“You’re fired.”
My eyes narrowed on the prematurely balding man sitting across from me.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
Martie scoffed, pushing himself back from his desk and folding his arms over his ever-growing stomach. His wife, Gretta, did not know how to cook for less than six people, and it showed in each pants size good ol’ Mart went up.
“Kat, language.”
The familiar annoyance in his hiss tensed the muscles in my neck. That hadn’t been the first time he’d scolded me about my mouth, and we both knew it wouldn’t be the last. I could have said my parents raised me better, but my parents barely raised me at all, so that excuse flew right out the broken window.
“Okay, sorry. No need to fire your best gal over a few ‘fucks’ here and there.” I plastered a smile so shit-eating on my face, my cheeks actually hurt from the effort.
Martie looked between my cheeks at the straining grin and ran a hand over his plump face, trying and failing to smooth out his stress wrinkles.
“It’s not that, Kat. It’s everything else.” Then he cut me a sharp stare. “And you’re not my best girl. Not by a long shot.”
I perked back in my seat, hand over my heart. “Now you’re just trying to hurt me.”
A flicker of humor eased along Martie’s face, proving that, while I may not be his best employee, he did have a soft spot for me. During our morning meetings, I always got a laugh out of him with some dumb shit I’d say. Not to mention, he willfully turned a blind eye whenever he caught me or my best friend, Layla, pocketing a handful of tampons from the back.
The first time he caught us in inventory, he stopped and stared at the fistful of tampons in both our hands. I waved at him brightly with my free hand, and he groaned. Then, we both moved on with our day without saying a word about it.
Martie had been my manager ever since I got hired at the store three years ago, and while he may not totally love me, he definitely liked me enough not to fire me; of that I was positive.
Like, 89% positive.
“Kat.” My name was a grumble in Martie’s throat unlike one I’d heard from him before. It set my positivity back a few degrees and my nerves on edge. I shifted in my seat. “You know I like you—”
“So if you like me, don’t fire me. It’s that easy.”
“Except it’s not that easy this time,” Martie shot back, upset brightening his eyes under the fluorescent lighting in his office. “You were late for the third time this month alone, and that’s not even considering all the other crap you do that I let slide.”
I blanched at him, pushing myself back in my chair using the armrests. “Like what?”
“Like the extra long lunch breaks, you racing children up and down the isles on scooters we haven’t sold yet, stealing feminine hygiene products—”
“That shit should be free for all women, and you know it!” Defiance shot me up out of my chair to stand over Martie’s desk, defending my vagina and all vaginas with a wagging finger. “And the scooter races? Kids love it! I’ve helped sell like fifty scooters that way!”
“Your job is not to sell scooters, Kat. You’re a cashier! Now sit down.”
Fire rolled through my veins at his authoritative tone, cleverly disguising the fear bubbling just beneath the surface. I could feel it winding through me and trying to reign me back in, but denial was a powerful friend of mine at the moment.
I’d been called back to Martie’s office plenty of times for a talk like this.
It was all part of the show he’d put on to make it look good for the higher ups, but it never went past a talk. I’d smile and charm him, Martie would roll his lips together and sigh, and then send me on my way.
Wash, rinse, and repeat for three years straight.
Today, there was just the faintest itch in my chest saying something was off this time. It was irritating my confidence that this time was like all the rest, and so I sat down like he said, swallowing back anymore out of place remarks.
Just breathe and play nice.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better, okay?” Martie remained tight-lipped, and so I kept on. “You know my situation, so you know why I’m late some days, but I can try to see if Mrs. Sharon can take Charlotte a little earlier each day. Plus, she starts kindergarten next year, so that will help out a ton with my schedule.”
Still, Martie didn’t utter one word, reassuring or otherwise, and that slight itch in my chest started to worsen. I straightened in my chair, struggling not to let my confusion twitch on my face. This time did not feel like the others, and that scratching became a burning dead-center between my ribs as Martie’s unkempt, salt and peppered eyebrows dipped in sincere regret.
“I do know your situation, Kat, and it’s why I’m truly sorry.”
