It had taken HR only a day to schedule the call with Addison Marshall, my potential manager, though I’d entertained the hope that maybe they wouldn’t reach back out at all. If they hadn’t, it would be so easy to pretend that the end of summer was still some far-off thing. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have to face reality for a few more weeks. But HR had responded, and the interview went great, and Addison was lovely.
“I’m already charmed by you, Josephine, and I know the team will be thrilled to meet you, too,” she had said. “I’ll be in touch soon to schedule the next round. It wassonice to meet you today.” Her honey-brown hair, expensively dyed and styled in a topknot on her head, bounced from side to side with her little shimmy of enthusiasm.
I’d exchanged some pleasantry I can’t remember now and kept the smile frozen on my face until I was sure that the virtual meeting had ended and my camera was off. Then I’d leapt into my unmade bed with Howard curled up next to a pillow, buried my face into his belly, and silently screamed. Liam had found me like thatafter work and tempted me downstairs with the promise of milkshakes he’d picked up on his way home.
Now I slouch into the couch cushions and squeeze the bridge of my nose until the pain forces me to let go. Liam sits across from me with Howard on his lap, the two of them patiently waiting for the rundown.
“It went well,” I say. “It went really, really well. It’s everything I could ever want, Liam.”
With this job, I’d have more agency in which projects I worked on, my own direct report, a seat of leadership among the team…everything I never got when I was at Incite. Everything I’d spent so many years working toward.
God, and so much money.
I push my glasses into my hair and cover my eyes with my hand. “I could afford my own apartment,” I say wistfully before looking at him. “I could ditch my bitchy roommates and get a little studio. My commute would be shorter, I could find a grocery store that’s not seven blocks away, I could adopt the cat I always said I wanted, but…”
His head dips gently to the side. “But what?”
“I just didn’t think it would happen this fast.”
The thought of sliding back into a marketing role so soon…There would be familiarity in the routine, yes. I know the industry inside and out, and I’m aware of its expectations, intricacies, and weaknesses. Just like slipping into Jaylie’s skin, I know exactly how to shift back into Josephine. I’ve got a costume and everything: my killer black pencil skirt that makes my ass look amazing, the magenta blazer that I always wear when I need an extra burst of confidence, and tall clicking heels that make me feel powerful. I know the steps to the song and dance, I know how to pitch, and I know how to convince and when to push.
Addison’s description of the job sounded simple. Theoretically, I could do it in my sleep.
But I’d thought the same about Incite. And then, when they really increased the pressure, I couldn’t take it. I broke.
“After everything that happened, I don’t—Liam, I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Liam’s expression goes gentle in a way that immediately has my hackles up. “Just because Incite didn’t end well doesn’t mean it’ll be the same this time. Sometimes layoffs—”
“It wasn’t layoffs,” I snap. I can’t believe I’m finally saying it.
“What?”
“I wasn’t laid off from Incite,” I say carefully. It’s the first time I’ve ever given the words voice, and each one tastes more bitter than the last.
“I was fired.”
He exhales a soft laugh, as if to ease the sudden tension. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“It’s not,” I insist. “I wasn’t let go because of budget cuts or whatever, like I’d said. I—I lied, Liam, I’m sorry. But it was my fault. I deserved it.”
I squint, as if that might be enough to keep the tears currently flooding my eyes from escaping. The stress of the interview, of these choices, of holding the truth of this in—
“It wasn’t bad luck at all. It wasme.”
Liam’s brows draw together in concern. “Tell me what happened.”
And I do.
My vision narrows and I’m suddenly back there again. I’m on the subway at 9p.m., heading home after a long day of bombing a pitch meeting, being chewed out by my manager, and forgetting lunch. It’s not the worst day I’ve ever had at Incite, but it’s top five at least. There’s a coffee stain on my magenta blazer from where Ispilled my fourth cup of the day. My laptop is tucked into the tote bag at my side. Even after I stayed so late, there is still so much of my presentation I have to fix, and my team needs the new draft in their inbox by tomorrow morning.
I go home, burrow myself under the comforter of my twin bed (it’s the only size that fits in my tiny room), and pull open my laptop. I keep the other lights off, so the square screen alone illuminates my face. My mind blank and empty, I stare at the screen for a good hour before I drift off to sleep.
The next day, I don’t send the presentation. I don’t go to work, and I don’t get out of bed except to pee.
The following day is the same. I don’t even open my laptop, but it glares at me from where I’ve pushed it to the corner of the bed.
A week passes like this. My manager sends me dozens of texts and calls me twice as many times. I email to tell her I’m sick. I never pick up the phone. I haven’t showered yet. Last week’s paycheck funds food delivery after food delivery.
