31. Cassandra
A generic signwith the name of the clinic beside the road directed me to the parking lot of a nondescript building. I stared at the front door, dread in my stomach and a faint stirring of optimism. This job would solve a lot of problems.
I plastered a smile on my face and walked into the office. The black heels I wore pinched my toes and my skirt rode up over my knees. I shimmied the fabric down.
“Hi, I’m Cassandra Barton,” I told the woman at the front desk. “I’m here to interview for the receptionist position.”
The older woman tilted her head, eyes freely roving my outfit and nose crinkling. “Well, that was quick. I’ll let Sandy know you’re here.”
With no other direction, I sat down in a chair and waited until a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and a kind smile opened the door.
“Cassandra?” I stood, and she smiled warmly, taking my hand in a firm handshake. “I’m so glad you could come in. Let me give you a tour of the office.”
We made small talk as she ushered me through the small building, stopping to introduce me to staff and the doctors. Each person got a little anecdote that hinted whether Sandy liked or disliked the person. Dr. Fraiser paid for the Christmas party. Dr. Hall got thrown out of his last clinic for cheating on his wife with a nurse. But there was no need to worry, his new wife kept him in line. Nurse Betty fostered kittens in her spare time.
After the tour of the clinic, Sandy handed me off to the cankerous front desk receptionist for a walkthrough of the job duties. Those duties mainly seemed to be whatever the receptionist didn’t feel like doing at the moment. Mainly anything that involved patients.
After ten minutes that felt like a lifetime, Sandy grabbed me for the formal interview in her office with two of the doctors. I answered their HR-generated questions pulled from online articles aimed at job seekers.
What was my biggest strength? My biggest weakness? Name a time where I felt disappointed in my performance.I kept my answers focused on a few jobs. I’d found out years ago that ricocheting between my various professions just led to more questions about my work history.
I left the building with a warm goodbye and the promise of a phone call I wasn’t sure I would receive or really wanted.
* * *
I listened to the message again, the shock still not subsiding.
“Hi, Ms. Barton. This is Harmony with the Norwalk Hospital System. Thanks for applying for the receptionist”s position. I’m pleased to let you know that you’ve been hired. Please call me back at your earliest convenience!”
A hollow emptiness settled in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard before replaying the message again.
True to her word, Sandy made a decision and a few days later, I had a job offer.
Happy. I should be happy. That’s the emotion that should have been flooding me. The office had been nice enough, most of the people had been fine, and the job was easier than corralling drunk tourists through downtown at ten p.m. And even if it sucked, I’d have health insurance and a retirement plan and a reason to stay in Norwalk past Thanksgiving.
So why wasn’t I happy?
I’d immediately called back, and Harmony had laid out a salary. Not quite enough to afford Becca’s rent, but enough to find a smaller apartment in a less desirable part of town. The health plan was a mystery, but the retirement sounded decent. And there were opportunities to go back to school.
If I called Mom or Becca, they’d infuse me with enough enthusiasm for two.
DIEGO
Dinner? I’m starving and lonely.
Diego. I’d soft launch the job to Diego and then to Becca and Mom. Diego’s enthusiasm wouldn’t be the over the top, world-changing shock, and that’d make me feel better about the offer. Because I should feel better. I should want this.
Sounds good.
DIEGO
Be there in ten.
Rather than listening to the voicemail again, I moved onto my second favorite anxiety-producing activity, reading gossip sites.
Diego had warned me, and for good reason. The initial thrill of stumbling over my name in print or my picture online faded away, replaced with a faint unease that at any minute, someone might be watching me. A manageable anxiety once I realized no one really cared about me unless Diego was by my side. And when I had Diego around, I didn’t care who saw us, anyway.
No, I wandered out of the comment section and into the wide-reaching conspiracy theory surrounding Diego’s relationship history. A five-season long revolving door of beautiful, successful women who flitted out of his life just as fast as they showed up.
Like all good conspiracy theories, the proof was laid out in extensive PowerPoint presentations and long form essays with time-stamped posts and quotes from news outlets. None of it concrete but, coupled with my sister’s assessment of Diego’s track record, damning even if a bit unfair.
The assessments were all the same: Diego fell in love quickly and fell out just as fast.
