The Definition of Fate

Chapter 10

The saddest word
in the whole world
is the word almost.

He was almost in love.
She was almost good for him.
He almost stopped her.
She almost waited.
He almost lived.
They almost made it.

- Nikita Gill

"Rachel, are you ready? We have to go soon!" Chloe calls from the hallway. "You might want breakfast on your first day!"

I lean over the bathroom vanity, a wand of black eyeliner in my hand. A few weeks have passed, allowing me to settle into the apartment and find my way around Columbus, plus stock up on groceries and summer professional clothes. A trip to Goodwill did a lot to rejuvenate my wardrobe.

"I'm coming, just give me a second!" That one statement is enough to wreck the black line across my eyelid. I sigh and widen the line on my left eye to match. That'll have to do.

"Rachel!"

"Just hold on!" I scream back, pulling away from the mirror to check my appearance.

I've already visited The Columbus Post to sign all the paperwork with Human Resources, but today will be my first chance to meet my new boss and coworkers. Chloe has raved endlessly about how wonderful my boss is and how much I'll love him, but honestly, my standards are pretty low. As long as he's better than Tina, I should be fine.

"Let's see you!" Chloe says, grabbing onto the doorframe and looking into the bathroom.

I turn around and throw my arms out, showing off my outfit. I went with a knee-length black jersey skirt and a button-up white shirt with gold buttons plus a pair of wedge sandals.

Chloe grins at me. "Very professional. I made you some oatmeal," she urges, glancing at her watch. I check the time on my phone; we have 25 minutes to get there, and since it's only a ten minute drive away, I'm not too concerned.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I say, turning around and grabbing my lunch box and work bag from the toilet cover.

In the kitchen, Hina has set a bouquet of carnelian dahlias on the table and Chloe put a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with almonds at my seat. Hina lounges on the couch with her laptop, and since she works from home, she's still wearing pajamas while Chloe and I prepare to leave.

"Thanks, Chlo," I say, sliding into the cross-back chair and scooping the oatmeal into my mouth.

I inhale the oatmeal without tasting it, and Chloe and I head for her car, a turquoise Prius. I climb into the passenger's seat with my bags on my lap and sigh. Nerves tingle up my spine. What if my boss hates me? What if my coworkers think I'm some nerdy weirdo with too many Jane Austen books? What if I spill my tea all over the hottest guy at work? These fears may seem irrational, but at least one of them has happened before, so they're entirely valid.

Chloe slides the car away from the curb as I ask, "So, you're sure your boss will like me?"
"I swear. He read some of your pieces from the Bee and from the paper in Pennsylvania. He said you had talent, and when Griffin Fitzpatrick says you have talent, that's good news."

The way Chloe talks about this guy makes him sound like some sort of journalistic god. Apparently, he's renowned throughout the Midwest for his advances in online news reporting, something at which Tina and The Morning Call failed tremendously. Despite my youth, I'm a little afraid that I'll be too old-fashioned for The Columbus Post's approach to journalism.

"What if I'm not good enough? What if he hates my very first article and fires me? What if I actually suck at this?"

Chloe laughs, her black curls swishing as she turns to check for oncoming traffic. "I was your editor in the college paper. I know you don't suck."