And that’s when the panic set in. Fiery hot, blazing panic.
I steadied my stare on his in the silence, challenging, begging, pleading the finality sitting in his tired stare. He had to change his mind like he had before. He had to. There was literally no other option.
“Mart, you’re not serious.” I breathed a stiff laugh, trying to break through the unfamiliar tension in the room. Martie didn’t share my laughter though. He didn’t even blink.
He just shook his head, and said, “I’m sorry.”
Pounding. My heart was pounding with the weight of those two words, and my faint smile slipped. I couldn’t lose this job. It was barely keeping food on the table at home as-is.
“No—” I stuttered, catching the guilt sink Martie’s expression even deeper. “You can’t. Y-you can’t.”
Martie turned to the side in his chair, looking painfully uncomfortable as I denied him again. But I wouldn’t stop. I’d deny him over and over again until he caved and gave me one more shot. Just one more chance unlike the hundred I’d taken for granted before like a goddamn idiot. One more chance and I would do it right. One more chance and I swore I wouldn’t fuck it up.
“Come on, Martie. I know I’ve gotten a bit lax on the job, but I’ll fix it. You have to let me fix it.” An unfamiliar lump of wording stuck in my throat, stealing my voice to a whisper that hurt every last bit of my pride. “Please? For Charlotte.”
My younger sister’s name dropped Martie’s shoulders low, a frown deepening the lines of his sorry face. I didn’t beg for anything and he knew that, but I would beg for Charlotte.
I’d do just about anything for her.
“Kat…” he croaked, his aged face an open display of guilt.
Guilt, but not surrender. Pity, but not empathy.
Holy shit.
This was really happening.
Shock dropped my lips apart, and all I felt was the thump, thump, thump of my heart that beat in the hollow of my throat. The air in the room stuck to my skin like a guilty sweat, drenching me in the cold and swift realization that this was real.
I was being fired.
Anxious tears pricked the backs of my eyes, each needled sensation a stab of horror, a stab of embarrassment, a motherfucking stab to the beating heart of my world.
As the source of my income hemorrhaged, I sat there feeling it flush my body hot, blood pumping loudly in my ears. Each thud of it got stronger, drowning out the voice of reason in my head until it was swallowed up whole by the furious blood without so much as a last gasp.
Tension piled through my jaw, and it clicked in fearsome anger. My panic took a violent shove to the backseat at the hands of my personal brand of hot-headed rage. It blasted into every inch of my body, my toes tingling, and fingertips feeling like they could shoot actual lightning.
I didn’t need his pity. I needed a goddamn job.
“Fine.” I shot up out of the chair, thrusting the piece of furniture back into the wall with the force of my movement. My hand fisted around my bag on the floor, snatching it up and tossing it over my shoulder.
“Kat, please don’t be angry—”
“You just fucking fired me,” I snapped back at him, not caring one bit that this wasn’t really his fault. “Of course I’m angry. I’m really fucking angry.” I spat the curse at him, watching his eyes round as my temper stretched its legs. “How much do you care about my fucking language now, Martie?”
Before he could respond, I tore his office door open and stormed out.
Fury coursed in my legs as I ripped through the store, anger so white-hot it blinded my vision in searing flashes. I couldn’t see where I was going, didn’t give a flying fuck where I was going so long as it was out of this godforsaken store.
“Three years,” I hissed to no one as I rampaged. “Three fucking years.”
Tunnel vision consumed me as I torpedoed ahead, multi-color children’s books and toys gaining my narrowing focus with a bright target painted smack dab on their faces. The teddy bears smiles turned to frowns, the whimsical creatures on the book covers gasped—
And I kicked the fucking shit out of all of them.
Unrhythmic clatter dispelled through the air. Barbies were airborne. Books slid across the tile floor in every which direction. A Barney hit the ground and started singing ‘I love you.’ With a snarl in my chest, I reared back for another kick.
“Kat, stop!” A hand locked over my wrist and jerked me around. Cautious brown eyes became the new centerpiece of my rage and jumped wide as they saw me. “What the hell are you doing?!”