But approaching Diego with FiestyGirl77’s drama post expecting an explanation sounded off the wall, even to me. And I knew Diego. I’d spent days with him, playing video games on his couch, visiting his mom, dragging him along on ghost tours. We’d laid next to each other until the earlier hours of the morning, naked and exhausted and talking absolute nonsense but feeling seen.
All that had to count for something, right?
Diego showed up exactly ten minutes later, holding a brown paper bag and a six-pack. Fresh from practice, his black hair was slicked back, still wet. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a Breakers t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and pulled tight over his chest.
“Hey,” he greeted me, passing the six-pack to his other hand so he could pull me closer. His stubble grazed on cheek as his lips made their way to mine for a brief, almost haphazard kiss.
“Wow,” I said, the casualness of the kiss contrasting with the hot bolt of lust that ripped through me. “You really meant ten minutes, didn’t you?”
“I tried to call when I got to the restaurant but didn’t have reception. I rolled the dice.” He unpacked the bag on the table as casually as if he lived here. “So, how was your day? What’d you do?”
I launched into a story about a kitchen faucet I installed backwards. The conversation turned to football practice and game footage, and soon, the food was gone, and I hadn’t so much as mentioned the job.
“I have other news, actually,” I said after we cleared off the table. I turned on the sink, running my hand under the faucet and waiting for the water to heat up.
Diego stood beside me, a clean towel in hand to dry the dishes. A sweet but useless gesture. The dishes could easily fit in the dish rack. But then I’d have no reason to stand close to him, his fingers brushing mine as we passed utensils. “I got a job.”
“Oh, yeah?” Diego raised an eyebrow, setting the plate in his hand in the cabinet and leaning against the counter to face me. “Something good?”
I shrugged. “Benefits and retirement. So, that’s good, I guess. A career path. Norwalk Hospital System, even, so I’d stick around town.”
I slanted my eyes to gauge Diego’s reaction, but his face remained impassive. “What would you be doing?”
“Front desk at an orthopedic clinic. Becca must have blasted my resume around town before she left.”
I braced myself for his reaction, some mixture of encouragement and excitement that I’d have a reason to stay in Norwalk.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Oh?”
“What’s ‘oh’ about that?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just surprised.”
I narrowed my eyes, taken off-guard. “And I could afford my own apartment, so that’s nice. Not this one, obviously. But there are some places in the North end of the city that I could afford.”
“That’s awesome. And what about the job? You like it? Like the people?”
My chest spasmed. “It’s a good opportunity. And the first job that’s actually wanted me full time in years.”
“Right.” He turned off the faucet, dried his hands and faced me. “But what would you be doing?”
“Receptionist stuff? Check in people, call people, talk to doctors.”
“That’ll be a big change.”
“I’d have to quit the bar. And the repairs. Probably cut back on the ghost tours,” I said, setting a rinsed plate in the dish rack. Diego’s gaze burned the side of my face. Heat rose in my chest. “And I probably couldn’t come to any more away games.”
“But you want the job, right? You think it’ll make you happy?”
I spluttered. “I mean, no, not really, but I’d have a reason to stay in Norwalk.”
He winced. “That’s the only reason you’d want to stay in Norwalk?”
“No. I didn’t mean it like that. But this is what people do, right? They get jobs they hate so they can have nice things like permanent addresses and dental insurance.” I inhaled shakily, pressing wet, pruny fingertips against the counter. Diego was my soft launch. “But the job, it’s what everyone wants. This is what adults do. You’re supposed to be happy for me.”
“I’m happy if you’re happy.” His gaze traveled back to me, a wry smile on his lips. “And you don’t seem happy. Becca and your parents are a thousand miles away, and you have me. You do whatever you want. And if that’s work every odd job in existence, great. If that’s work at a doctor’s office, fantastic. If that’s taking over the world, amazing. But only if it’s what you want.”
The weight on my chest lifted, even as I found myself completely baffled by his reaction. I didn’t have to take the job. I wanted to believe him, too. Wanted to fall into those brown eyes and curl up in his arms. Then reality seeped in. “It’s nearly December.”
The edge of his lips hitched up in a sad smile. “Yeah. I’ve looked at a calendar.”
“So, just don’t take it?” I edged around the question, unsure I’d even heard him correctly.
“Not if you don’t love it.” He rubbed his palms down my bare arms, goosebumps pebbling in the wake of his fingertips. I tipped my head against his chest, inhaling his scent as my eyes fluttered closed.