Chapter 7
The blinking cursor is mocking me again.
I swear it’s pulsing faster every time I stare at it, like it’s daring me to screw up another sentence.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on my knees, typing, backspacing, typing again.
My draft looks like a battlefield, wounded words limping across the screen, half-dead.
Deadline tomorrow. Miranda probably has hers printed, framed, and blessed by the Pope already.
I shift on the couch, cross-legged still, laptop now digging into my thighs. My back protests with a sharp ache, and I groan like I’m eighty years old. Maybe ninety. Definitely bedridden. Cause of death: terrible posture and bad life choices.
I hunch forward anyway because deadlines don’t care if you’re dying. My spine cracks in protest, and I wince, stretching my neck until it pops. Of course, that only makes it worse.
God, I’m exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper night’s sleep.
My brain is fried, my eyes burn, and every time I close them, I dream about spreadsheets chasing me down dark hallways.
Miranda probably sleeps like a baby, with silk sheets and angels singing her lullabies.
Meanwhile, I’m out here losing vertebrae for the privilege of being underappreciated.
I groan and try as much as I can to concentrate without making a single mistake, but alas, that’s just wishful thinking.
“Ugh.” I tug at the hem of my oversized hoodie, chew my lip, then delete another line. The hoodie is three sizes too big, practically a blanket with sleeves, but it doesn’t protect me from the growing pit in my stomach.
My head is filled with thoughts of everything that will go wrong if I do not turn my work in before the deadline.
My boss is probably going to have a celebration and will grant her sidekick, Miranda, the liberty to hand me my sack letter.
I shudder at the thought and try to focus on what’s in front of me.
Right on cue, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. I lunge for it like it’s a lifeline. Julia. Saved.
I swipe to answer. “Please, distract me before I throw my laptop out the window.”
Julia’s voice filters through the distance, a little fuzzy from the time difference but bright as ever. “How’s Seattle’s most beautiful tenant?”
I snort. “Currently rooming with a caveman. A hockey caveman, no less. He grunts, he glares, and I swear, move a chair wrong and he’s going to grab his hockey stick and hit me with it. But I know he can’t do that because it’d be illegal, and he has no idea how strong I really am.”
Julia laughs, that carefree laugh that always makes me feel lighter. “You’re exaggerating.”
“No?” I sit up straighter, gesturing even though she can’t see me.
“Picture this: shirtless this morning—yes, shirtless, like the world was begging for a calendar shoot—glaring at me like I’d set his car on fire.
Refused my breakfast offer like I’d tried to poison him.
And don’t get me started on the hushed phone calls.
Always pacing, talking low, like he’s planning a hit job.
Murder vibes. One hundred percent. Hockey sticks everywhere in this freaking place.
God, sometimes I wonder if I’m living with a ticking time bomb, who knows?
My body would be found on the curb and when the police investigates, do you know what they’d find? ”
“Cupcakes and vanilla?” She tries to hold in her laughter.
“Incorrect, they’re going to see that it’s his disgusting macho man attitude that killed me.”
Julia bursts out laughing again. “Oh my God, Brie. You have the imagination of a soap opera writer.”
“It’s not imagination if it’s true.” I flop back against the couch, the cushions sighing under me.
“He’s like this permanent rain cloud in human form.
Just dark. Stormy. Broody. Meanwhile, I’m here making pancakes and playlists, trying not to be crushed under his thunder.
I’m just a girl, I shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.
It’s okay though, just six more days of this,” I whine, bringing a hand to my forehead in a dramatic gesture.
She wheezes through her laughter. “You’re ridiculous, Brie. I’m telling you.”
“No, I’m a survivor,” I counter.
My laptop dings, and Mrs. Randolph’s reminder email flashes across the screen. Meeting tomorrow at 10 a.m. Of course.
I groan, dragging my free hand down my face.
“What’s up?”
“My devil spawn of a boss, that’s what’s up. That woman just makes me regret my entire existence.”
“Oh boy.”
“We’re supposed to submit a pitch to her, and I haven’t even gone far yet. Bet she’s already given Miranda the answers. Probably sent her a cheat sheet in calligraphy.”
