Chapter 2 Nina
Nina
Ididn’t remember walking home. One minute, I was stepping out of the office building, a few personal belongings rattling around in a box, and the next, I was fumbling with my keys at my apartment door.
With a low groan, I bumped my hip against the door, and it swung open, hitting the scuffed wall behind it, and I just … stood there.
I stared at my cluttered tiny studio, just a single room and a bathroom.
To my right was a decent-sized closet and a small coffee table in front of a secondhand recliner.
About a foot deeper into the apartment, my full-size bed was pressed against the back wall.
To my left was a narrow kitchen, with a two-burner stove and an oven.
There was barely room for a table and two chairs.
The oven and stove set off the carbon monoxide alarm, so technically not usable.
The bathroom was disproportionately large, with a giant tub and no outlets.
I took a deep breath, and air thick with a dampness slithered into my lungs.
Feeling the tightness in my chest, I went straight to the nebulizer.
The cracked window at the foot of my bed had beads of condensation trailing down the glass, pooling at the windowsill and dampening the corner of my bedspread.
Overhead, the water-stained patch in the ceiling had deepened in color, mold feathering outward from the leak no one had come to fix even though the landlord had promised to “take a look” months ago and then again last week after I knocked on his office door.
As the machine pumped mist into my lungs, I sank onto the edge of the bed next to the darkened spot. My place wouldn’t be much to anybody else, not even the landlord cared, but it was mine. The only home I’d known since I was seventeen.
My phone buzzed in my purse. I stared at the string of work notifications on the screen.
Nobody had bothered to stand up for me or the work I’d produced.
Riding that wave of jadedness, I deleted every 3D’s-related app I, then, swiped to LinkedIn, and Lincoln’s face popped up under the “People You May Know,” all blue eyes and crisp collar. He’d be the one leveling up.
My stomach growled. Loud, angry, hollow.
Ordering delivery would be nice, but with rent due in fourteen days and only getting one more paycheck, I had to be smart moving forward.
Who the fuck knew how long it would be before I found another job.
Only finding hotdogs and a lime, I closed the fridge door and leaned my forehead against the handle, its vibration sinking into my skin.
The humming surrounded me, transporting me to my parents’ kitchen at seventeen.
Our fridge had been making a rattling sound Dad never had the chance to fix.
Flowers covered the kitchen counters and table—so many bouquets, we had to put some on top of the fridge.
Trays of food were lined on every surface in both the living room and dining room.
Everywhere I looked reminded me how loved my parents were.
Our house was filled with the familiar faces of their friends whose kids were my friends.
Family. They all wanted to stay in touch with me, however, my aunt and uncle disagreed.
They saw themselves as the only family I had left, even if I’d only seen them once a year and saw my parents’ friends most weekends.
My aunt and uncle were more like strangers than the family they’d proudly claimed to be.
After Mom’s best friend Maddie and her daughter, Lynnie, left, my family sat me at the dining room table.
I was wearing mismatched socks, and my tears kept landing on my knees.
They’d be my court-appointed guardians from now on.
After a week of letting everything “settle down,” I’d moved in with them, leaving all I knew.
“And don’t expect us to bring you back to visit,” my Aunt Sarah had said, her sandy-brown curls dancing around her chin as she wagged her finger at me.
“Well,” Uncle Matt added, scratching his graying beard, “once you start working, you’ll contribute to the household expenses, if you have any cash leftover, you’re welcome to use that money however you see fit.”
My cousin Vinny didn’t look at me. He was my age, yet colder than any other teenager I knew.
He had the same hair as Aunt Sarah, and his eyes were a stormy dark gray like Uncle Matt’s.
He wasn’t even reacting to the conversation, just kept scooping pulled pork onto the tortilla chips from the tray Maddie had labeled “Comfort food for Nina.”
“Work?” I murmured. As an A-plus student, I’d tutored before but had never taken money for it.
“Of course,” my aunt said. “Your parents left this house and some savings, but you’re one more child to feed and clothe. We’ll need help. Everyone pulls their weight in our family.”
