ChapterOne
The End of Cheap Noodles
It’s strange how the span of twenty seconds can feel so different depending on what’s happening. For instance, when you’re in bed with a guy and it only lasts twenty seconds, well, it might as well have only been two seconds. (I’m not naming names.)
On the other hand, when you’re sitting across the table from your boss after royally screwing up the biggest project you’ve ever been assigned, and no one has said a word for twenty seconds, that might feel more like an eternity.
Either way, you’re screwed—and it wasn’t very good.
My soon to be ex-boss, Donald Delmar, parts his lips and closes them several times before the words finally leave his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cain, but we’re letting you go.”
Knowing this was coming doesn’t make it any easier to hear. My throat tightens, and even though I told myself I would leave this job with dignity, I find myself wanting to fight this.
“I wasn’t the only one involved, you know,” I tell him.
He sighs. The corners of his lips tilt downward. It feels like I’ve disappointed him all over again. I don’t know why I care anymore, but I do. I hate disappointing people.
“Booking the caterer was your responsibility,” he reminds me.
“Okay, but you told me that the client specifically requested?—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts me. “Three hundred people sat in that ballroom waiting two hours for a dinner that cost them upwards of five hundred bucks a pop. You know how much money our client lost from this fuck-up?”
I can do the math, and it’s not pretty.
“But—”
“We’re lucky that Malcolm isn’t suing us for every penny and more,” he growls. “And the only reason we’renotgetting sued is because he made me promise to fire the person responsible.”
Malcolm Ridges is the president of ANY-Time, a charity here in Upstate New York. He was in my boss’s office this morning and even though the doors were closed, I’m pretty sure everyone in the building could hear him yelling. Knowing that he was yelling about me makes me feel even worse.
I’m afraid I’ll break down if I stay here any longer, and I’m not a pretty crier. I stand up and face away from him. “I’ll get my things.”
“No need,” he says. “Your desk has been packed up for you. You can grab the box at the front desk on your way out.”
I hesitate at the door, then look back at him. “Did you pack my tape dispenser? I need my tape dispenser.”
“The tape dispenser is company property,” he says.
I shake my head. “It was custom ordered for me,” I argue. “It’s a left-handed tape dispenser. It’s mine, and I should be able to take it with me.”
He sighs, looking down at the table like this is difficult for him. “There is no such thing as a left-handed tape dispenser,” he says. “And you’re not even left-handed.”
“You don’t know that. I could be left-handed.”
“You want it because it’s shaped like a high-heel shoe,” he says. “Besides, Rachel already claimed it. Please, just go and don’t embarrass yourself anymore, Priscilla.”
I wince, his words stinging. Still, I can’t seem to bring myself to walk out of here with dignity. “Rachel from the mail room? What does she need a tape dispenser for? She rips open envelopes. She doesn’t tape them back together.”
Delmar rubs his hand over his face like he does when he gets a headache. “I don’t know what you need it for, either. It’s not going to tape your career back together.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I find that I’m too stunned to say anything. I leave his office and slam the door. And if anyone ever asks about the missing tape dispenser… I most definitely didnotstop by the mail room on my way out.
* * *
After an unusually cold spring, this is the first warm day we’ve had all year. The spring flowers are blooming, and the leaves are finally growing back on the trees after the branches have been bare all winter. A puddle from yesterday’s rain lines the side of the road. So far, every car that’s passed has done so carefully so as not to splash me. It’s like they know that I’m having a bad day and they don’t want to make it worse. It gives me a little hope for humanity.
