2. Lissa
Lissa
The dentist where I work is in Manhattan, not too far from Times Square. It caters to patients with big budgets and bigger egos, and I hate every minute of working there.
My first three weeks on the job were a baptism of fire. Having not worked for over six years since I met James, I had no experience with anything that came across my desk. I had to constantly pretend I knew what I was doing, living every day on the edge of losing it.
Even computers had changed beyond all recognition since I had been in college, and the office’s internal systems could have been written in Chinese for how much I understood them.
But I was a fast learner, and despite the other staff being hostile toward me, I endured it all to come out on the other side.
My determination to keep getting a paycheck is the only thing keeping me there.
My boss is a gigantic bitch, and six other front office staff members have come and gone in the year I’ve worked there.
I wasn’t going to turn down the chance of a regular paycheck, even if I did have to deal with horrible people every day.
“What the fuck? You’re charging me for showing up late?”
“Yes, sir,” I say hesitantly. The guy in front of me is turning bright red. “It states in our policy that delays can be charged back to the patient.”
“What, you can’t wait for thirty minutes for me to get out of a very important meeting?”
“We have other patients who were delayed because of you.”
“I’m not paying it.”
Maria, on my left, looks up from the registration sheet she’s reading and glowers at him.
“You can choose to do so, Mr. Carter,” she says, leaning back casually in her chair, completely unfazed.
“But you did sign the paperwork stating that you had read our terms and conditions. The policy is clear. We have your card on file. We can charge it or start formal proceedings. Which would you prefer?”
I bite my tongue, wishing I had the balls to speak to people like that. Mr. Carter is almost purple now. I sit there mutely waiting for him to explode or start throwing things.
Why can’t I ever stand up for myself?
“You’re a little bitch, you know that?” he says to me, handing over another card. I hear rather than see Maria slowly stand up beside me.
“Let me just go and relay that to the head of the practice. I’m sure she’d be interested to know we’ll be terminating you as a patient due to the language you use with the staff.”
Mr. Carter rolls his eyes, scoffing at both of us as he snatches back the card I’ve charged and stalks out.
My hands are trembling violently. Every altercation like this is triggering. The tactics most men used to belittle and demean me are always the same.
I feel trampled on, weak and powerless, relying on other people to speak for me when I should have just told that guy where to shove his attitude.
I glance at Maria, who has returned to her seat. “Thanks,” I mutter awkwardly.
“No worries.”
“Is it still okay if I go to lunch now?” I ask. “I’m meeting a friend.”
“Sure. You’re going to be back by one, though, right?”
I glance at the computer monitor, my heart sinking. “That’s only forty minutes.”
“Yeah. I have to go to the bank, and it takes like twenty minutes to walk there. Sorry.”
I don’t argue, grabbing my bag and leaving the lobby through the main doors, pulling on my jacket as I head quickly along the sidewalk. I send a quick text to Bethany that our lunch will be shorter than planned.
Thankfully, we are meeting just around the corner, but when I reach the restaurant, I frown, double-checking that I’ve got the right place from the dropped pin she sent. My chest tightens when I realize it’s correct. The awning outside is dark green, classy-looking, and it even has a valet.
Fuck, this place looks expensive.
Walking inside, I tug at my skirt. The cheap suit I’m wearing certainly doesn’t stack up to the designer outfits on display as soon as I walk through the door.
I love fashion and follow the trends and catwalks religiously.
But I can’t afford anything close to the prices of the clothing.
I walk past a woman wearing Blahniks and a Celine blazer, staring at her longingly.
She looks like a swan gliding along a stream, and I’m a frog floundering past, barely able to keep my head above water.
I smile as Bethany waves from a booth on the opposite side of the room. She stands confidently, her statuesque figure perfect as ever. But, then again, she could wear a trash bag and make it look beautiful.
“Hey, gorgeous,” she says with a little grin. “I can’t believe you only have thirty minutes. I ordered for us. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course!”
“I’m picking up the check, by the way,” she says, with a smile. “So stop looking so worried.”
“Oh, thank God,” I say, lowering into the booth. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s my treat, and I picked this place. It’s nice though, right? I love the waiter’s uniforms; I could literally eat a man in a three-piece suit.”
“Have you done something different with your hair?” I ask. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” Bethany says, touching her hair. She’s wearing long diamond earrings that complement her shimmery makeup.
“Did Piechowski let you out early?” I ask, referring to Bethany’s new boss.
“Yeah. But he’s grumbling about it, as per usual. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll work for him, to be honest. He’s being kind of a douche to everybody, and I’m getting a lot of blowback.”
“I thought you loved that job.”
“I love the office. I could take or leave the man. He’s kind of overwhelming sometimes and keeps making these jokes about firing me as if I need him or something. I’m not sure he realizes how many clients have asked to have me back since I left them. I think the count is up to five now.”
She smiles at me cheerfully, and I can’t help laughing at her.
“Anyway,” she says, sitting forward and leaning her elbows on the table. “This lunch isn’t about me. What’s up? It’s not like you to spontaneously invite me out for food. Has something happened with James? I’ll fucking kill that asshole if he’s bothering you again.”
I huff a laugh, picking up my water glass as several plates of food are delivered. There are dumplings nestled on a bed of fried cabbage, beautifully cooked filet mignon, and a tiny dish of mashed potatoes that makes my mouth instantly water.
“I got that for you,” Bethany says, moving the potatoes toward me. “You know I don’t do carbs after breakfast.”
“Thank you. Everything smells amazing.”
