After I found out about Michael and Tessa, the only place I had left to go was a hotel or my cousin, Sarah's. I couldn't exactly afford to stay in a hotel for the last month of my senior year of college, and, most of the time, Sarah's alright. Other than her kitchen constantly smelling of cleaning chemicals (she definitely inherited our grandmother's Polish side) and the constant Skype business calls, there's not really much to complain about.
At least she's predictable?
If a little vanilla.
Of course, she's on the phone when I walk through the front door. Somehow, she's always talking about stocks and income statements and balance sheets and–
"I don't care if he has a wedding to get to, I need the report done now. There's an entire limo ride up to the aisle."
I snort, and Sarah whips around, rag in hand, from wiping the same spot on the counter for probably the fourth time in a row. Her eyes are wide but, once she realizes it's just me, she calms down and gives me a puzzled look. I just shrug, unscrewing the lid of my water bottle and placing it under the spout on the fridge. There is no way in hell I'm getting involved just to help whatever poor guy was the point of conversation on that call. While I wait for the bottle to refill, I grab an apple out of the fruit bowl on the wooden kitchen table, peeling the sticker off.
Sometimes, I wonder if bankers realize that we literally made up money. Like some wrinkly, middle aged white men sat in a room one day and decided, hmm, this paper is worth more than this paper
even though
they're both made of the same
exact
paper.
"No, I told him to have it to me by today, which meant have it to me by yesterday. If he doesn't understand how this field works, maybe he should consider moving into equity research instead."
The apple crunches as my teeth sink into it, and I grab my water bottle from the fridge, screwing the lid back on with the apple still between my teeth. I glance at Sarah, almost hoping for her to notice and maybe offer to eat dinner together, or watch a movie, or at least acknowledge my existence.
"He can have it to me by five, I don't care if he's emailing me as he walks down the aisle and his future wife is beating him across the head with her bouquet. He had a deadline, it's his fault he didn't listen to it."
I turn away, heading towards the stairs to the third floor and my guest bedroom, taking another bite out of the apple in my hand.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, popcorn and a joint for the fourth time this week it is.
YOU ARE READING
Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022
Chick-LitOla Murphy is tired of shitty men in her life-and she's tired of being hung up on shitty men. After her dog dies, her apartment floods, and she discovers that her boyfriend is cheating on her with her best friend, Ola finds herself stuck at her cous...
