Chapter 2
TWO
The entire drive back to my place, I force my mind to stay on a positive track. Anytime it veers off, I remind myself that the universe has made my decision for me, and I’m sticking with it. It’s not me making irrational, off-the-cuff life choices: it’s the universe.
I am so lucky, and everything works out for me.
The second I walk through the front door of my shitty apartment, I set my bag down and bring my laptop to the kitchen.
Without giving myself another moment to overthink, I send off an email, accepting being laid off for a year and thus taking the leap into the unknown.
With each word I type, a bit of the tension leaves my chest, signaling I’m maybe-probably making the right choice.
Finally, I hit send, slam my laptop shut, take a deep breath, let it go, and stare at the wall for a minute.
I did it.
Thursday will be my last day of teaching for over a year.
I quit my job, in a way.
Relief washes over me as I realize it means I won’t have to be a teacher for a year. Quickly on its heels, panic surges in.
I just quit my job.
I quit my job with absolutely no safety net. I might have savings and low overhead, but I do have bills to pay.
I just quit my job.
In a rush, I reopen my computer, trying to see if the unsend feature is still active, only to see Mrs. Jones has already replied with a cheery, “Great, thank you so much for understanding! Excited for you to come back to Seaside Point Elementary next fall!”
I just quit my fucking job.
Then, I do what every girl on the verge of a meltdown does: I call my best friends.
In less than thirty minutes, Claire and Lainey are at my place, Lainey having asked her dad to cover for the night at the bar the second she heard the panic in my voice.
They sit on my couch while I pace, running my hands through my hair over and over as I tell them everything that happened in the last three hours.
When I get through telling them how I sent an email quitting my job without even thinking it through, I finally stop and look at them with wide eyes.
“So, now I’m freaking out.” My throat is tight, on the verge of tears that I’ve been barely keeping at bay.
They just stare at me, Claire looking intrigued, Lainey looking shocked.
I expect utter chaos to erupt, a mix of what-the-hell-were-you-thinking and why-didn’t-you-call-us?
I expect them to be shocked and panicked, the way I feel right now, maybe even disappointed, which I fear most of all, but instead, they… smile.
“June, this is the luckiest thing that has ever happened to you,” Claire says after a moment.
“Claire, I just lost my job,” I remind her, flopping into the old, beat-up armchair across from her that was my grandma’s.
It has small specks of paint on the left arm from when she used to paint, and a few more on the right from my own art projects.
Even though it doesn’t fit in with my decor at all, I’ll keep it until it’s falling apart.
Both of my grandparents passed almost six years ago, barely two months in between them, and I still cling to the small things I have left of them.
In response to my accusation, Lainey sighs and rolls her eyes.
“Let’s not be dramatic, you didn't lose your job. You were laid off and given the opportunity to take an alternative job if you wanted.” She’s always the logical one of the three of us and the most likely to quickly sift through any bullshit.
“Yeah, a job in another town an hour away. I couldn’t just completely upheave my life like that,” I say, draping an arm over my eyes in defeat.
“You could have and would have if you loved teaching. But the mere fact that you aren’t even thinking of that as a viable option tells me everything I need to know.
I, for one, am relieved you’re taking a break.
” My brows furrow, not understanding. Her face goes soft before she lands her next blow.
“June, you’ve been so burnt out it’s scary. ”
My tongue dips out to wet my suddenly dry lips, unable to argue her point because she’s right: I am burnt out. Part of that is because that’s the reality of being a public elementary school teacher, but in my gut, I’ve known for a long time that that burnout wasn’t just the reality of teaching.
It was something more. Something that no amount of summers off would repair. If I really think about it and am honest with myself, I’ve needed a break for a while.
“I love you, June, like a sister, but you’re not happy,” Claire adds, her voice gentle, but her words still strike me directly in my chest, knocking the breath out of me.
“For as long as I’ve known you, you told me you wanted to be a teacher, but do you really?
