Sweat forms along my forehead, and I’m sure if I don’t quit this now, I’ll have raccoon eyes from the perspiration. Not a good interview look.
“Fuck!” I shout frustratedly as I fail yet again to catch the zipper on the hanger’s hooked end.
“Stop losing your mind and come over, Goldie. Seriously,” Beck warns, her stern mom tone coming out. “And yes, those zippers are complete bullshit but would you really want a thick ugly zipper on it?”
“I want to not be talking aboutzippers!” I shout, feeling the beads of sweat finally journey down my temples. Plucking a Kleenex from the box, I blot my face carefully and take a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll be over in fifteen. I’m sorry I’m insane right now. I’m just…”Depressed.“Nervous for the interview.”
Beck, the ever-understanding friend, blows off my ten-minute rant about hating my clothes and obsessing over my pooch with a simple, “see you soon, and hey, don’t be nervous. Any place here in Oakcreek would be lucky to have your expertise and knowledge. Seriously. How many small towns can claim a former employee of the MLB all for themselves?”
I smile sadly and don’t bother wiping the single tear that sneaks up on me because I’m alone. “See you soon.”
I turn sideways in front of my mirror one more time, but as I suspected, my belly is still swollen-looking, and my shirt seems to cling to my mid-section more than it did before. Wait, the last time I wore this, it was loose, wasn’t it? My heartbeat quickens as my veins flood with an overbearing, foundation-shaking panic. My Mom’s parting advice when I left for college flies through my brain like one of those airplanes with a message banner streaming behind it.“Don’t let your clothes get tight.”
The thing is, I don’t have time for an entire mental and emotional breakdown right now over my clothes fitting weird because I have to get to this god-forsaken “check out our online portal” HR job interview. I’ll have a mini breakdown on the drive to Beck’s and then treat myself to the whole fucking shebang after.
* * *
The nervesfor the interview that have been brewing quite nicely on the drive to Beck’s intensifies a thousandfold when I pull up and see Atticus’s truck.
How the fuck did I not know how much he’s over here? Seriously? I thought I was, by default, both Beck and Beau’s best friend because everyone knows the woman’s best friend becomes the couple's best friend. But here thismanbun in bootsis, stealing my title.
I don’t like it.
I slam my car door harder than intended and put my stilettos to the test as I do my best Goldie Hawn impression–the actress, not myself,stomping my way up the walk, annoyed and over it.
When Beck answers the door, her smile slides away like dirt in a tsunami. “What? What’s wrong?”
Now that she’s asked, I don’t know what to say. “Just nervous,” I admit because thatisprobably a lot of what’s wrong with me right now. I refuse to believe that the recent months’ events could potentially be having a delayed effect on me, taking the form of me losing my shit over everything.
I just need to get this job and get settled in my sardine can apartment. Then I’ll be better.Definitely.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, turning to expose my undone zipper to Beck. “Just nervous, you know?”
She zips me up. “Yup.” She pats my butt. “There. Looking hot as ever.”
I turn and swallow the argument that I amnotas hot as ever because I don’t feel like bickering. She smiles, and I soften a little, feel a calm worm through me a little, and I can’t help but think maybe the universe didn’t want me to zip up my own skirt. Maybe I needed to come here and see Beck so I could chill the hell out.
“I have earrings that would go great with your outfit,” Beck says, reaching for my hand. She turns my wrist to face her, checking the time on my watch. “You have a few. Come in and let me grab them.”
I want to say no becausehe’sin there, and I don’t need any more crap in my head right now. But I just follow her in with a smile on my face because that’s kind of what I do.
Beck disappears down the hall, telling me to grab a cup of coffee while she gets the earrings. I haven’t eaten, so another cup of coffee would be a gut-rumbling, ass-clenching mistake, so I skip it. But I do head into the kitchen to say hi to Jett, who I can see in the high chair when I enter.
Atticus is seated at the counter, focusing on his phone. Beau is feeding bites of pancake to Jett, both with mussed hair and wide grins. I can literally feel their happiness just by being in this room.
I love that for Beck and her guys.
I smile at Beau and feel awful for how depressed the scene makes me feel. I really am happy for my best friend. But my insanely tumultuous life has my emotions mixed up. I want this love, and I’m coming to see that maybe this kind of love doesn’t want me.
Right now, a job is my only focus–one thing at a time. I taught myself that since “don’t let your clothes get tight” doesn’t really work for many life situations.
“Morning, Goldie. You look very nice. Ready for the interview?” Beau asks, splitting his attention between Jett and me.
I don’t know why, but before I answer, I look over at Atticus. His eyes are slowly roaming over my body; brows hung low, his energy that of a predator stalking his prey. My heartbeat picks up, and I look back to Beau as our eyes meet.
“Sure. Interviews are my specialty.” I show him my greatest smile, and it’s just then I realize I’ve neveractuallyused this smile organically. Only being a complete phony. That’s…kind of sad.
“I bet,” Beau says with a smile. A real smile. “You’ll knock ‘em dead, I’m sure.”