I picture poor Evie uncomfortable in one of our stuffy drawing rooms. I don’t want her to turn into my family. I want my family to learn who she is and why I love her.
“Why don’t you come over to her house, so you can learn what she’s all about?”
My mom nods, distracted by the notes she is taking. “Very well. But Joshua?”
“Yes.”
She looks up. “I’m serious about that basement if you do this again.”
I smile, grateful to be a part of this crazy family. “Understood.”
36
Evie
The street is dark, slick with rain and glassy, yesterday’s sunshine long gone. It’s too early for anyone to be out yet. Kendall offered to stay last night, but I wanted to be alone to think.
Because now, more than anything, I need to figure out what I really want out of life.
I click my tongue and get Chauncey settled in the front seat of my car before I go around to the driver’s side and get in.
“Sorry, Damon,” I whisper in the rearview mirror.
He’s slouched in a lawn chair on my front porch, snoring and oblivious to the world. I almost feel bad ditching him, but then I remember he’s just a proxy for Josh, who never called.
Sipping on coffee in my to-go mug, I jump on the highway and drive, not particularly worried about my destination.
As the sun rises behind me, I allow my mind to wander, back to the first time I met Josh, and my eyes sting. I let myself cry because once I get home, I’m not doing this again. When I get home, I’ll be strong and tell everyone to go to hell, but right now I need to feel the bittersweet sting of losing what could’ve been.
Maybe it’s foolish, because in the big scheme of things, Josh and I haven’t known each other that long—only a couple of months—but I could already see a future with him. One with kids and sweet whispered words at night. One where we came home to an old farmhouse and our shaggy dog. One where we laughed often and loved hard.
Chauncey nuzzles his wet snout under my hand, and I smile through my tears.
“I love him,” I tell my dog. “I love him, and this is breaking my heart.”
He whines like he understands and rests his head on my leg.
About an hour outside of the city, I finally pull over to a gas station to use the bathroom and get more coffee.
When I reach for the door handle of the car, I stare down at my ratty jeans and fluffy hot-pink house slippers and lament that I didn’t really think this through before I tore out of town. Except I’m too into this fuck-the-world mode to stop me from heading into the small convenience store.
Ten minutes later, I’m back in the car, and I blast the heater and roll down the windows. My dog thinks this is a great idea, and he leans his head out of the window, letting his tongue loll to the side.
By the time I hit the beach, I’m all cried out. I’m done crying about my job and being humiliated in front of my friends and colleagues. I’m done hiding like I’ve committed some heinous crime. And I’m done crying about Josh. Because his silence has been worse than the controversy of the last two days or even having my career in the shitter.
I park my car by the water and stare at the waves crashing along the beach.
That’s when it hits me. How much I’ve hated my job.
And this gives me pause.
I mean, what the hell am I doing with my life if I hate my damn job?
While I loathe that I’m going to be fired—I’m sure it’s only a matter of time—I’m not heartbroken over the job itself. I don’t particularly like my coworkers or the work. I don’t like being stressed out all day, every day, or worrying that I won’t have enough billable hours or that I won’t bring in enough top-tier clients.
You know that saying, that when you love what you do, it doesn’t feel like work? Well, my job has felt like work every day since I started at Waller, Goldman & Associates.
Sure, I can fight, hope I’m not disbarred for sleeping with a client, and be a cog in the machine the rest of my life, or I can find something else.
I tap on my steering wheel, wishing I had taken more time when I was younger to figure out what I wanted to do instead of what I thought I should do. That’s the problem with always having your head in your textbooks. You forget that you’re supposed to live too.
I wasn’t always so indecisive. Before, I thought I knew what I wanted: to use my brain. Between the body shaming I got from boys growing up and my mom leaving us, studying was my escape. It helped me deal with my dad always looking so devastated when he came home from work, devastated to see just me. He never had to say it, but the look in his eyes was clear—he was hoping she would return, but she never did.
My poor dad. I remember wanting him to be proud of me. And yes, a part of me, that injured little girl who missed her mom, thought maybe she’d think I was good enough for her too.
Wiping a fresh round of tears, I realize I can’t live in the past anymore.
Why can’t life be like fixing up my old house? A little elbow grease here, some extra sanding and varnish, and voilà. Good as fucking new.
The salty air whooshes through the open windows, whipping my hair around me. It feels good to let all of this go and breathe.
After a long walk on the beach with Chauncey, I’m ready to go back home, but this time, it’s on my terms. Reaching for my phone, I make the call I’ve been dreading.
My poofy, pink house slippers make a whoosh-whoosh sound along WGA’s low-pile carpet, and people stop mid-conversation to stare at me and my crazy dog. I smile back, not giving two fucks. When you reach the bottom of the barrel, you can only float up, right? I mean, if you don’t drown.
My cynical, slightly unhinged internal voice chuckles.
As I turn the corner, I see Angela at Penny’s desk and grit my teeth.
Angela takes one look at my dog and shoes and raises her eyebrow.
“I have questions about a few of your cases. Why haven’t you returned my calls?” she asks like it’s a drudgery to speak to me.
“Because I have a life.”
Her mouth drops open, and I ignore her to talk to Penny. “Is Malcolm in his office?”
“Yes, but he’s with a client.” Her eyes bug out like she wants to say more, except I’m too worked up to worry about the corporate douchebag Malcolm’s probably courting.
“Great. Thanks, Penny.” I start to walk away, but pause and turn back to her. “Don’t let these assholes get you down, okay? You’re awesome, and if I had my own firm, I’d hire you.”
That gets me a big grin, and I smile back before I trek up to Malcolm’s office. I toss open his door, not bothering to knock. He’s leaning over his desk, going through a file, when I burst in.
“Malcolm, I need to speak with you.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I see a client at his conference desk off to the right, but I’m in no mood to wait.
“Evelyn.” Malcolm frowns, probably because my dog is freaking out and jumping around like a lunatic. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”