17
“Lucy, I’m going to have to let you go.”
I freeze, my pen hovering just above the page.
What?
“Our schedules are no longer aligning,” she continues. “I need someone who can work with my hours. I have someone lined up already. She’ll be coming in starting on Monday. I’d like for you to stay on another month to work with her and train her.”
I feel paralyzed, stuck to the chair. My eyes are wide, and I’m starting to sweat as a weird, panicky feeling settles over me.
I’m fired? How? How is this happening?
She said my request was fine, that we could work something out. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I’ve been here four years. I’ve tried to be the best personal assistant I could possibly be. She’s just letting me go? Without warning? Just… just like that?
She’s still talking. I’m hardly registering what she’s saying.
“If necessary, we can stretch things to two more months.”
“No,” I hear myself speak. My throat is tight. Am I about to cry? No, I won’t cry in front of Monica. “One month is fine.”
What is happening?
“You’ve been here three years. I’m sure there are plenty of responsibilities I’ve given you that I’ve forgotten about. I’ll need you to make a list of all the tasks you do that you can think of and give that list to me. I’d also like for you to go through that list with your replacement as you’re training her.”
Four. It’s been four years, not three.
Four years I spent completely dedicated to this job, to assisting her.
“Okay.” I keep my responses short. I refuse to cry.
“I can write you a letter of recommendation if you need it.”
“Thank you.”
“For today, I need you to—”
What am I going to do? Where am I going to work? How am I going to pay rent?
I have my savings. They should be enough for a while.
She’s talking. What is she saying? Oh, my tasks for the day. She’s giving me tasks. Are you serious? She’s giving me tasks after just telling me I’m being let go? I can’t…
Lucy. Focus.
I grab my notebook, nodding mechanically and scribbling the things she’s listing off for me to take care of. I know I missed one or two, but I can’t bring myself to ask what they were. My heart is pounding, I’m reeling, and it feels like the world is spinning. Right now, it’s taking everything I have just to keep from crying.
Monica falls silent. I think she must be done. I stand to leave as she dismisses me.
I make it back to my desk and lower myself into my chair, feeling like my world is crashing down around me. I really need to cry. My eyes are stinging, my throat is tight. I’d step outside, but Monica is still here.
I hear her typing away on her keyboard in her office. I stare at my laptop, pretending to be working, but my mind is racing in a hundred different directions. Monica calls out, asking me something about checks I deposited yesterday. I answer her, pitching my voice higher than usual in an effort to keep it from wobbling.
Thirty minutes pass, and finally, she leaves the office. I wait a few extra minutes to allow time for her to drive away, then I stand and rush for the door, keeping my gaze straight ahead. I pass by Macy in a rush. She says my name, but I don’t stop.
I make it to my car, climb in, and lock the doors behind me.
I sit in the backseat, hugging my knees to myself. At first, I just stare, lost in shock. I don’t understand. Where did that come from? In the blink of an eye, the life I’ve known the last four years… it’s over.
Reality begins to set in, and I start to cry, tears falling like a waterfall down my face, wetting my jeans as they drip off my cheeks. Confusion and hurt and anger all twist in my insides, a tornado of emotion.
What am I doing? Why am I crying? I should be happy, right? I didn’t like my job. I’m free, now. But I don’t feel happy. I feel terrified. Because I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Everyone else was right. I was the Monica Harper’s personal assistant. Why would I ever give up a job like that? How could I have been so stupid and shortsighted and jeopardized my position?
Now, I’m just Lucy Greene, with no idea what to do next.
I sniffle in the backseat, still reeling in utter bewilderment. I stare out the windows as my tears continue to fall, not looking at anything in particular. I don’t know what to do.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I look down through bleary eyes to see a text from Monica, adding another task for me to take care of today. Her life goes on.
I glance at the office doors. I can’t go back in there. I can’t.
But I have to. The work day isn’t over yet, and I’m still on the clock.
I take deep breaths, trying to steady my shuddering attempts at breathing. I fish around in my glovebox for some disposable napkins, which I use to clean up my face. This is one of those times I’m thankful I don’t usually wear makeup. After taking a few more seconds to try and collect myself, I leave the safety and relative privacy of my car behind.
As I step back inside, I’m grateful to see that the receptionist desk is empty. Macy must have gone to the bathroom. I use my keycard to unlock the door, then hustle to my desk. I keep my head down the rest of the day, avoiding everyone. When I leave, I hold the phone up to my ear, acting like I’m on a call as I pass by Macy so that she’s unable to ask about me rushing out earlier.
I plop behind the driver’s seat, tears taking over again as I stare at the steering wheel.
My voice is a whisper. “What do I do?”
My phone buzzes as I receive a text from Scott.
Scott.
I snatch up my phone, not even reading his message as I send him a question.
Me: Can I come over?
Scott: Of course. You okay?
Me: No.
Scott: I’ll be here.
Scott opens the door to the apartment, his eyebrows knit together in worry.
“Lucy, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat constricts, and I can’t get the words out. Scott pulls me into a hug, letting me cry against his chest, creating splotches of tears soaked into his shirt. He rubs my back as he holds me, not pushing me to talk until I’m ready.
