Copyright © 2016 by Amanda Maxlyn
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Book One
Book Two
Book Three
Book Four
Book One
“I’m sorry it came to this. If you need a reference in the future, please let me know. I’d be happy to help you out in any way possible.” My eyes follow the chapped lips before me as I try to comprehend the words that were just spit my way.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask with confusion. I obviously didn’t hear him right because there’s no way my boss just fired me.
“If there is anything I can do, please let me know,” he repeats, a little slower this time. Then adds, for the fifth time since we sat down together, “I’m sorry, Emma.”
I open my mouth, but I quickly close it when no words flow out. I wait for the right letters to align together and register with my mouth, because right now all I can think of stammering out is, “What the fuck? Are you shitting me? It’s my birthday! You’re an asshole!”
Taking in a deep breath, I calmly recollect my thoughts. “But why?” I’m shocked at how soothing my voice is.
My now former boss, Mike, pushes away from the mahogany desk that looks just as old and tired as he does and shifts in his chair uncomfortably until his arms eventually end up crisscrossed in front of his chest. His eyes dart over my shoulder to the empty canvas on the wall, then slowly drag to the ugly eggnog carpet that covers his office floor. He clears his voice, avoiding eye contact. “Look, Emma, you’re a nice young girl and I’m sure you’ll succeed…”
“Just not here,” I cut him off. Not that I see myself succeeding in the restaurant business as a waitress, but that’s beside the point. I need a job.
I need this job.
Or rather, I need the tip money for living expenses.
I watch Mike close his eyes at the same time he releases a heavy sigh. His shoulders drop and his body slouches forward in annoyance, or defeat. Maybe it’s sympathy. I’m not sure.
“I’m sorry. I really am. You have to know that, Emma.” His dark brown eyes shoot up now, making contact with my own. I can see the softness that lies behind them. “This isn’t easy for me either. You’re a great girl and I enjoy your presence. I’ve known your family a long time and want to help you, but from a business perceptive it isn’t working out. You have to feel that too.” Of course he feeds me the classic “it’s not you, it’s me” line.
“I had one bad week,” I defend, holding up a single finger. As if that finger will back up my case.
“Um—more like a bad three months,” he counters, slightly choking on his words.
I shrug with a small wave of my hand and an eye roll. “Who’s counting?”
He looks annoyed now, his mouth forming a straight line, body relaxing and eyes drawing inward. I wait for him to fire back with something like, “I’m counting, obviously,” but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s professional and polite as he continues: “I’ll be more than happy to give you a reference if needed. I meant what I said. You’re a nice girl, Emma, with a bright future, but maybe you’d be better off focusing on your swimming future without the distractions of rushing to a job that you’d rather skip and stay in the water for.”
I can sense the caution behind his words as he watches for my reaction. Sure, I messed up a couple orders here and there, or forgot a soda every now and again, but what server in the food industry hasn’t done that from time to time when first starting out? Does that really warrant for such drastic measures? I never claimed to be perfect.
I sit up taller, attempting to appear more confident than I feel. I give him my best fake Bring It On cheerleader smile before offering, “What about hosting? I could do that!” I can’t mess up walking someone to their table.
When he drops his chin into his chest and closes his eyes in frustration I know this topic is not negotiable.
My fake smile fades and I give him a short, understanding nod, even though I know he can’t see it. Holding out my hand, I say, “Thanks for everything, Mike. I may take you up on that reference. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me these last few months.”
His head snaps upward and stares at my hand before him. When he doesn’t take it, I give it a little shake, encouraging him to accept the gesture.
“Oh, right!” His eyes go bright with recognition as he quickly stands and takes my hand, grasping it tightly, followed by a small shake. All the tension in his body fades away when our hands break apart. “Sorry about all this. You take care, all right?”
I purse my lips. “Yeah, you too.”
I get the feeling he’s never fired anyone before, seeing how all this went down. But then again, I’ve never been fired before either, so I don’t really know if there is a nice way to tell someone to take a hike. The hard part in all of this is that he’s actually right. I’m a terrible waitress and would rather be in the pool than working, but it doesn’t make getting fired any easier.
Mike stares at me, his feet shifting from side to side. It’s like having an awkward breakup. You’re not sure who should walk away first, have the last say, or if you should just laugh or cry at the entire situation.
When he doesn’t make a move for the door, I do. I turn and walk out of the office, letting the door close softly behind me, not offering a final goodbye.
Treading quietly yet quickly, I dash through the customer-free dining room. Once the main doors come into view, my long legs move even faster and I do my best not to look at any of my former coworkers, who’ve now stopped what they’re doing to watch me. I’m humiliated enough and don’t need any compassion or judging eyes thrown my way. I don’t know what’s worse: doing the walk of shame after a one-night stand or the walk of shame from your boss’s office after getting fired.