Julia hums knowingly, which is Julia code for brace yourself, lecture incoming. “That doesn’t mean you won’t outshine her. You always find a way, even when you think you’re drowning.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “Until Randolph decides Miranda deserves another gold star and I’m left with… what, a participation ribbon?”
Julia sighs, her tone soft but firm. “Brie. I’ve said this a hundred times, and I’ll keep saying it. You deserve better. I don’t care how many deadlines you hit for them. Quit. Leave. Find a place where they don’t treat you like filler while Miranda gets the spotlight.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I thought you believed in me.”
Her laugh is warm, reassuring. “I do. That’s why I keep nagging you. Because I know you’re better than this. You’ve got talent, brains, heart—basically the whole package. And you’re wasting it trying to impress people who don’t care.”
I roll my eyes, but my throat tightens anyway. “You’re not supposed to make me cry, you know. That’s against best-friend rules.”
“Then stop giving me reasons to nag.”
I shove the laptop onto the coffee table and curl into the couch cushions. “Okay, fine. But for the record, you’re supposed to say I’ll blow Miranda out of the water tomorrow.”
“You will,” she promises, “but you should also start sending out applications? You can’t spend your fruitful years working for a boss who has no concept of honor. You’re literally slaving away for them and it’s not like you’re even a pair.”
“I know, but I’ll deal with all of that later. Let’s not talk about work.”
“Fine, I’ll drop it. What did you say the guy’s name was? Cameron…”
“Gray.”
“Okay, I’m googling him now.”
I wait a few moments and then she says, “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Scowler extraordinaire and super duper hottie. He looks like an adventure.”
I have to google him now.
She continues, “I am so jealous right now. Why can’t these kind of things happen to me?”
I let out a half-laugh, half-groan. My gaze flicks toward the door, just in case.
“First of all, I don’t think anyone uses super duper as an actual word anymore.
Secondly, adventure is going backpacking in Italy, Jules.
Adventure is bungee-jumping off a bridge.
Adventure is not living with a hockey caveman who looks like he eats chicken and broccoli for breakfast and scowls as a second career. ”
“Don’t let him get to you,” Julia says gently, “show him you’re more than capable of making his life a living hell—that’s if he tries to frustrate you out of the house.”
“Don’t worry.” I sigh. “He barely notices I exist. Unless I’m in his way. Then he notices.”
There’s a pause, long enough for me to hear her shifting on her end of the line. I can almost see her tilting her head at me, her knowing smile sneaking in.
I push off the couch and wander into the kitchen, phone still tucked against my ear. The fridge hums as I grab a glass and fill it with water.
And then, stupidly, an uninvited, unwelcome thought overtakes me. Maybe, just maybe, Cameron’s permanent scowl isn’t the whole story. Maybe the storm cloud’s hiding more than thunder. But I shake it off, quick. No way. Not my circus, not my bear.
“Anyway,” I tell Julia, forcing brightness back into my voice. “If I disappear, you’ll know he finally snapped and buried me under the ice rink.”
She laughs again, and just like that, the heaviness in my chest eases temporarily.
“Gosh, I may never get used to you being so dramatic, it’s like you get your inspiration from somewhere.”
“Oh Jules, that’s one of the super powers I was born with. You should see what other powers I have.”
“Oh I think I’ve seen a few.” She says as she laughs some more.
“Okay, enough about me, what’s up with you?”
There’s a pause and then she laughs, “Oh nothing, just the same old, same old.”
“Okay, spill,” I say, leaning back in my, “Your voice is doing that thing. You know—the whole soft and evasive thing. Don’t tell me you’re eating chips again and trying to pretend it’s celery. I’ll know.”
Julia sighs. “I’m not eating chips.”
“That’s what a chip eater would say.” I grin although she can’t see me.
“Brie.”
“Julia.” I mimic her tone back, sing-song, because if I let her sink into silence, she’ll drown in it and take me with her. “So? What is it?”
There’s a pause. I imagine her pacing, probably running a hand through her hair like she always does when she’s thinking too hard. My chest tightens even though I can’t see her.