As my sobs lessen, he releases me, and I step back.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I lost my job.”
“What?” His brow furrows as he stares at me.
“Monica is letting me go. She said she needs someone whose schedule works with hers. I’m supposed to start training the new person on Monday. What am I going to do?”
“Are you serious?”
I nod, more tears falling. “I worked so hard for her. I tried so hard to do my best. I did everything she asked. I thought… I thought…” I hiccup as another sob escapes. “What am I going to do? I don’t have any other jobs lined up. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Panic sets in again. Scott is silent for awhile. I stare at the floor, swiping at my eyes and trying to stop the flow of tears.
“Isn’t this… sort of a good thing?”
My head snaps up to face him.
“What?”
“You were miserable at that job. I watched you being miserable. Isn’t being done with it a good thing?”
Amidst all the panic and hurt roiling in my insides, another emotion rears its ugly head: anger.
“A good thing? How on earth is this a good thing?” I say. “Scott, I lost my job, and I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do now.”
“But now you have a chance to figure it out. Everyone convinced you to stay at that job, so you didn’t even consider anything else. Now, you can.”
I swallow, my frustration building. “I have to pay rent. I have to buy groceries and gas. I have a car payment! I don’t have the luxury of messing around and wasting time ‘finding myself!’”
“Trying to figure out what you want to do isn’t a waste of time.”
“My life isn’t like yours, Scott!” I clench my fists. “I’m not you! I don’t live in a world where dreams come true and everything works out!” I rub my face in my hands, letting out a frustrated groan. “I should have listened to my parents and everyone else. I never should have asked to change my schedule. I should have sucked it up and dealt with a job I hated like everyone else does.”
“Lucy, why are you doing this? You’re acting like your life is over. It’s just one job. It doesn’t matter! You’ll get another one.”
“It doesn’t matter?” My eyes flash. “The fact that I gave up so much of my personal life for this job the last four years doesn't matter?” I glare at him, then shake my head, scoffing at myself. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t matter. Monica let me go the second I was no longer at her beck and call. No matter how hard I could have worked, I never would have mattered. It was all just a business transaction, and I was stupid to care so much about it.”
The tears start again. I stare at the floor, running my hand through my hair. “What am I going to do?”
“You’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry.”
I snort. “Easy for you to say.”
Scott frowns, a flash of frustration in his eyes. “I’m trying to help you, Lucy. I don’t know why you think things just magically work out for me, because they don’t. I’ve worked hard, too. I’m not in any different position from you.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve known what you wanted to do ever since I met you. Things come so naturally and easily to you. I’m not like that. I’ve never been like that.”
“Why do you keep saying those things about yourself?”
“Because they’re true!”
“No, they’re not.”
My fists are still clenched at my sides. I’m tired, and overwhelmed, and scared, and I don’t want to have this conversation anymore. I shake my head and take a deep breath.
“I’m gonna go home.”
“What?” Scott blinks in surprise. “Why?”
“Because, I can’t handle this right now. I need to go home and… and think. I don’t know. I just need some space.”
I turn around and head for the door.
“Lucy, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please stay. We don’t have to talk about all that now. Let’s just hangout and get your mind off of it.”
I don’t have time to take my mind off of it. I have to figure out what I’m going to do.
“I’m gonna go,” I repeat.
Scott stares at me helplessly, his mouth opening like he might say something, but nothing comes out.
I leave without another word.
I don’t go home. I end up going to the gym.
I go through the motions, my usual routine. Go to the locker rooms, get changed, pick a treadmill in front of the TV playing telenovelas, pick a podcast, then tune it out as I run.
I feel terrible about how I treated Scott. None of what happened is his fault, but deep down, a part of me is blaming him for all of it.
That’s not fair to him.
But a lot of things don’t quite feel fair right now.
I’m feeling a lot of emotions. Fear, of course, because I’m now jobless. There’s also shock, and panic. Stress. Anger at being let go so suddenly without any notice. But there’s another emotion I didn’t expect: I feel betrayed.
It doesn’t really make sense. I’ve always known I was just an employee. I’ve always been the one clarifying to people that Monica and I aren’t buddies, that she’s not my mentor or anything like that. She was my boss, and I was her assistant, and that was that. I knew it in my head.
I guess my heart forgot all that.
Despite how much I disliked my job, how stressful it was, how much I wanted out of it, I respect Monica. I felt… important working for her. I genuinely cared. And, to an extent, she trusted me. And having the trust of someone like that kind of goes to your head. I mean, I drove her daughter all over the place, giving her rides to and from school and sports games. Monica gave me her home address and had me pick up packages off her porch. She trusted me to pick up pills and prescriptions, to tell her if her hair and makeup needed fixing before meetings. I’m the only one in the building other than janitorial that has a key to her office. I have her personal cell number, I carry one of her credit cards, my life completely revolved around hers. As much as I told myself and others I’m just an employee and nothing more, part of me always hoped that maybe I did mean a little bit more than a paycheck every two weeks. That, maybe, Monica was really glad she took a chance on the aimless kid from The Roast four years ago. That, maybe, my work was appreciated. That maybe I was appreciated.