My best friend, Layla, came into my tight focus. Her worried face caught my fire-breathing lungs in a pause long enough for me to find air to speak with rather than scream with.
“Martie just fired me.” God, the words stung to say. The humiliation of them might have stung worse.
Her already big eyes doubled in size. “What?”
“Yup, and now I’m one-hundred percent shit out of luck,” I seethed, flashing my hands back through my professional ponytail and tearing the thing loose. Dark brown hair danced in front of my vision as I ruffled my fingers through my scalp in furious scratches. “I mean, who’s going to hire a girl without a high school diploma who got fired from her last job? What am I gonna do about Charlotte or fucking rent for that matter!”
I tongued the inside of my cheek, casting a glance at the wreckage I’d caused around me. Shit, someone was going to have to clean that up.
“Are you sure he fired you for real, for real?” I dropped a fast look back to her, jaw cementing in place as I nodded.
Her heart-shaped face fell, thickly shaped eyebrows dipping in. Layla reached a comforting arm out, settling for a squeeze on my shoulder because she knew I wouldn’t want anything else.
“We can try to talk to him together? He’s awful at saying no to the both of us.”
I heard her selfless suggestion. I really did. I just didn’t have the patience at the moment to appreciate it past a grateful glance. “No. I don’t need you getting canned too trying to help me.”
She looked like she wanted to fight, but just sighed instead, her jet-black bangs fluttering over her forehead. “Man, that sucks.”
Rolling my lips together, I nodded because it was obvious. It sucked. It really freaking sucked. “What the hell am I gonna do for a job, Layla? I’ve only ever worked here. I don’t know how to do anything other than work a register.” God, how sad is that?
“You could always bartend!” Layla beamed brighter as her idea struck. “You make killer drinks at parties.”
Deadpanned, I said, “It shocks me how many times you forget I’m not twenty-one yet. Few more months, babe.”
Her full mouth parted in an ‘o’, and then she quietly cursed herself. I hated being so young. Everyone looked down on you, and no one took you seriously, especially when you had a five-year-old attached to your hip nearly everywhere you went. Society just turned their noses up at you, assumed you were a screw-up, and moved on with their perfect little lives.
Goddamn pretentious assholes.
“Oh!” Layla damn near startled me as she gasped, slapping the back of my arm in excitement. “I almost forgot!”
“How strong you are?” I asked, rubbing my arm with a pained sneer pulling back my lips.
“No, dumbass. I almost forgot my dad showed me this job opening the other day when he was trying to get me to quit working here!”
“Jesus Christ, is that guy ever going to stop trying to squeeze me out of your life?”
“Probably not. He’s been iffy ever since the chocolate syrup incident.”
“Ah.” I nodded, remembering the drunken ice cream party I threw at her house when she graduated community college that ended in a chocolate syrup fight. Needless to say, their white couch was destroyed, and I was banned from ever coming over again. Worth it, though.
“What’s the job?”
“It’s this nanny gig he found online. Said the pay is good and hours are flexible for the most part. You know I think kids are midget spawns from Satan so it would never work out for me, but you, you love kids! You should call for an interview.”
I paused, blinking at my best friend as the idea worked around the cogs in my brain.
A faint stirring of hope bristled in the back of my mind, and Layla and I shared in a hesitant smile. Basically the same job I did with Charlotte on my days off and nights, but paid?
“You have that number?”
“Oh, Mother Dearest! I’m home!”
I closed the front door behind me, careful not to slam it and knock the knob off again. It wasn’t cheap to bring someone out last time to fix the lock, and despite my best efforts, I was a shitty replica of my own Tim the Tool Man.
Tossing my bag on the countertop, I breathed hard through the stress of today as I slunk down to my elbows on the counter. The ever-present sting of sickly sweet cigar smoke tickled the back of my throat as I drew back air till I felt a pinch in my chest. That was the only thing my father left behind when he hopped town a few years ago—the stench of his fucking Blackstone’s and us.
