28. Liv
On a normal day, seeing Brad’s oversized truck in the parking lot before I arrived would’ve been a red flag.
But I chalked it up to him forgetting Daylight Saving Time.
Or something. Inside the building, I should’ve paid more attention to the way the security guard eyed me as I passed.
But the pleasant soreness throughout my body had my mind on other things.
Ash. I planned to call Kit, my grad advisor, to hash out the burgeoning idea for my outreach project and how I would pitch it to Hurst.
It was a good day.
Well, it was an okay day. Nailing down a meeting time with Dr. Hurst went poorly, and some of my data came in a little weird, but fixable. I needed to make the most of my fresh energy to see this through.
Even the rest of the day was better than usual, with Brad on, what was for him, his best behavior: no spills, no space-invading. The instruments ran smoothly, and a few email responses trickled in from the contacts Kit sent me. In all, it could’ve been worse.
Right until I logged in to my email to see a new meeting invitation for four-thirty. It was four twenty-six. Shit.
If cursing at Brad as he poked his head in my door would've helped, I would've cussed him up one side and down the other.
“Hi, Livy. How are you?" Drawing the words out made his question suspicious, but there was no time to mull it over.
"Late for a meeting." A few papers skittered off my desk as I shoved my chair back.
"We should hang out. Talk. Drinks tonight?" Brad stared as I leaned down to retrieve the papers. Heaven forbid he help.
"Can't tonight. Hockey game."
His body took up the doorway, blocking my exit. "Right."
“Well, this was weird, but I’m late." Making a ‘move along' gesture at him, I waited for him to leave.
When he didn’t, I stepped forward into his space the way he always did to me. “I have a meeting. Right now."
Finally, he moved. Yes, the guy was obtuse, but this was a new level. I didn't have time to ponder it as I speed-walked to Dr. Hurst’s office.
Dr. Hurst’s scratchy voice called to close the door and take a seat. Nearly hidden behind his enormous computer setup, I struggled to see him beyond it.
"Olivia."
"Dr. Hurst." I was too tired for another "smile more" meeting. Seriously. My data was finally trending in the right direction, barring today’s minor blip, and I had at least another hour of analyses left before finishing for the day.
In my pocket, my phone began vibrating, dragging my attention away from the conversation.
"This is never easy to do, but we're going to have to let you go."
* * *
Shock still wrapped burning fingers around my chest as I grabbed my bag off my desk on autopilot. My phone kept buzzing, so I answered in a daze when my feet hit the parking lot.
“Hello?”
Thankfully, Dad didn’t seem to notice the tremor in my voice.
“Livy! Good news!”
Instant relief swelled through me, twisting with the icy panic I hadn’t been able to process in the past five minutes. “What’s going on?” I asked on an exhale.
“They’re letting me out!”
Dread returned, curdling with all the other emotions lying in wait. “But, Dad, you’re not supposed to be done with therapy for another couple of weeks.”
We planned for this. I took the second half of December off, since it was a slow month.
Everything was wonky in December, with it being between the end of the fiscal year and the start of the calendar year, and all I’d need to be present for was online meetings I planned to attend between packing boxes.
Not that it mattered, now.
His release and my new jobless status threw everything off. A mile-long to-do list got longer, new items appearing on my mental agenda with the frequency of my rapid pulse.
“When do you have to move out?” I accidentally cut Dad off in the middle of a sentence. We didn’t have a new place lined up for him yet; one more thing to add to the list.
“Olivia.”
I winced, realizing I used my ‘Business Bitch’ voice on my father.
“Sorry, I need to know so I can figure some things out.”
“Livy.” Dad’s voice came out a shade under exasperation. “You don’t have to be here for every little thing.”
I did. If I didn’t—what if it all went wrong again? And now, I had nowhere else to go.
“I want to be there for you. I can help.” Needed to.
“I’m an adult, you know.”
“So am I, Dad.” A jobless adult, but still.
“I’m not sure that’s the comeback you think it is. Fine. Doc says I’m cleared, and I’ve paid through the end of the month.”
“The end of the month,” I repeated as I absently tapped the calendar on my watch. “The end of this month? In two days?” The shrillness of my voice echoed back through the phone.
“I told you, Livy, you don’t have to?—”
“Dad. I will make it work, okay? I’ll make it work. I have to go.”
“Love you, Kiddo.”
“Love you too.”
When I disconnected the call, I strode purposefully to my car, locked it, and gave myself precisely three minutes to spiral.
Or at least three minutes to wallow, because the spiraling wouldn’t end after three minutes were up, but I wouldn’t have enough time to drown in it.
Even though the chest-heaving, gasping sobs wracking my body left me drained mentally and physically, I pulled myself together when my timer rang out. Mostly. A few pats of a Kleenex and the physical evidence of my freakout disappeared. A few taps on my phone, and I found last-minute plane tickets.
This was how I survived—breaking everything into pieces when I was in pieces. Symmetry, right? But it worked. Plus, I got the satisfaction of crossing items off my mental list.
Because I didn’t have time to make a real one.
In an instant, something inside me snapped.
All the months of pent-up anger, the fake smiles I’d pasted on to make my coworkers comfortable, the months of Brad .
The last-minute change of plans with no warning and losing my fucking job.
Rage skipped down my limbs in little jerks; my shaking hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip I wished was on someone’s neck.
I drove, seething the whole way, to the one person who might make this shit day better.