Chapter 3
Chapter three
Madison
“What do you mean ‘let go’?” I ask, incredulous.
“I mean that today is your last day with the company. You’ll have three months of severance, but we expect you to have things wrapped up and cleaned out by the end of the day,” Chad says. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of glee in his voice.
“But why are you firing me? I’ve never been written up. Has my quality of work dipped?” I ask, demanding more answers. I turn my gaze to Mr. Douglas, the COO and Chad’s boss. “What grounds do you have to terminate my employment?”
Chad heaves an annoyed sigh, but Mr. Douglas at least has the decency to look uncomfortable. Mr. Douglas is the one to respond, “Don’t think of it so much that you’re being fired as your position is being eliminated. We’ll happily give you a glowing reference as you seek new employment.”
I narrow my eyes as I pull my hair into a ponytail. “What do you mean the position is being eliminated? You can’t send out hundreds of pieces of mail each month without them being proofread first. That would be absurd. Clients will riot.”
“I have it handled,” Chad replies with a huff. “I know how to do my job.”
After shooting daggers at Chad, I turn my gaze back to Mr. Douglas, staring until he offers more of an explanation. I’ve worked for WritInc for seven years with no complaints against me. I’m far too meticulous and dedicated to my work to receive any criticism.
I deserve an explanation.
Mr. Douglas finally cracks, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He clears his throat before saying, “Chad has assured me that we can utilize AI tools in the final proofreading step of our content creation process.”
My blood begins the rapid-boil process. “You’re replacing me with AI?” I clarify, stuffing down my anger to keep from yelling.
Chad rolls his eyes as though I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum. “It’s a simple way to cut costs and make our process more efficient. This is a business, not a charity, after all. The bottom line is the bottom line.”
“Well, now, it’s not quite so cut-and-dried as that,” Mr. Douglas cuts in, a feeble attempt to soften the blow of Chad’s statement. “But the owner of WritInc has asked me to eliminate unnecessary spending, and Chad convinced me that—”
“That I’m unnecessary?” I blurt.
“Stop acting like you’re a victim here, Madison,” Chad says.
“It’s not personal—it’s business. We were told to make some moves to cut expenses during the first quarter, and it’s nearly the end of February.
It’s not like we let you go right before Christmas.
The severance package is generous, and as Mr. Douglas said, we’ll provide a positive reference to help you on your way.
If you need any assistance packing up today, let me know. ”
“You think this is just business, but this is a bad business move. I catch all sorts of errors that AI won’t recognize as mistakes.
You’re going to send out subquality content and upset our customers.
This is a stupid decision,” I insist. Chad only glares.
I cut one final glance to Mr. Douglas, willing him to step up and reverse this course. He averts his gaze.
“I won’t be needing your help, Chad,” I seethe as I rise to my feet. “I’ve always been perfectly capable of completing my work on my own.”
Spinning on one heel, I storm out of Mr. Douglas’ office. With each step I take toward my cubicle, I tamp down the anger welling up behind my eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not give Chad the satisfaction.
When I open the door of our small rental house, I’m met with the smell of burnt . . . sewage? My brain doesn’t even have a classification for whatever this scent is. I’m afraid to know what Ivy is doing, but I’m more afraid to not know what Ivy is doing.
Poking my head into the galley kitchen, I find her muttering to herself in front of the stove. The exhaust fan is on, and something black sits on a plate next to the stove.
“Um, what happened here?” I dare to ask.
Ivy looks over at me. “I saw a recipe to make crispy durian, but I think I heated the coconut oil too high, and the whole thing burnt. My date tonight is vegan but an adventurous eater, so I wanted to show him I’m a versatile cook.”
Versatile, maybe. Cook, no. Of the three of us roommates, I’m typically the one who cooks meals.
Except now it’s just the two of us. Amy moved out last week, leaving me alone with Ivy.
I’ve hemmed and hawed over whether to move out or find a new roommate to balance out Ivy’s .
. . Ivy-ness. But this is the final straw.
I’m ready for a permanent respite from Ivy.
Not to mention I won’t be able to afford rent in a couple of months.
“Ivy, I’m not going to renew our lease. I’ve decided to find somewhere else in the metro to live,” I declare.
She glances over at me and gives an indifferent shrug.
“No problem. If all goes well on the date tonight, maybe I’ll move in with him.
” Ivy looks back to the blackened pan in front of her.
“Maybe I’ll suggest we try that new vegan restaurant that just opened.
” She pulls out her phone and walks away toward her room, texting as she goes.
Making zero moves to clean up the mess (and smell) she’s left behind.
My eye twitches as I fight the instinct to dispose of her experiment and hose down the kitchen. It’s not your problem. Make her do it.
I close myself in my room and drip some lemon and peppermint oils into my diffuser to try to cover up the smell, at least in my little space. Flopping spread-eagle across my navy bedspread, I groan. When that’s not enough, I cover my face with one of the coral throw pillows so I can full-on scream.
What could I have done differently to prove my worth? How could Mr. Douglas listen to Chad’s stupid advice? Using AI is a terrible idea. I’m light-years better than AI. Aren’t I? How could I have worked harder to prevent this from happening? What did I do wrong?
Rolling onto my stomach, I attempt to smother my thoughts but really only succeed in smothering my mouth and nose. Grumbling, I sit up and grab my phone.
ME
Free to chat??
CLARA
We’re on our way home from checking in on Pops. I’ll call you as soon as we get to the cabin.
Pops, the elderly man who serves as a surrogate grandfather to Clark, is cantankerous in the most superlative way. I love him.
His house is only a few minutes away from Clara’s cabin—everything in Noel is only a few minutes away—so I know it won’t be long until she calls.