My eyelids were heavy and my fingers were mindless as I fingered through the mail and bills splashed across the counter. Anxiety crawled up the back of my spine as I took in the double and triple digit numbers printed on the pages I had to pay to keep this shithole up and running. Truth be told, this house was one strong wind gust away from collapsing in on itself, but it was the only home Charlotte knew, and the only one I could afford.
The kitchen was too small, the living room carpet had a nasty stain from when Charlotte was two and threw up spaghetti everywhere, and where it wasn’t stained, it was burnt from either of my parents. No matter how many fake crystal ashtrays we had lying around, both of them preferred to put their shit out on the carpet.
Not having my own room at nearly twenty-one wasn’t ideal, but our place only had two bedrooms and Mom never left hers, so Charlotte and I had bunked together since she was born. It was an all right size house when I was growing up and it was just me, Mom and Dad, but when you’re a kid, everything and everyone feels huge.
Now as an adult, the corners of this place grew tighter every day, and I couldn’t believe how much it cost in bills to keep this tiny shack on shitty memory lane standing.
The piece of paper sitting in my back pocket with the interview number burned through my jeans, and I let the handful of mail tumble back to the counter with a sigh. I needed to call before my only chance at a job shriveled up.
Just then, a muffled groan sounded behind me.
The noise sank my shoulders and my already touch-and-go mood simultaneously. A unique cocktail of contempt and guilty responsibility sizzled in my chest, and I shut my eyes against the unwelcome feeling. Over and over and fucking over again we go.
Fists shaking, I jerked towards my mother’s room and her cracked door. I pushed my way in, hardly registering the foul smell or haze of morbid sunlight trying to brighten this horror scene of a bedroom.
“Hey, Mom.” I walked over to her sleeping figure, sprawled out carelessly on her bed on top of the covers. “How was your day? Good? You shoot some shit in your veins and pass out again?” I asked with fraudulent enthusiasm vibrating my tone.
I paused and waited, kidding myself that she might wake up and respond because my sense of humor was just that goddamn masochistic.
She didn’t—of course—and I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Good to see you’re changing up the routine.”
Huffing out a breath, I pushed her tangled hair that was the same color as mine from her forehead and slipped the back of my fingers over her skin. She was clammy and pale, a sickly version of the mother I grew up with on the outside. On the inside, she was nothing but rotting lungs and a hollow heart.
“My day was dandy too, ya know. I got fired, which was super fun, and now I’ve got one hope for a job or we’re out on our asses.”
I held my fingers underneath her nose and waited until I felt the gentle push and pull of air coming through her nostrils.
Not dead. Yet.
Pulling away from her, I gave her limp figure one last eye roll. “Glad to hear we both had splendid days.”
Some things just never changed.
Lugging my tired legs back out to the living room, I gave a sweeping glance over the walls of our home, walls embedded with pitiful memories and shitty art my mom picked out before Dad left. Booming rap music vibrated those same thin walls as a car passed by outside. I gritted my teeth against the noise, watching the place carefully as it shook and the music pulsated the foundation beneath my feet.
Eventually, the car moved down the street, and their music dulled. All I could hear now was the proverbial sob in my sad story that cried out of the rundown house around me.
A timely knock choked the sobs to a silence.
5pm right on the dot.
“Come on in!” I called.
The front door pushed open, and a flash of blonde curls came barreling through. “Katty! Katty, I’m home!”
My favorite little voice rang through the house using my absolute least favorite nickname. I hated the name, but I loved her more, so unfortunately, the nickname wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Hey, Bugs!” Charlotte ran at me full speed, and I dropped to my knees as she threw herself in my arms. The force of her hug pushed me back, and I fell on my ass. Pain twinged up my tailbone, but my sister’s melodic giggling overshadowed the soft curse that slipped my lips. Despite the ache, a smile held solid on my face.
“Katty, look what I did with Mrs. Sharon today!”
Just as quickly as she took me down, Charlotte popped back up, tiny hands diving in her bag and pulling out a necklace made of uncooked macaroni.
“She helped me tie the knot, but I did the rest myself.” A proud smile pulled up on her red-tinted cheeks.