Did you really want to be a teacher all your life, or did you just fall into it, and everybody convinced you that’s where you should be?
” I glare at her, despising the kernels of truth in her words.
Everyone tells you that having best friends who know you is so great, but they conveniently leave out how they will absolutely call you out on your bullshit when you don’t want to hear it.
“I hate that you found your dream life,” I grumble instead of acknowledging her truth.
A year ago, Claire came to Seaside Point to work as a lifeguard as her one last hurrah of chaos and freedom before she forced herself to, in her words, get a big girl job.
Thankfully, while she was here, she fell in love with my brother’s best friend, who also happened to be her ex’s older brother, and fell into her dream job of managing the Recreation Department.
“And I hate that you haven’t found yours,” she says, that same softness in her words. “I want you to have it too, June. You, more than anyone else, deserve to live your dream life.”
“You’re the kindest, sweetest person I know. It kills me to see you not enjoying every day, but pretending you are for everyone else’s benefit,” Lainey agrees.
I contemplate denying their words, but where would that even get me?
“How long have you guys known?” I ask instead. I’ve held the truth in for so long, and as I admit it in this small way, a weight leaves my chest. Lainey lifts a shoulder in response and gives me a sad smile.
“A while. You wear every emotion on your face, and we’re your best friends. We can tell when you’re lying, even if the person you’re lying to is yourself.”
“You never said anything,” I say, picking some imaginary lint off the yoga pants I changed into while I waited for the girls to get here.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to hear it. It’s like when I was dating Paul,” Claire explains.
My nose scrunches up because her ex-boyfriend was the absolute worst. “And it wasn’t the right time.
You wouldn’t have changed anything. It would have just stressed you out more, knowing we knew you were miserable, especially if you had nothing pushing you to make a change.
But now you do.” There’s a gentle smile on her face now, like she’s trying to keep her excitement at bay.
“This is the perfect solution, June, and you know it. You can spend the next year doing…anything.”
“And if you find yourself missing teaching, desperate to get back, you’ll have a position waiting for you next fall,” Lainey adds, speaking the logic I’ve been telling myself aloud.
“But this way, you can make sure that’s the case.
It would be terrible to spend your entire life doing something just because it’s the safe option.
” I know what they’re saying is the truth: it’s how I sold myself on this decision after all, but it doesn’t make this any easier in the present.
“What am I even going to do for the next year? As sunshine and rainbows as you both are being about this, I need a job. I have bills to pay.”
“Of course. Get a job. Pay your bills. But now, you have the opportunity and, most importantly, the time and energy, to do whatever you want. Something different and exciting, something that makes you happy,” Claire says.
“I thought I was doing what I wanted to do. How the hell do I know what will make me happy?”
Claire and Lainey look at each other, an assessing look passing between them before Claire nods softly and Lainey turns to me. Her face is firm now, and I know in my gut I’m not going to like whatever they’ve just silently communicated.
”You could try to sell your paintings,” she says, and I groan, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “Oh, come on. The whole reason you haven't been doing it is that you don't have enough time. Now you have time to do it. You're an amazing artist, June, and—”
I cut her off, having heard this argument a dozen times.
“I love the confidence, but that’s not a career. Art doesn’t pay the bills,” I say with a laugh, shaking my head. It’s a lesson I watched play out over and over through my childhood, and a lesson I refuse to learn firsthand.
Art is a hobby.
Art is a stress reliever.
Art is not a career. Art is not something you can rely on, and surely not something that can support a family when the time comes.
“Not when you refuse to try and make it pay the bills,” Claire says.
She’s been the most adamant about encouraging me to start a small shop and list my paintings.
Over winter break last year, she even went so far as to help me set one up, but I chickened out before I could even go live.
I allowed myself toget wrapped back up in school and after-school obligations, lesson plans, and grading papers, so I never touched it again.
“Claire…” I start, but her eyes are fierce on me,