“It’s my mom,” she says finally, her voice quiet.
Ah. There it is.
I straighten a little. My back complains, but I ignore it. “Your mom? What happened? Don’t tell me she’s run off to Bali with a yoga instructor named Sven, because honestly, that would be iconic. Painful, yes, but iconic.”
“Brie, be serious.”
“I’m trying, I promise. Just… tell me.”
“She’s been calling me. A lot.” Julia’s words come out clipped, like they cost her something. “And I’ve been ignoring most of them. Today she left this long voicemail about how I never visit, how I act like I don’t even have a family anymore…”
“Classic guilt trip,” I mutter, twirling a pen between my fingers. “Did she at least start with the whole ‘I carried you for nine months’ opener? Because, you know, points for consistency.”
Julia laughs under her breath, but it’s hollow. “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“And how does it make you feel?” I ask, my mock-therapist voice sliding out before I can stop it. “Other than, you know, wanting to throw your phone into the nearest river.”
“Brie—”
“No, no, I’m serious now.” I put a hand to my chest even though she can’t see me. “Your voice… I don’t know. You sound like it’s sitting on you. Heavy.”
There’s another pause and then he speaks up again, “It is.”
My throat closes up. For a second, the dramatic comeback I had queued dies on my tongue.
“I don’t know how to deal with her anymore,” Julia continues. “Every time she calls, it’s like I’m thirteen again. I’m back in that house, listening to her criticize everything I do, everything I wear, everything I am. And I just… I can’t go back there, Brie. Not even in my head.”
My stomach twists. I tap my keyboard with my pen, rhythmic, just so I don’t blurt out something reckless. “So, you ignore the calls instead.”
“Yeah.”
“Because picking up feels like opening the door to the past.”
“Yeah.”
I take a breath, long and steady. “Okay. So, step one, we acknowledge that Julia is, in fact, not thirteen anymore. You’re a grown-ass woman. You pay taxes. You do your own laundry. You buy your own—what’s that weird kombucha you like again? That alone makes you powerful.”
“Brie—”
“Nope, let me finish. Step two, we recognize that her opinion, while loud and obnoxious, is not the law of the land. She’s not the queen of the universe. She doesn’t get to dictate your worth. You’re the queen. Crown firmly on head. Cape flowing. Very dramatic entrance music.”
“Brie, please.” Julia’s laughing again, but it sounds a little steadier.
I grin, even though she can’t see it. “You know I’m right. And step three, well, step three is optional, but I recommend it.”
“What’s step three?”
“You pick up the phone next time and say, ‘Mother, dearest, I am busy living my fabulous life. Please leave your judgment after the beep.’ Then you hang up dramatically. Works like a charm.”
Julia almost laughs.
“It’s effective.”
“Sometimes I wish you could just… talk to her for me,” Julia says suddenly.
“Oh, honey, she wouldn’t survive five minutes with me.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
We both laugh, and it feels good to hear her laugh again.
Then Julia goes quiet again, and I know the weight hasn’t vanished. But at least it’s shared now. At least it isn’t crushing her alone.
“You’ll figure it out,” I say softly. “You always do.”
Julia exhales. “I hope so.”
“You will,” I insist, firm this time. “And until then you’ve got me. Which, let’s be honest, is like a full-time circus subscription.”
Her laugh comes easier this time, and I smile into the phone, ignoring the ache in my back, ignoring the exhaustion. Because hearing her laugh, is worth more than I want to admit.
“I should let you go now, you need to focus on meeting that deadline.” Julia says, and I sigh dramatically at the reminder.
“Why can’t my job be just talking to you?” I whine.
“I’m definitely not going to be paying you for this talk, besides you like your job, you just don’t like the people.”
“You’re right. The work culture is not healthy. Okay, I’ll hang up now. Do take care of yourself, and of course, pray that Mr. Scowler does not be the end of me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Now it’s just me and my laptop. I shut my eyes for a second and can already feel myself getting tired, but I quickly shake it off.
Focus Brie. Focus.