Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Chapter 7

Age 17:

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Hey Lil,

Out of curiosity, what do you want to be when you grow up?

I have to do this project about my “dream career,” and I said I wanted to be an underwater welder. Turns out it’s super hard. It’s actually one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. So there goes that, I guess.

Isn’t there some kind of job out there where you can be rich and not work your entire day away? ’Cause I want that. I guess for now I’m going to put down bunny farmer, just to piss my home ec teacher off.

Definitely want to know what you’d pick. How’s your nose doing? Still got a small scar? When you said you broke it, I nearly had a heart attack. I wish I could kick your brother in the balls for throwing that softball at you too fast.

Anyway, miss ya. Pls answer before tomorrow ’cause that’s when my project is due.

Thanks.

S.

***

The older generation always made comments about “the good old days” and said things like “ah, to be young and have freedom again.” When I was a kid, I wondered when I’d say annoying stuff like that. Turned out, it was at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Because I was over being an adult. I wanted to go to Legoland and snack on playdough again.

But instead, there I was, doing my old job, my new job, and my boss’s job. I’d taken this position because the pay seemed too good to be true (it was indeed) and because I thought maybe it was time to grow up. But I take it back. No more growing, please.

The last email Chad from our New York branch—who was also my boss—sent said, Hey, Nathan, need these done by seven tonight. He’d then added a string of emojis that included a clenching bicep and a beer. He’d also attached a ten-page document regarding sales numbers in his branch that I could guarantee his own boss had asked him to do.

Before his promotion and move to the New York office, I found the man mildly annoying. These days, when I saw his name, my body would break out into chills. He was like a leech—attached to me and sucking all the joy from my life. Janise was worse. She’d lightened up since Layla quit (probably because it had been a solid year with almost no toilet pranks), but without my friend’s distractions, she’d buckled down harder on work.

Once, after working nonstop without a lunch break, I’d attempted to leave a half hour early, but Janise gave me this awful look, as if I was being lazy. She didn’t have to speak a word. She just said, Well, if you think you’re worthy of leaving early.

Rather than deal with her wrath, I’d chosen to sort files until the end of the day, making sure I didn’t leave until the rest of the staff did.

I didn’t hold meetings often. More often than not, when Chad was in charge, they were a waste of time. Not to mention they were a little awkward since I had hooked up with a few of the girls from the editorial staff when I started working for West Oak. Now I tried to create as much distance as possible. Thankfully, I didn’t oversee that department. My position left me in charge of accounting, sales, and administration.

Sick of late nights and early mornings, I was determined to stand my ground. How hard could it be to stand up for myself? Tell Janise you’re leaving early to go to an appointment and that you’ll be back on Monday. She didn’t have to know that appointment was with my couch and a nice cold beer. It was three o’clock on a Friday. Why shouldn’t I take off early for once?

I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest, and checked my hair in the small mirror hanging beside my desk. “You got this,” I whispered to myself.

I marched across the office with purpose and knocked twice on Janise’s door. But I didn’t wait for an answer. No. She liked to burst through my door from time to time, so I considered this payback. Only, instead of munching on cheese puffs and listening to the previous night’s LA Dodgers game like I was, she had her head in her files. She was probably searching for her next email audit victim.

“Nathan, can I help you?”

That’s Mr. Huxley to you. My inner voice was far more confident than my physical being, so I told him to settle down.

“Yeah, just letting you know I have an appointment, so I’m heading out.”

Janise peeked up from the deadly files. “Oh?” She smirked at me like Medusa.

“Yup.” I stood firm, but I avoided making eye contact just in case. I left my response at that. There was no need to give her more details. She was not the boss. I was.

Suck it, Janise.

“So you’re leaving”—she peered at the clock on the wall—“two hours early?”

I nodded succinctly, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “Yes.”

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Oh, I see.”

I didn’t leave until eight.

How did this always happen to me? I came in so confident, so prepared to tell Janise to stick it where the sun don’t shine, but all it took was a few measly passive-aggressive comments to make me crumble to ash.

I trudged my way up to the apartment, praying my worn-out desk legs could make it to the couch before giving out. Except when I stepped inside, Calla was snuggled under that same blanket, her knees tucked up to her chest. She was engrossed in what was playing on the television, so she didn’t notice me taking my jacket off and putting my keys down on the accent chair to the right of the sectional.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” She hushed me, never looking away from the screen.

Without a word, I took my seat next to her, curious about what had captivated her attention like this. There was a line of shirtless men on the screen. Every one of them was blessed with rippling abs that looked like bookshelves hanging off their stomachs. And there was a woman throwing water balloons at them. I looked over at Calla and back at the TV. What the heck was she watching? And what was so riveting about it? Honestly, I was too scared to disrupt her again to find out.

Thirty minutes, one bag of popcorn, and two wine glasses with Dr. Pepper in them (Calla polished off the wine last night, apparently) later, I was sucked into The Bachelorette, as if our world was coming to an end and this show contained the answers to how to survive the apocalypse.

The main girl was seated on a couch with one of the contestants now. She was holding his hands as tears trailed down her cheeks. “Jordan, I just don’t think we belong together.”

“Oh, come on!” Calla shouted at the TV, throwing a piece of popcorn at their faces.

I shook my head. “I cannot believe she’s picking Matt over Jordan. He brought her flowers with a love note! Matt never even told her that her blue dress matched her eyes.”

Somehow, in the span of one episode, I’d become a worthy commentator. Obviously.

Jordan did a pitiful walk of shame out to the limo as Marie stood back, wiping her tears so her makeup wouldn’t smear. I slumped back on the couch. “This is bullshit.”

Calla just shook her head and tossed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Her voice was muffled when she spoke around it. “Yeah, of course she really likes the guy with dark hair that rides a motorcycle and looks like he may wear eyeliner.”

“Why, though? When the other guy is so much nicer.”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing to slits. “The morally gray guy always gets the girl.”

Huh…morally gray?

“Maybe that’s why I don’t pull chicks. I need to be a little more bad. Gotta steal a pencil or something. Maybe spit out my gum on the sidewalk.”

Calla guffawed adorably, throwing her head back against the cushion. “I bet that’ll do the trick.”

The episode faded to black, and Calla turned the TV off. Then she hopped up and stretched her arms above her head.

“Wait. We need to watch the next episode.” I didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but my voice was raw, and I had to know who Marie was going to pick from the fourteen men left.

In response, she just shook her head, long ponytail swishing from side to side. “Nope. The next episode doesn’t air for a week.”

My jaw fell. “A week? Are you kidding me?”

Calla sashayed down the hall without a word. She opened the door, and just before stepping in, she peeked over her shoulder and smiled. “Welcome to the club, my friend. I’ll make matching jackets for us soon.” With that, she slipped inside her room and closed the door quietly behind her.

I tried so, so hard to go to my room and climb into bed. It was late, and my first lessons of the day started early. Yet this remote called to me. I waited a few more minutes as my mind and my body warred over what to do. Finally, I said screw it and reached for the remote.