from Mateo. Everyone is going to figure out what we’ve done. It’s also going to put me dead center in the line of fire between Mateo and Lucy. I don’t have a full grasp of whatever’s going on with them, but after that brief interaction, I can tell that it’s complicated. Lucy didn’t like that Mateo liked me, that much I could gather.

I can’t do this. I’m sure they’ll understand, right? The universe has to take pity on me at some point. I have to at least ask. Although, with Frostvale being a smaller community, I probably shouldn’t be all that surprised. There are only so many businesses that need temporary help.

Searching the bottom of the email, I click on the phone number for the temp agency.

“Um… this is Eden. I received my assignment for the day,” I feebly begin.

“You’re welcome,” the voice on the other end drones. I recognize it immediately as the receptionist from when I first applied and hope that she doesn’t remember me as well as I remember her.

“No! No! Thank you very much,” I blurt without thinking. “I mean, I’m so grateful to receive an opportunity, but I can’t gothere. I can’t take this assignment.”

“I’m afraid there are no other options for today.”

“There must be something else.” When I imagined I was above begging, I was wrong. There is a long pause at the other end of the line, and I briefly worry that the call has disconnected, or I’ve lost service. Then, the receptionist sighs.

“No, what I mean is that if you refuse this placement, we won’t be able to work with you. It was in the policy packet you signed. Did you even read it? You’ll have to find another temp agency. And the closest one is in Duluth. All their placements are there, so that would be a rather long drive for you. You’d be better off just applying for permanent positions.”

Glancing at the stack of collections notices and overdue bills piled on my nightstand, I swallow my pride. “So… I’d have to go to Duluth. And start the process all over again.”

A sigh. “Correct.”

I find myself just as torn between the two alternatives as I was about the blouses. Neither option is good. I can either put myself in a miserable position for the day, or survive on a diet of air, ice cubes, and denial until something else comes up.

“Have you made a decision?” the voice from the other end inquires, her tone dripping with impatience.

“I’m thinking.”

“I’m thinking you’re going to be late,” she chides.

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