I’m sure both are equally mortifying.
Afraid of making any sound to draw more attention to myself, I hold my breath. I can feel the stares burrowing their way into my back as I push open the lobby door. Letting the mid-October sun hit my face, I tilt my head back, allowing my cheeks to soak in the damp air. My lungs release the warm breath of air I’ve been holding in so tightly. The light Florida humidity begins to melt away the tiny amount of numbness that has seeped inside of me.
The reality of the conversation that just took place consumes me as I stand in front of the large brick building, reading Red’s Cafe.
“I just got fired,” I confirm out loud to no one but myself, shaking my head in disbelief. I pick up a shift on my twentieth birthday and this is the thank you I get? “Happy fucking birthday to me,” I mutter.
Once I’m behind the wheel of my 2007 Honda Civic with the windows down, I blast “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey. It’s not summer, but the song is fitting for the situation. I make the short drive back to my newly rented townhouse that I’m sure I can no longer afford.
***
“Hey, you,” my sister, Brooke, announces with surprise as she sets a moving box down on the living room floor. “What are you doing back so early? Did Mike decide to let you off for your birthday?”
“I got fired,” I huff out, half pissed, half annoyed, as I toss the car keys on the center island that’s still cover
ed in newspaper from me unwrapping dishware almost two hours ago.
Her face falls. “What? Why?”
“What happened?” Ali, my sister’s best friend and our roommate, asks with equal curiosity.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I push the pile of throw blankets on our hazelnut brown microfiber couch to the floor and plop down, crossing my arms in frustration. I’m not upset at either for asking, but rather the entire situation in general. The three of us just signed this lease, and now I’m jobless. It’s depressing.
Brooke calmly walks over and sits on top of the coffee table directly in front of me, resting her hands neatly in her lap. A pile of TV cords is tangled next to her. My nose bunches at the smell of Pine-Sol from her cleaning all day. Her long, thick sandy-blonde hair is piled high on top of her head in a messy bun, small baby hairs sticking straight up. She’s wearing black yoga pants with a tight yellow sports bra showing off her petite, fit frame. Even with no makeup and dressed in some celebrity’s workout line, she’s extremely beautiful.
“Talk to me. What happened?” she urges.
“Apparently I make too many mistakes.” Like spilling a soda all over a customer’s lap and then embarrassedly try to clean it up.
Ali comes over and sinks in next to me. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and takes me into a gentle hug. “Oh, Em.”
I’ve known Ali since I was ten and she moved in next door to Brooke and I. She’s practically family, which is why I didn’t hesitate to move into this townhouse with them.
“I see,” Brooke says, responding to my too many mistakes comment. I can see the smirk on her face trying to peek through, but she does a good job pushing it away. Everyone knows I’m not the most nimble person. I can be a little clumsy at times.
“I see?” I laugh at her choice of words. “That’s all you can come up with?” My head falls backward and my eyes fall shut, with the smile from my laughter still apparent. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
Ali lets go of my shoulders and taps my knee playfully. “Look on the bright side.”
“What?” I pop one eye open to get a small glimpse at her exhausted, yet flawless face. I’m curious. Is there’s a bright side to getting fired?
“Now you can help us unpack.”
I giggle. It’s a light laugh, but it still causes my stomach to tighten and my lips to spread wide.
I look around at the empty boxes spread out across the wood floors. “It looks like you two are managing just fine without me,” I joke.
Ali laughs.
Bouncing up from the table, Brooke picks up the box she was once holding and walks into the kitchen that’s off to our right, joining in on the laughter. “Honestly, Emma, it’s not a big deal. So you got fired. We’ve all been there at least once in our life. It just took you a little longer than some to experience it.”
“I didn’t want to experience it,” I mumble.
“It’s not the end of the world.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, I stand, leaving Ali to sit alone. The once unrecognizable living room is now transformed into an actual living space with everything perfectly placed in its rightful spot. Pictures are perfectly displayed on the fireplace mantel, artwork is hanging on the walls, curtains are up, and there’s already a vibrant green plant in the corner.
“Not a big deal? How so?” I ask as I take my time walking toward her.
Her angelic eyes look me over. “You’ve worked your ass off since you were eleven, from babysitting to helping Mom and Dad to other odd jobs. You have more money in your savings account than men Ali has slept with, which is a lot.”
“Hey!” Ali exclaims, standing up. She doesn’t look offended, but rather amused.
Brooke smirks. “It sounded like a good analogy in my head.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“For real though, Em, take the semester off—or hell, the school year,” Brooke says, bringing my attention back to her. “Your schooling is paid for with your full scholarship, along with a meal plan. You’re too hard on yourself, always trying to take on too much at once. Think about how nice it would be to concentrate only on swimming for once.”
I hate when she pulls the swim card out on me. Swimming is my life. It has been since I was three years old and my mom put me in a preschool swim class. “Ugh, I hate you sometimes.” It would be nice to focus on swimming, but I know that’s not possible.
