The Definition of Fate

Chapter 28

People are oceans, and you can spend
your whole life trying,
but it is impossible not to drown.
- Nikita Gill

Mondays are the absolute worst. After a weekend spent laughing with friends, I dreaded coming into work this morning, and my fear was justified. Work sucks. Halle gave me an article that required visiting five synagogues across the city of Columbus to ask how they celebrate Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which was actually a pretty cool assignment, but it's already 7:00 P.M. and I'm just now putting the finishing touches on the article. I still haven't figured out how my coworkers manage to finish everything by 4:30 P.M. every day. As the year progresses, I keep staying later and later to get everything finished by the deadline.

I read the final line of my story one more time and decide to rewrite it. If I use passive voice even once, Halle will mark me off as an amateur. My fingers click across the keys as nausea bubbles in my stomach. Crap. When was the last time I ate something? Today's Monday, so I didn't have lunch with Josh...did I have lunch? Where was I during lunch? Ah, yes. I was visiting a synagogue. I complete the last line of the article and then reach under my desk for my bag. My lunch box is empty; I must have forgotten to pack food this morning.

"Crap," I growl. No wonder I don't feel well. I glance at the vending machine, but even the thought of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup makes my stomach turn. That's how I know I'm hungry.

I press my left hand to my stomach to fight the nausea and continue to write. If I don't finish this article tonight, I'll be in huge trouble, so I carry on. Halle actually gave me a story that doesn't totally suck, so I need to prove myself to her. Again.

The third paragraph makes no sense, so I have to go back to my notes and rewrite it, then redo my transitions in the fourth paragraph so the article flows more smoothly. A few more tweaks and the story finally comes together. I glance at my phone. It's 8:23 P.M. and Chloe has texted me six times wondering where I am and saying she has something exciting to tell me.

I close my eyes for a second and try to ignore the pounding in my skull. One more read through and then I can send the article to Halle, go home, and get some sleep. The final read through turns into a final edit which leads to another read through before I finally attach the article in an e-mail and send it to Halle. I should feel a sense of relief when the e-mail is marked "sent," but that only brings more anxiety. Could I have improved it? Did I remember to check for split infinitives? Halle hates split infinitives. It doesn't matter. You sent it already.

I grab my bag and trudge out of my cubicle, the motion sensor lights flicking on as I leave. I'm the only person left for the night, so I grip my keys between my fingers as I walk to my car. This isn't a particularly sketchy part of town, but I'm still a single woman outside at night. A gusty September wind catches at my curls and tosses them into my eyes as I find my lone car in the parking lot.

As I climb inside, I murmur to myself, "This beast better start or I quit." If only. I dream of quitting far too often these days.

Luckily, the Ladybug obeys the first turn of the key and rumbles to a start. I rub a hand across my eyes, demanding them to stay open long enough to get us safely home, and pull onto the main street. I spend the entire drive home second guessing the structure of my article. Should I have started with the quote from Rabbi Levy rather than the story behind the Jewish New Year? Did I remember to tell Alex, the photographer, to send Halle the right pictures? I fight the temptation to pull over and check my e-mail on my phone. Let it go, Rach. It'll be fine.

I stumble up the stairs to our apartment building, my boots scuffing on the stairs. All I want to do right now is sleep, but I need to make sure Chloe is okay. I unlock the front door and trudge inside, tossing my shoes and bag into my bedroom and grabbing a handful of Saltines. They'll have to be my makeshift dinner for tonight; I have no energy to cook right now.