Stupid. That was stupid. I feel ridiculous even thinking it.
My feet pound on the treadmill as sweat drips down my temple. I run much faster and farther when I’m upset. The one upside to my Godzilla-sized emotions at the moment, I suppose.
I finish at the one hour mark. I feel as though I could keep going, but my knees are starting to protest, so I slow the treadmill, moving from a run, to a light jog, to a very slow walk. I chug some water, then glance at my phone, expecting—no, hoping— to see a message from Scott.
Nothing.
I hold my phone, my thumbs hovering over the keys in indecision. I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been nothing but drama. Maybe Scott has finally had enough.
I slip my phone in my drawstring bag, taking a breath. I said I needed space. Maybe he’s giving it to me. It doesn’t have to mean the worst case scenario if he hasn’t texted me after I literally walked out on him.
Ugh.
I make it back home to the smell of pizza, my head and emotions still spiraling. Stephanie and Jessie are seated on the couch, watching a movie, surrounded by pizza, sodas, and snacks. Jessie breaks out into a ginormous smile when she sees me.
“Hey Lucy! You should come join us! We got enough pizza for you, too!”
I shake my head, trying my best to smile. “Thanks, but I’m going to shower and go to bed.”
“What? Come on, it’s Friday night!” she frowns. “You can sleep in tomorrow! We never hang out like this! Please?”
“Sorry, Jessie.”
“Lucyyyyy—”
“Not tonight.”
Jessie’s eyes widen slightly. I said it more snappish than I meant to, even surprising myself. Stephanie is staring at me with a funny look. I stutter for a second, then say a quick “Sorry,” as I rush off to my room, only stepping out to the bathroom to shower.
As I lay in my bed, I keep checking my phone, but Scott doesn’t text me for the rest of the night. Only a message from Stephanie comes through.
“What was that about?”
I stare at the screen without responding.
My stomach rumbles, but I don’t want to go back out there and face them to get food. They’ll force me to stay and talk about everything, and I don’t have the energy right now. Right now, I feel like a total mess, and I just want to sleep.
I finally drift off, sleeping through most of Saturday.
I stumble into church twenty minutes late, halfway through the worship set. I head for my usual seat next to Stephanie. She glances over and spots me, then points to her Bible in the chair beside her. I shuffle it to another chair and take the seat. Stephanie leans over and speaks into my ear so I can hear her over the music.
“You look terrible,” she says.
I frown. “Gee, thanks.”
She gives me a once over, then goes back to worshipping. Soon enough, the pastor steps up and starts preaching, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too preoccupied with navel gazing to focus on the message.
When the sermon ends, the worship team goes back up for one last song. Usually I stay until the end and chat with Stephanie and some of the others I see weekly, but today, I plan to leave early. When the final song starts, I turn to go, but Stephanie grabs my arm.
I look at her, expecting her to say something.
She doesn’t.
I blink a few times, then turn to face the front again. As I do so, she releases my arm.
Okay, so she wants me to stay. She probably wants to tell me to apologize to Jessie.
The music ends, and Stephanie turns to me.
“I know I need to apologize to Jessie,” I say, trying to beat her to it, “I’ll talk to her later and—”
“We’re getting lunch.”
I stop, thrown off by Stephanie’s interruption. “Um, what?”
“You’re a mess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You and I are getting lunch.”
“Oh.” I rub my arms. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”
“I wasn’t giving you an option.” She grabs her Bible and starts walking away. “We’re going to lunch. Come on.”
I stare after her for a few seconds, then sigh as I follow.
I guess we’re going to lunch.
“What’s going on with you?”
I swirl my straw around in my cup of water, avoiding eye contact with Stephanie. Whether she realizes it or not, there’s no one I look up to more. In my head, she’s like the older sister I never had, but I would never tell her that. She’s a good friend, too. I’m lucky I ended up with two good roommates, because from what I’ve heard, it’s a rare thing.
All that to say, I really don’t want to spill my embarrassing guts to her right now.
“Lucy.”
“Monica is letting me go,” I say, finally meeting Stephanie’s gaze. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she lets out a little huff of air.
“Now I understand,” she says.
“It’s my fault, really.” I return to staring down at my drink. “I asked to stop working Saturdays and to have a set schedule during the week instead of being on call.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Because I was sick of not having a life.”
“Good for you,” Stephanie says.
I look at her incredulously. “How is this good? It was stupid. I lost my job.”
“So? You’ll get another one.”
“Doing what?”
“You can get another office job. Or go back to the café. Whatever you want to do.”
“It’s not that easy,” I shake my head.
“Says who?”
I frown. “I don’t have a degree, or any real experience, or—”
“Lucy, you worked for Monica Harper as her personal assistant for four years. That’s plenty of experience.”
“Maybe, but who knows how long it’s going to take me to find another job.”
“I don’t think this whole job thing is really what’s bothering you,” Stephanie says.
Something in my chest squeezes.
“What’s really going on?”