“Never. It’s impossible to hate a sister that’s this awesome.”
“While this little plan of yours sounds nice and all, you’re forgetting the lease we just signed. I still have responsibilities with bills, and that meal plan you mention is only during certain hours.” Brooke is correct when she says I have a good amount of money saved up, so technically, I could afford to take my sophomore semester off, however, growing up with parents who couldn’t afford much really taught me the importance of saving, something my sister still lacks at her age.
She looks at me with proud, yet soft eyes. “Sometimes I forget I’m the older sister.”
Brooke and I are complete opposites. She’s more of a free-spirit, while I’m definitely a planner. Even with a six year age difference, we’re very close.
“That’s why I have to act like it sometimes,” I tease.
“Ha-ha. Now go grab a box. The faster we get this shit done the faster I can get out of here for my date, and you can go out with Ali for your birthday.”
“Yes!” Ali chimes. “Come with me! It will be fun.”
“I don’t know. I think I rather stay in tonight.”
“It’s Friday,” Ali states matter-of-factly.
“Your point?” I counter.
“You can’t stay in on a Friday night. We have to go out!”
“Well, considering I’ve just been fired on my birthday, I was planning on locking myself in my bedroom, being depressed, drinking Brooke’s expensive wine straight out of the bottle, polishing off a bag of jalapeno potato chips, and getting lost in ShondaLand.”
Ali rolls her eyes.
Brooke giggles. “ShondaLand is Thursday nights, not Friday. Good try.” She doesn’t even mention the fact that I brought up the wine she’s been saving for a special occasion.
“Ah-ha! That’s the beautiful thing about Hulu. Every night is ShondaLand!” I give my best attempt at a finger point and wink, but fail miserably.
Ali and Brooke stare at me with the same “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.
“Maybe I’ll read a book,” I offer instead. Sometimes the road gets tough, but that’s why Sylvia Day created men like Gideon Cross: so women like me can escape reality and pretend for a moment that our problems don’t exist.
“You’re not staying in on your birthday. I won’t allow it. It was bad enough you were going to work.” Ali cocks her head to the side, challenging me.
“I have to get up early tomorrow.” I don’t really, but it sounds like a good excuse to get out of whatever it is Ali is trying to drag me to.
“You don’t have a job anymore to get up for,” Brooke points out, looking over her shoulder as she walks into the pantry. Thanks, Captain Obvious. “Go have fun, Em. Then maybe you and I can go shopping this weekend sometime to celebrate your birthday.”
“I have swim practice tomorrow!” I yell.
“At four,” she calls back.
I’ve never hated Brooke knowing my schedule until this moment.
Ali bounces with glee, joining in on Brooke’s quest to get me out. “When life hands you lemons, grab tequila, some salt, and drown your sorrows!”
A loud snort escapes from my throat. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes.”
“Lemonade is too boring. Patron’s more fun.”
Grabbing the remote to the iPod dock, I turn up Ke$ha to block out their voices. Picking up a box labeled Emma’s Room, I head up the small flight of stairs and close my door, locking myself in.
I’m thankful Brooke and Ali asked me to move in with them, getting me
out of the dorms that smelled like stale beer and Bath and Body Works perfume, but I’m now wondering if this wasn’t all a bad idea. They’re both already in their careers while I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. Brooke is looking for Mr. Right while Ali is still playing the field, and I’m just trying to pass exams and fit in swim practice. I think back to the dorm hall and how I at least fit in there, surrounded by girls I could relate to.
I need to find my new balance.
My gaze becomes glued on the empty white wall before me. I contemplate unpacking versus ignoring my problems for one night and going out.
Maybe spending the evening out won’t be so bad.
Maybe it’s exactly what I need.
***
I tried to get out of the evening festivities, but after I finished unpacking the boxes in my room and Brooke left on her second date this week, Ali came barging in and wouldn’t leave until I agreed to go to a masquerade-themed party for an early Halloween celebration.
“Remind me again how you know this person?” I ask, clasping together my diamond teardrop necklace that my parents gave me last year for taking first in the ACC championship and third in the NCAA Division 1 championship. They were so proud of me. It’s not a big or flashy diamond, but it’s perfect for me. A small water drop to keep close to my heart.
“A friend-of-a-friend kind of thing.” She gives a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “Apparently the mystery man your sister has been seeing told her about it, and she told me.”
I squint. “So, what you’re saying is we’re crashing the party?”
She gives me a sly smile through the mirror in our Jack and Jill bathroom upstairs. This causes me to burst out in laughter. Figures we’d be going to a party that we weren’t actually invited to.
“He told her about the party. She gave me the address. That’s all the invite I need.”
“Have you met him?” I ask.
Her ears perk up. “Who? Mystery man?