“It’s beautiful! I think they might wanna start selling this in stores.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” she said thoughtfully, nodding her head fast so her pigtails bounced.
“I was gonna keep this one for myself, but then I thought you would look really pretty in it so… here.” Charlotte held the macaroni laced necklace out to me, sweet brown eyes the same shade as our moms shining with such a selfless love, it made my chest ache.
I was the only one stuck with our father’s eyes. Springtime green, and I hated them.
“Aw, Bugs. Are you sure?” I hesitantly took the delicately made necklace between my fingers.
“Yup! I want you to have it!” She smiled brightly up at me, her joy and innocence piercing my heart the way only she could.
Twisting a piece of hard macaroni around my finger, I said, “How did you get to be so sweet? Did Mrs. Sharon feed you sugar cubes for lunch?”
“No!” She squealed at my joke, laughing and smiling and stealing my absolute breath away. In a world of gray and dreary, Charlotte was the brightest crayon there was, streaking her brilliant color all over my life to keep me focused and smiling. Her thoughts were big and dazzling, she dreamed without limit, and was a hell of a lot cooler than I ever was at her age, or even now.
Without her, I’d have checked out of this piss-poor town long ago and never looked back.
“No, your sister’s just being silly.” Mrs. Sharon drew my eye as she spoke, a wily smile on her beautiful, round face as she nodded to my sister. “Tell Kat what we had for lunch, little miss.”
“Grilled cheese and hot dogs!” Charlotte beamed.
“That sounds delicious. Where’s mine?”
My sister shook her head in dismissal as she turned her focus back to her bag. “You weren’t there, Katty!”
“I know that. Doesn’t mean I’m not hungry.”
Mrs. Sharon gave a pity chuckle as my sister completely ignored my pull for a laugh, still rooting around in her My Little Pony bag.
“Do you like your necklace?” she asked.
Her small voice swelled my heart with warmth, and I looped the macaroni over my head and shifted it into place against my chest, right above my heart. “I’ll never take it off.”
“Good! I made one for Mom too.” Finally, she yanked the second necklace she’d been searching for out with a clumsy tug. “Do you think she’ll want it now?”
Immediately, the warmth in my heart turned prickly cold.
Goddamnit, her eyes were so vivid and hopeful. Ugly words warred in my lungs, slamming around to claw their way up and warn Charlotte that our mother didn’t deserve her love, her kindness, or her macaroni necklace. Our mother was dirt and Charlotte was the moon, and her big, bright perfection would not be slathered in worthless grime.
Prepping the light-hearted lie on my tongue, I said, “Mom’s sleeping right now, but we’ll give it to her later when she wakes up, okay? I know she’ll love it.”
Charlotte’s tiny lips dropped to a pout, her infectious energy dimming. “Okay.”
Routine hatred jammed my teeth together in a furious grinding, and my nostrils flared. Every time our mother took a chunk of Charlotte’s happiness away, my contempt for her leveled up. Nowadays, I wasn’t sure if there was anything left inside of me but hate for the woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally.
“Kat, I’ve gotta go. Dinner’s on the stove, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”
I spun to Charlotte’s sitter who stood in the doorway, readying herself to leave. Mrs. Sharon had been a godsend these last few years, watching Charlotte during the days I worked, and all but for free. She was a stay at home mom with her son that was only a year younger than Charlotte, and all she asked in return was that I watched her son whenever she and her husband had date night.
The deal was sweet—too sweet for someone as sour as me—but I wasn’t dumb enough to question a good thing.
“We’ll see you then.”
With that, Mrs. Sharon waved her goodbyes before taking off, her pregnant belly following her out the door. Was she five or six months now? I couldn’t remember.
“Katty, can we go to my room and color?”
Bowing my head to Charlotte, I smiled. “Yeah, let’s go.”
“Okay! I call the blue marker first!” And with that, she took off down the hallway and beelined it into our room, leaving me chuckling in her dust. As I walked back to the bedroom, my hand traveled up, and my fingers clasped around the macaroni necklace tightly.
Determination set in my bones.
I had to get this new job.
