Chapter 4
Ellie
Five years later…
“This Riesling is a little dry,” Rachel makes a sour face into her glass, which is already half gone. It must not be too shabby because she’s still drinking it.
“That’s because it’s a chardonnay,” I tell her.
“Oh. Well, that explains why I hate it. Who ordered this?”
Rachel walks away from the table and approaches the mini-pop up bar, having words with the bartender who isn’t making enough to care how she feels about the wine selection.
If I had to guess, she and Chance found him on social media.
It’s where they got the caterers, the venue reservations, and DJ.
Yes, my sister is having a random dinner party and spent the money on a DJ.
“Mommy, can I have a cookie?” Luca runs up to me; his face already covered in blue frosting.
“It looks to me like you already had a cookie,” I tell him as I try to run my fingers through his dark brown hair. It’s sticky, and I give up when he winces and pulls away.
“No, I didn’t,” he argues.
“Your face says differently,” I tell him, and a slow smile crawls across his little naturally tan face.
“Fine,” he admits. “But the other kids had two cookies. Their parents let them.”
“Well, their parents aren’t exhausted and don’t have to worry about their little boys staying up all night,” I argue. They also have two parents. Not a single mom who’s worked sixty hours this week collectively from three jobs that don’t have benefits.
Luca harrumphs and heads over to the charcuterie table.
I know full well he’s just going to stuff his five-year-old little face with cheese, but it’s better than Play-Doh flavored sugar cookies.
I take another sip of my chardonnay (no, it is not Riesling.
Yes, they did order it. Because whether or not Rachel is a fan, Chance is a dry wine man, and despite her being a princess, he does find ways to get his way here and there).
I like this man. Anyone who can put up with my sister’s high-maintenance tendencies while still making her feel like the Queen of the World gets an A plus in my book and all the chardonnay they want.
Rachel and Chance have been together for years. They throw parties like this frequently, but this one is particularly over the top. Supposedly, it’s because they just bought a house and Chance got a promotion. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on.
I love seeing my sister happy. As she walks around the room, literally everyone greets her.
Her commute back to me takes longer than the New York subway system because of how much she works the room, a social trait that seemed to skip me entirely.
It’s not that I’m not good with people. I’ve worked in hospitality for years, but Rachel is popular.
She has an approachability about her. Girls want to be her.
Guys want to date her. I’m more like the HR rep of the family.
Eventually, my sister saunters back over to me in her cute little floral dress and her strappy wedge sandals. “Good party,” I say, lifting my glass to cheers her. “Did you get the wine switch straightened out?”
“Oh no. Chance ordered a case of Chardonnay behind my back when I very specifically told him this is a Riesling slash Moscato crowd. But you know how he is,” she says, downing half of her wine.
“He’s a rebel, that’s for sure,” I kid, and she giggles. She’s tipsy and happy, and I’m happy for her. She deserves it, even if it has always come easier for her than for me. “How are you doing?” I ask.
“My face hurts from smiling,” she admits through a grin.
“You wanna sneak around back? We could do pineapple upside down shots for old times’ sake,” I joke, and she laughs.
“That literally sounds amazing right now,” she admits. “Listen, I don’t mind playing the arm candy girlfriend, but once in a while, I wish I could just throw on a pair of leggings and duck behind the–”
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Chance’s voice comes over the speakers as a fork tings against glass and about a hundred and twenty people turn to the stage.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, clasping my sister’s arm in my hand.
“I have no idea,” she admits.
“Rachel, darling, would you please join me on stage?” he asks.
“Oh.” I croon, waggling my eyebrows. “You’re on.”
“Jesus,” she mutters through a flashy grin and makes her way up front.
“First of all, everyone needs to know just how much I love this woman,” Chance says.
First of all, he’s drunk…I muse.
“And I know that this is a long time coming,” he goes on, and my stomach bottoms out a little as it hits me where this is going. “As a perfectionist, I am always waiting for the stars to align. Especially considering how incredible this woman is. I mean, I am out of my league, am I not?”
Everyone reacts accordingly, and I feel like collectively we all know where this is going.
“But I realized something. Stars only stay aligned for moments in time and then it’s all up to fate again. But forever is forever, and that’s what I want with you, Rachel. I want now, I want tomorrow, I want forever.”
There it is. The entire room swoons and sniffles as Chance Latona proposes to his girlfriend of six years.
It’s true. It has been a long time coming.
The ring box pops open, the diamond blinds everyone within a fifty-foot radius, and the room erupts with sounds of celebration.
I watch as my sister, who has always glimmered, completes her life bingo card as Chance slides the ring on her finger.
After that, everything is a frenzy, and I quietly make my way out of the chaos of the main room to the bartender, who is filling champagne glasses for the mandatory toast.
“Almost done,” he tells me.
