Well, whatever the case, maybe it was time for a switch. A change of scenery. Maybe a new flavor of bullshit that didn’t get its stink all over my personal life.
Though I had been with Mitchell & Forsythe for years, I still kept my résumé up to date. Well, that wasn’t true. I had a document containing my résumé, and I brought it up to date whenever something made me question how many more years of my life I could piss away at that place, working my fingers to the bone and inhaling rubber cement fumes. Inevitably, the feeling would pass, but at least my résumé would be current.
I opened my browser and searched for “architectural modeler” on one of the more popular employment websites.
Four matches. Only one within fifty miles.
Fuck.
I needed another drink, so I went back to the freezer. After the second trip, I brought the bottle into the living room with me. The floor was about to start getting uneven, so the fewer trips I had to make, the better.
I was…too many glasses in and still somehow too fucking sober when the front door opened. A second later, my ex-wife appeared in the doorway.
“You’re home early. Sick?”
“No, no. Jus’ needed some downtime.”
“Can’t blame—” Karen glanced at the bottle and then did a double take. She faced me fully. “What’s wrong?”
My shoulders sank. “I…fucked up. Royally.”
“How?” She came closer and took a seat beside me on the sofa. “What happened?”
I swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. After the burn wore off a little, I took a deep breath and ran her through everything that had happened since Marie and I had stepped into that conference room right up until I’d walked away from Rick this morning. Everything after that was unimportant, and it was all starting to get a little blurry anyway.
When I was finished, she shook her head. “I wish I knew what to tell you. But it’s a shitty situation all around.”
“Yeah. It is. And fuck if I know where to go from here. Or if there’s a goddamned thing I can do that’ll actually do any good.” I took a drink, nearly draining my glass. “About all I can do is just keep working for—”
“What?” She stared at me. “You’re not seriously going to stay at that place.”
“What else can I do?” I shrugged. “I still need a paycheck.”
“Yeah, but…Jon, they were asking you to be a prostitute for them.”
“Yep.” I brought my glass to my lips. “Guess I should be used to it. Given what the universities are charging, it’s only a matter of time before they start asking for blowjobs.”
She watched me silently, not saying a word as I finished the glass and poured in another splash of booze. “Is that what this is about? The universities?”
I flinched, avoiding her eyes. “I have to pay them somehow.”
“Not like this.”
“Then how?”
“Jon. Listen to me.” She took my hand and gripped it firmly. “We made promises to those kids, but they’re mature and understanding. They know things can change that are beyond our control.”
“Except I brought this on myself.”
“Yeah, maybe. But you didn’t expect—and you don’t deserve—what your bosses are asking you to do. And ten years from now, do you want those kids to remember you killing yourself to pay for their school? Or do you want them to remember their dad putting his money where his mouth is after all those years he told them that doing the right thing is the most important thing?”
I winced.
She went on, “They can get student loans if they need them. You and I can get loans if we need to. Their tuition will get paid if we have to rent a one-bedroom apartment together. But don’t you dare be a coward in the name of money. That’s not you. That’s never been you.”
“No, it hasn’t. But, I mean, it isn’t like the kids will know what happened with me and Rick.” I gestured with my glass, nearly losing my grip as I did. “They don’t even know I’m seeing anyone, so how the hell would they know if I’m working for people who told me I had to keep fucking him?”
Karen scowled. God, that look. I’d seen it a lot during the last year we were married and the first year we were divorced, before we both grew up and got our shit together. Much more calmly than she would’ve thirteen years ago, she said, “They don’t have to know the details to know that you’re unhappy or that you’re working yourself into the ground. And they know the biggest financial strain in your life right now is paying for them to go to school. They’re not stupid.”
I lowered my gaze, absently swirling what was left in my glass.