31. Natalie
NATALIE
It’s kind of amazing how fast a life can unravel. Twenty-one days since Henry exposed us, and I’ve lost my job, my apartment, and my reputation. No one in the industry will return my calls.
Now I’m back in my childhood bedroom, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I never bothered to peel off the ceiling. Same twin bed. Same pink walls my mom swore we’d repaint someday.
My parents keep calling it a “temporary setback.” I don’t think they understand.
How could they? The story barely made it outside the industry and they’d never think to search my name and find the gossip.
Henry’s well known, but he’s not a celebrity.
Sometimes I forget how small the fashion world really is and how little it matters to anyone who isn’t in it.
I stare at my phone like if I look long enough, one of the jobs I applied for might call me back. But I already know they won’t. Fashion has closed its doors on me. You’d think a creative industry would tolerate a little scandal—dating a competitor, for example—but apparently not.
Mom keeps leaving job listings open around the house.
On the kitchen counter, the coffee table, even next to the kettle.
She keeps talking to Dad, saying things that sound vague but aren’t, like, “You have to start somewhere,” or, “Trying something new can be exciting.” It’s not subtle.
And the worst part is, she’s probably right.
Maybe I do need to branch out. I need to stop being so picky and just get back out there before I fossilize in this bed.
I open my laptop and start scrolling through listings.
This time, I don’t filter by industry. I just click browse all jobs, like maybe the universe will surprise me.
Janitor. P.E. teacher. Admin assistant for a dentist. I want to branch out, I really do, but none of these feel like me.
They all look like someone else’s life. After three minutes, I close the laptop and just sit there, listening to the house hum around me, trying to picture myself doing anything that isn’t fashion and failing completely.
Eventually, I wander into the living room. Dad’s in his recliner, watching TV, and Mom’s in the kitchen, humming off-key while something garlicky sizzles on the stove.
I sit with Dad for a while, watching some show where the couple is too happy to be real. I tune out before I gag. Of course, that’s when Henry slips into my head. I haven’t heard a word from him. He’s probably gliding through his perfect life while mine’s in ruins.
I told him to leave me alone until I figure things out. I didn’t think he actually would. I keep telling myself that space is a good thing but there’s a part of me that wonders if this is really it. If we’re done. If I lost everything for nothing.
That’s another reason I need a job. I need something to keep my mind busy before I start spiraling again. Something to get me back on my feet.
“You know,” Mom calls from the kitchen, “the Discount Rack downtown has a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window. Could be worth checking out. It’s fashion, right?”
My parents aren’t in any rush to be rid of me but I think they both know I’m not built for sitting still. I don’t relax. I never have.
“I’ll check it out tomorrow,” I say. It’s not much but I guess it’s fashion-adjacent. I’ll get back into the industry one way or another. Whether anyone wants me there or not.