“Can I get a rum and ginger ale?” I ask.
“Oh. Not a fan of the bride to be?” he asks, pouring the drink.
“Oh, she’s my sister. I’m just not a fan of happy relationships,” I answer before thinking about it, and he spits out a laugh.
“Ouch,” he says before handing me my drink.
“No, that’s not true. I love my sister. And honestly, it’s about damn time he put a ring on it. I just…” I trail. I don’t actually know where I am going with this.
“I get it,” he says. “Living in the shadow of the golden child isn’t fun,” he says, and I narrow my eyes. Is that it? Is that what I’m feeling? Surely not.
But that night, as I tuck Luca and his blue-stained lips into bed, I can’t help but think about the bartender’s words.
Am I jealous?
I mean…I’ve never really envied Rachel that way.
I have no desire to go to la-di-da parties with the Jones’ while making social media reels about pyramid scheme products, all while having the perfect hair to tequila tolerance ratio.
I guess I’m looking for something more exciting. Less cookie cutter.
Not that I have that luxury.
I’m a single mom working two part-time desk jobs and a waitressing job just to fill in the gaps. I haven’t gotten laid in over five years, haven’t had a boyfriend in over five years and don’t expect my life to change at all in the next five years.
I make my way to the kitchen and consider pouring myself a glass of wine.
I’m feeling so low, I’m not even in the mood to drink.
Which is why when Rachel texted me about an after party, I respectfully declined, using Luca’s bedtime as an excuse.
I don’t even feel like celebrating her engagement.
It’s just another reminder that my life didn’t turn out the way I planned.
And so I do what I always do. I sit on the couch, turn on Riverdale reruns, and doomscroll through job listings.
“Hospitality. Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Cue the dump of cocktail waitressing jobs and street corner solicitors.
“Okay,” I say as I erase the search bar and start over. “Hotel jobs.”
I filter through the cleaning positions, the front desk positions, but by that time, there is almost nothing left. I’m about to give up. Everyone knows that the good places hire from within. Kind of a you-gotta-know-a-guy-with-his-foot-in-the-door-to-get-a-foot-in-the-door sort of thing.
I almost click my phone off when I think of something.
A Hail Mary if you will. I used to work a pretty high up position job for the Heights, an off the strip hotel that I literally climbed the ladder one grueling rung at a time until I hit a salary job where I had my own office and a say in the event organizing for the hotel.
That’s a big deal in the Vegas hotel world.
The Heights is also where I met my ex, Dylan.
It was also the last hotel I worked at before I got pregnant, moved out of his apartment, found my own place, and started working three smaller, less prestigious jobs.
Because as it turns out, when you break-up with someone you work with who has more sway in the company than you do simply because the corporate world is largely biased against women, you kind of have to start at the bottom again, no matter how qualified you are.
And right now, the bottom is getting a hold of an ex-coworker of mine who shared a cubicle with me back in the day.
Ellie- Hey…
Joel- Omg girl, hey!
He responds almost immediately. I’m surprised at his promptness. It’s a Saturday, and Joel and his husband have always been party animals.
Ellie- I have a wild card question for you.
Joel- Hell yeah you do! Shoot! I’m at a bachelorette party, and we are about to do shots, so I have about thirty-seven seconds left before I respectfully black the fuck out for the rest of the evening.
I smile at that.
Ellie- I’m trying to find a job.
Joel- Cocktail waitress. You have a great ass. The tips will be astronomical.
Ellie- Serious suggestions only.
Joel- Okay, okay. I heard the Redwood is hiring an assistant to the manager or some shit.
My interest peaks a little, but I don’t hold my breath.
Ellie- You mean like a secretary. Come on Joel…
Joel- No, for real. It’s a higher position. You’d be the big dog’s right-hand girl, and that hotel is hot shit. If nothing else, it’s a foot in the door. My hubby was telling me about it. Apparently, Damien Graves’ assistant position is all-inclusive.
“All inclusive?” I blurt out loud. I’ve never heard of such a thing.
Ellie- What does that mean?
Joel- Parties, benefits, lifestyle. I don’t know. But he literally said the money is insane. Hard job to get, but we’ll put in a good word for you. Gotta go! Irish Car Bombs are here.
Yuck. Okay, so I don’t envy everyone.
I google the Redwood. It’s one of the top-rated casino free hotels in the city. Swanky as fuck. There are no job listings for an all-inclusive assistant on the website, but that doesn’t surprise me. That’s not exactly something people advertise. Whatever it is.
I bite my lip, looking around my apartment.
While it’s not terrible, this is not the life I thought I’d be able to give Luca.
And it’s not the life I wanted for myself.
I open my laptop and pull up my email, linking my resume complete with a recent photo of myself to the message.
I doubt it will do any good, but I might as well try. I can’t not try.