As I wait, I start to regret reaching out to her in the first place.
I don’t want her to feel guilty for leaving WritInc.
Even if this never, ever would have happened on her watch.
Replace a professional proofreader with AI?
Clara would never.
But she’s my best friend, and everything about my life is falling apart. I’m not usually one for overly-dramatic theatrics, but losing your job and the roof over your head on the same day seems to land fairly high on the “life-falling-apart” scale.
Even though I technically chose to lose the roof over my head. Ivy and her shenanigans forced my hand.
When my phone rings, I answer it by saying, “I was fired today, Ivy nearly burned down the kitchen with horrid-smelling fruit, and I’m going to be homeless in two weeks. My entire life is a giant failure.”
“Wait, hold on,” Clara responds. “Back up a second. What do you mean you were fired?”
“I mean that Chad, the heartless robot who replaced you, convinced Mr. Douglas that I could also be replaced by a robot,” I say, launching into an explanation of my crappy day.
Clara responds with frequent gasps of shock and hums of sympathy, making me feel like maybe I’m being just the right amount of dramatic.
“Mads, this is terrible! Oh, I never should have left WritInc! If I was still there, this absolutely would not have happened,” Clara says, genuine remorse in her tone.
“Stop it,” I chide. “We’ve been over this so many times.
You deserved to chase your dreams. And they’re coming true!
As much as I hated you leaving, it was the right thing to do.
I only wish that Mr. Douglas had found someone other than Evil Chad to fill your position.
” I sigh. “What am I going to do, Clara? I have some savings built up and a severance package, but this feels like I’m starting back at ground zero.
Nowhere to live. Nowhere to work. I’m twenty-nine years old—I shouldn’t be homeless and jobless! ”
“Take a deep breath. We’re going to figure out a solution. What do you want to do?” Clara asks.
I swallow down the fear that knots my throat at her question. Because I’m not sure I have any clue what I want to do.
“I guess I’ll start searching for open positions tonight.
I’m nervous that more and more places will be going this direction, though.
How hard will it be to find a proofreading position?
” I wonder aloud. I’ve never really been interested in writing original content—I like perfecting content.
Apparently, the demand for my particular talent is dying out.
Clara makes a disapproving noise. “You didn’t answer my question. I asked what you want to do?”
I’m silent for a beat, searching my mind for a response other than the big, fat “I don’t know” that’s front and center in my thoughts.
“That’s not the most important question right now,” I redirect. “What I need to do is find any reliable position that offers insurance and a steady paycheck and job security.”
Clara is quiet, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad sign for me.
I put the call on speaker and sit up to pull my hair back into a ponytail.
I stare at my fingernails, painted a shade of plum, except for the middle fingers, which are painted blush pink.
I used to follow the trend of painting each ring finger in a complementary color, but after Chad started working at WritInc, I switched to my middle fingers.
My tiny form of silent protest while I had to play nice to my superior.
Too bad “playing nice” got me nowhere.
“Mads, you were always so insistent about me chasing my dreams. You constantly pushed me to stop helping everyone else and go after what I wanted,” Clara begins. I hold my breath. “But have you ever even stopped doing what you should do long enough to figure out what your dream is?”
I huff. “As happy as I am that you’re living your movie-script-writing dream, not everyone has to have a big dream to live. Sometimes it’s okay to put your head down and just clock-in and clock-out of a mundane job. Sometimes the right thing to do is the responsible thing,” I reason.
“But always doing the ‘responsible’ thing doesn’t make you immune from the rug being pulled out from under you,” Clara says, and I can hear the air quotes in her voice. “Just look at today,” she adds.
I grunt. Since when do I grunt? Why did I just grunt?
“Hit a little close to home?” Clara asks, voice dancing.
“I don’t know the right answer here,” I say. A feeling I strongly dislike.
“Well, it seems like the stars have all aligned to give you a window of freedom to explore the possibility of chasing a dream. Why not try going out on your own with editing and see where it takes you?”
I dismiss the suggestion. “You mean offering independent editing services? That’s so risky. Who’s to say I could ever find enough independent proofreading jobs to make a livable income?”
“Who’s to say you can’t?” Clara counters.
“You know, cost of living in Kansas City isn’t exactly cheap,” I grumble.
Clara gasps. “Come stay in Noel for a little bit while you give it a go!” When I audibly scoff, she doubles down.
“I’m serious! The cabins that James rents out for Christmas Fest and the summer float season are sitting empty right now.
Maybe he’d let you stay in one for a couple of months while you mine the depths of your soul, searching for your dream. ”
I roll my eyes but stifle a smile. “You’ve been writing too many Christmas-miracle movie scripts.”
“I’m serious, Mads,” Clara says. “I’ll talk with James. What would it hurt to come here for a couple of months and see if you can get some traction? Dip your toe in and see if an independent career could be the dream you didn’t know you had?”
When I don’t immediately say no, I’m shocked to realize my subconscious is actually considering this option.
This makes no sense, though. Revamping your résumé and applying for every open position you can find would be the much more responsible way to approach this setback.
Networking to find someone looking for a roommate.
Consider moving back home if you can’t find an affordable housing option—that would be responsible.
My mind recoils from the thought.
“No.” I don’t realize I've said the word aloud until Clara tries to argue. “Wait, I wasn’t saying ‘no’ to you. I was saying ‘no’ to my thoughts.”
Because I don’t want to move back home. If that’s the “responsible” thing to do, then call me irresponsible.
“Okay. Talk to James, and let me know what he says,” I tell Clara, and she squeals. “I’m not saying this is my long-term solution, but I’m willing to give it a brief trial run.”