I spoon some of the food onto my plate eagerly, realizing how hungry I am as the scent of the steak hits my nose. I only realize Bethany is staring at me when I look up, her eyes filled with concern.
“What’s going on, Liss?” she says, her own plate empty. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep last night? You said your insomnia was getting better. Did you read that book on circadian rhythms I lent you?”
I swallow a spoonful of potatoes, just to taste the creamy buttery goodness before I have to tell my best friend the horrible news. I consider starting out slowly, beating around the bush until I have to tell her the truth, but in the end, it just pours out of my mouth.
“You know how I took Henry to the doctors because of his stomach pain?” I blurt out.
Bethany nods, finally picking up a spoon and beginning to fill her plate.
“Sure, you said they were doing some tests. Has he got IBS or something?”
“No.”
Bethany pauses. I didn’t mean to make that one word sound so heavy, but it comes out hollow and raw.
She slowly lowers the spoon. “Okay,” she whispers. “So what did they find?”
The tears I have been fighting since the doctor gave me the news surge back, and I’m powerless to prevent them. My friend’s worried stare is enough to open the floodgates, and saying it aloud makes it even worse.
“Oh my God, Liss, what is it?” Bethany asks, grabbing my hand.
“He has a tumor.” Bethany sucks in a sharp, horrified breath. “But they’ve caught it early. He has to have his kidney removed.”
“It’s… It’s cancer?” Bethany asks, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed.
I nod, unable to speak, and then Bethany is moving, sliding along the booth and taking me into her arms, hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe. It still isn’t tight enough.
“Babe, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I can’t fucking believe this.”
Eventually, she lets me go, meeting my eyes with her dark brown, earnest gaze. “Listen to me, this is going to be okay.”
“I can’t afford the surgery,” I say breathlessly.
“But you have health insurance,” she says, frowning at me.
I shake my head. “It’s tied to James’s work; it’s all in his name. I even considered calling him to tell him what’s going on?—”
“Fuck that. I’ll pay for it,” she snaps, her tone dark and angry.
“No.”
Bethany blinks at me. “What? Of course I’ll help you.”
“Beth, you can’t afford it. Not right now. Not with how things are with your parents. You still don’t know how that’s going to play out, and I won’t be the reason you don’t have enough to cover it. I’ve relied on others to support me my whole life. I won’t do it again.”
Bethany shakes her head. “But it’s Hen,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’d die for that kid.”
“I know that. But I have to start standing on my own two feet.”
“You are not calling James,” she spits, her mouth a firm, angry line as she swallows.
Then, her eyes close, one hand falling away from my shoulder as she rubs at her chin. With a supreme effort, she manages to school her features into a blank expression and looks back at me.
“I mean… You can obviously do whatever you think is best, but please, I would do anything to stop you from having to see him. Anything. I know circumstances are tough right now, but?—”
“I’m not going to call James, Beth.”
She huffs loudly, sitting back against the booth, looking bewildered. “Thank God. Then what are you going to do, apply for a loan?” Bethany asks incredulously. “That’ll take a lifetime to pay back.”
“And I don’t have a credit history,” I remind her gently. “All our accounts were in James’s name.”
“That fucker.” She snarls, stabbing at her plate. “Then what? How are you going to manage it?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I look her in the eye, determinedly. “I want you to get me an interview at Sterling House.”
Bethany goes still, red lips parting before she sets her jaw.
“No,” she says firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” I demand, trying to keep my tone even. “We both know I would be able to earn enough in a year to pay for the care Henry needs. And where else am I going to get that kind of money?”
“We’ll find another way.”
“Beth—”
“No, Liss. I don’t want that life for you.”
“But you can do it?” I snap. “You really think I couldn’t handle it? Because you’re so much stronger and more worldly than me?”
She closes her eyes. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you think, though. It’s what everyone thinks. Put me in a box lined with silk and never let me do anything for myself in case I break in two.”
“Lissa, think about this. You do not want to sleep with men for money,” she says, lowering her voice to a murmur. “Your only sexual experience is with James, for fuck’s sake, and he was the shit to end all shits. I won’t let you sell yourself like that. Not after everything you’ve been through.”
“But you can?” I bite out.
“Yes. Because you might not want to hear this, but you wouldn’t have the first clue how to please a Sterling House client, and it would most likely be a horrendous experience that would only hurt you more.”
I stand up, anger coursing through me as I look down at my best friend, all hopes of a swift resolution to my problems fading with the firm, determined gaze staring back at me.
“You seriously won’t help me?” I ask, as people around the restaurant turn to look at us.
“I won’t set you up for such a heavy fall, no,” she insists. “I know this job; it’s not for you, Lissa. We’ll think of something. I’ll… I’ll ask Pippa for a new client. Someone bigger. I don’t need as much money for my parents, I can?—”
“I’m not relying on you to save me, Bethany. Not again.”
Bethany scowls in frustration. “Stop being so stubborn. I want to help.”
“The only person who’s going to help me is me. I’ve had enough of other people controlling what I can and can’t do and being indebted to everyone. I thought you were different.”
“That is completely unfair,” Bethany protests, throwing her napkin down and rising to her feet.
“Why do I even need you for this?” I ask angrily. “What if I just show up and demand Pippa interview me?”
“You can’t just walk in off the street,” she says, her eyes darting around warily. “You can’t go in there without a recommendation.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I say coldly, turning on my heel and stalking out of the restaurant toward the door.
“Liss!” Bethany shouts after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t turn.
I’m done waiting for permission to live my life. I’m going to do this, with or without Bethany’s help.