Mom and Dad had told me that in a real family you help each other out and make sure you’re giving as much as you’re receiving, but our love language was acts of service.
My aunt’s gentle touch on my hand urged me to look into her eyes. Pools of reddish-brown stared at me with a gleam. “Now, you’re part of our family, sweetie. We’ll look after you, and you’ll look after us.”
It sounded similar to what my parents had taught me, but the way she said it had my stomach in knots. With my mom and dad … I’d never gotten the sense that we were keeping score or collecting favors to cash in later.
By the next weekend, it wasn’t just mind-numbing grief anymore. My home had been sold, along with every one of my belongings that wouldn’t fit in their car. Once my parents’ phone lines were disconnected, so was mine, and I lost all contact with everyone I knew.
A few weeks into living with Sarah and Matt, they were nice enough to find me a job.
And I’d been working at least twenty-five hours a week ever since.
So what if I lost the job? I’d been through worse.
I had a good degree and a portfolio, not a very comprehensive one, but I was hard-working and rocked any performance task sent my way.
I just needed a good night’s sleep, then I’d tackle applying to jobs in the morning.
The next day, I went to the neighborhood café, Cozy Corner. It was an investment helping me to combat my spotty Wi-Fi. Three coffees would turn into at least double the amount of applications sent.
Once settled at a corner table, I opened my laptop.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I steeled myself for the task ahead.
For the next hour, I updated my resume and website and drafted two different cover letters.
Each word felt coated in lies, but I pushed through, determined to present myself as the best candidate possible.
I applied to social media coordinator openings, digital ad assistant roles, and content creator positions.
Each time I hit submit, a small spark of hope ignited within me.
I even felt okay about my white lies on “seeking new growth opportunities” and “looking to align with companies focused on brand and employee authenticity.”
Around one in the afternoon, rejections started coming. The emails were fast and generic, the kind you get when no one bothered to read your resume or cover letter. By two, I had seven rejections in my inbox. My chest tightened, my stomach churned.
Then an opening for a junior social media coordinator caught my eye.
A local cupcake shop. My vision blurred as I read through the description.
The owner wanted someone for ten to fifteen hours a week to schedule daily content on social.
Twenty-five dollars an hour. I almost started crying, right there, over a cupcake job.
This wasn’t me. I’d worked so hard to claw out of food service social media.
My phone buzzed with a new email notification, and hope flared in my chest—stupid and desperate. Another rejection.
The idea of scheduling fucking cupcake posts hit with the same sickening feeling as falling backward off a cliff I’d just climbed, but with options thinning by the second, I applied.
Two-hundred-and-fifty dollars a week beats no dollars a week.
Next, I sent messages and emails to my contacts from school.
My hands shook as I dialed Vinny. He picked up on the fourth ring, his voice brisk and polite as always.
“Hey,” I said, hiding that my insides were splitting apart. “Listen, I was wondering if you knew anyone hiring. Marketing assistant, coordinator …. Honestly, anything. I just … need something.”
Vinny took a deep inhale. “You’re … still doing that marketing thing?”
It’s not a thing! I wanted to scream. Instead, my voice came out strained. “It’s my job, Vin.” Was.
“Right, right,” he said, distracted as he shuffled around and his keys. “Well, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I went to thank him, but the line had already gone dead. Then the phone lit up with a call from Jackie, my roommate from junior year.
“Hey, hey,” I answered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Hey, girl! The last job was no good?”
“Something like that. You have any leads for me?”
She paused. “Yeah, uh … I can ask around. But … Nina, well …”
My stomach dropped so fast I got dizzy. “Jackie?”
“Look, there was talk in the break room. Gossip you were … difficult to work with. That you … didn’t deliver.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a big deal.
People talk.” Slurping came from her side of the conversation.
“I know family businesses looking to boost up their media presence, should I send them your way?”
I nodded, forcing myself to actually say words. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that.”
“Will do!” It’s no sweat off her back. No world crumbling for her. “Let’s meet for lunch soon, yeah? It will be my treat.”
“Sure,” I said. “That’ll be great.”