2. Abbie
2
ABBIE
I slam our apartment door so hard the decorative dreamcatcher Tessa hung last week swings wildly. My keys clatter against the entry table, missing the little ceramic dish and skidding across the surface.
"Holy shit!" Tessa's head pops up from behind our secondhand couch, her pixie cut sticking up in all directions. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?"
"Chandler." My bag hits the floor with a thud. "Or should I say, my ex-boyfriend Chandler."
"Ex?" She vaults over the couch, nearly knocking over her half-empty cereal bowl. "Hold up. What the hell happened?"
"He dumped me. Because apparently, I'm not fun anymore." I kick off my shoes, sending them flying toward the wall. "Because getting an education and having actual goals isn't his idea of a good time."
"That idiotic trust fund baby?" Tessa snorts, crossing her arms. "Girl, I've been waiting sooo long to tell you this - he's about as deep as a kiddie pool. Good riddance."
"He called nannying a teenager job." My voice rises with each word. "Like I haven't been supporting myself since I was eighteen while he's been living off daddy's credit line."
"Honey." Tessa grabs my shoulders, her green eyes sparkling. "This is the best thing that could've happened to you. That boy was holding you back like a pair of too-tight spanx."
"I know, I just-"
"No, no 'I just.' You're smart, you're driven, and you're way too good for some frat boy who peaked in high school." She gives me a little shake. "It's time for Abbie 2.0. The one who doesn't compromise her dreams for some dude who thinks a keg stand is a life achievement."
A laugh bubbles up despite myself. "You never did like him, did you?"
"Like him? I'd rather lick a subway seat." She grins. "Now it's time for you to do you. No more scheduling your life around his parties or pretending to care about his golf scores."
"God, the golf." I collapse onto the couch. "I won't miss hearing about his putting average. What a freaking putz."
"See? Already winning." Tessa flops down beside me. “Now moving right along with Abbie 2.0, ditch the crotch goblins like you’ve wanted to for months. Let’s look for something new, exciting. Something that you’ve never tried before.”
"I just… I just need a minute," I say, squeezing Tessa in a quick hug. Her lavender essential oil tickles my nose. "Process everything, you know?"
"Take your time. I'll be here when you're ready to plot revenge or burn his stuff." She winks. "Or both. Or maybe we'll get right down to business and kick him in the balls, huh?"
I smile a wry grin as I walk toward my room, grateful for her unconditional support.
My room welcomes me with its familiar comfort - fairy lights strung across the walls, psychology textbooks stacked on my desk, and the soft purple comforter my mom gave me when I moved out. The bed creaks as I sink into it, pulling my laptop close.
The screen's glow illuminates my face as I type: "jobs in my area." No more ubering around rich brats or scheduling my life around Chandler's party schedule.
The first page of listings comes up dry. Kennel attendant at the local animal rescue? No thank you, I’m done cleaning up shit….. Baby shit, dog shit, or any shit, for that matter. The next listing for custodial engineer is out too. Really? Putting ‘engineer’ at the end of a title does nothing to spruce up the job itself. The third listing catches my eye - Barentender needed at The Velvet Room, a new speakeasy.
"No experience necessary," I read aloud, scrolling through the description. "Training provided. Shifts start at 9 PM." My finger traces the schedule requirements on the screen. "Perfect timing after psych class."
The more I read, the more it feels right. Late nights mixing drinks, meeting new people, listening to their stories - it's practically field research for my degree. Plus, the tips have to be better than what I make watching the Smithfield's kids.
"Hey Tess?" I call out, already filling out the application.
"Yeah?"
"Found one. What would you say if I told you I'm about to become a bartender?"
Her excited squeal echoes through our apartment. "I'd say it's about damn time you got a job where you can psychoanalyze drunk people instead of entitled kids!"
"That's exactly what I was thinking." I scan my answers on the screen, a smile tugging at my lips. "And the best part? No more rearranging my schedule for anyone but me."
I sit back against my pillows, scanning through the application requirements. Watching Chandler mix watered-down vodka sodas at frat parties might actually come in handy.
"Previous experience with alcohol service?" Tessa reads over my shoulder, making me jump. "Put yes. You've been making those killer margaritas since sophomore year."
"That's different. This is an actual speakeasy." My cursor hovers over the checkbox. "But you know what? Screw it. Yes."
"That's my girl!" Tessa perches on my desk, knocking over a stack of flash cards. "Oh sorry. But seriously, you're going to rock this. Remember when you organized that charity mixer for your psych club?"
"The one Chandler said was boring because we didn't have a keg?"
"Exactly. And it raised like, what, two grand?"
"Three." I type in my availability, energy buzzing through my fingertips. "And everyone loved those signature cocktails I came up with."
"The Freudian Slip!" Tessa claps her hands. "God, that was genius. Put that in your application."
My fingers fly across the keyboard, confidence building with each section I complete. "You know what? I'm actually excited about this. Like, really excited."
"Because it's perfect for you. Late nights, interesting people, putting those psychology skills to work..." She nudges my shoulder. "Plus, no more listening to Chand-blah complain about how your class schedule ruins his party plans."
"Or having to pretend I care about his golf handicap." I click through to the final page. "Maybe him dumping me was exactly what I needed."
"Sometimes the trash takes itself out." Tessa hops off the desk. "And when you get this job, I'm coming in every night to support you."
"You mean to flirt with customers and drink on my discount?"
"Can't it be both?" She winks. "Hit submit already! I have a good feeling about this!"
I hold my breath and click the button. The confirmation page pops up, and for the first time today, I feel lighter. Maybe change isn't such a bad thing after all.
"Hell yes!" Tessa bounces on my bed, making my laptop jump. "My best friend, the future mixologist extraordinaire!"
"It's just an application," I say, but can't help grinning at her enthusiasm. The mattress springs creak under her excited movements.
"Oh please, they'd be idiots not to hire you. You're like, the most responsible person I know." She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. The scent of her coconut shampoo mingles with the lavender oil she's always dabbing behind her ears. "I’m proud of you, you know that?”
“Thanks, Tess.”
"You're doing this for you. Not for some preppy boy who thinks a trust fund is a personality trait."
I laugh, returning her hug. "When did you get so wise?"
"I'm the wisest one you know, honey. I just save it for special occasions." She hops off the bed, her pixie cut catching the fairy lights. "This calls for celebration tomorrow. Brunch? My treat."
"You hate brunch."
"But you love it, and this is your moment." She backs toward the door, pointing finger guns at me. "Plus, mimosas. Gotta start practicing those drink combinations, right?"
"Get out of here," I throw a pillow at her, which she dodges with a giggle.
"Love you too!" She blows me a kiss. "Team Abbie, all the way!"
"Team Abbie," I echo softly as she disappears down the hall, her footsteps fading into her own room.
Alone now, I sink deeper into my pillows, the events of the day washing over me. The breakup that should hurt more than it does, the application that feels more like freedom than failure. My lips curve into a smile as my eyes grow heavy, thoughts drifting to possibilities of a life I never considered before today.