Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Tessa, please have a seat.”
I do my best to paste on a smile and take a seat across from her desk.
“How have you been?”
I nod. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Charlotte looks up from her computer screen and frowns. “I won’t beat around the bush, Tessa, and trust me when I say this has nothing to do with your quality of work. But we’re making cutbacks, and unfortunately we’re going to have to terminate your employment.”
The news should shock me. Worry me.
But all I feel is numbness.
“Tessa? Did you hear me?”
I blink. “Yes. I’ve been here for a couple of years, though.”
“I know. Unfortunately, shit runs downhill. I’ve had to make some decisions I didn’t want to make. You’ll of course receive three months’ severance pay and benefits. Then if you need to retain your benefits under COBRA, you can do that for another year and a half.”
Benefits, yeah. I definitely need benefits. Health insurance covers my therapy.
“I…” Words don’t form in my head. What am I supposed to say? Thank you? I should hardly thank her for firing me.
“Since you’re not being terminated for cause, if you don’t find another position once your severance package is up, you can always apply for unemployment.”
Right. Unemployment. That’ll make me feel good.
I’m upset yet not upset. A little nonplussed, actually. “All right. Is that all, Charlotte?”
“Yeah. That’s all.” She begins tapping on her computer. “You can clear out your office today if you feel like it. Your current salary will continue to be paid for the next three months. I can get all of that to you in writing for your signature.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
I leave, walk back to my office, not talking to anyone along the way. Is this truly not for cause? I’ve done my job to the best of my ability since the incident, but everyone knows I haven’t been myself. I’ve hardly been to the office.
Perhaps they did need to cut costs, and I was the obvious choice, since I haven’t had my head in the game lately. Maybe this is why I felt all the eyes on me when I walked in. Maybe everyone knew I was getting canned.
Whatever the reason, I don’t feel concern. In all honesty? I just feel relief.
Now I don’t have to go to work.
I have three months of salary coming. A decent amount of savings in the bank. I’ll be fine.
And if I’m not?
I can’t go there. Absolutely can’t go there. I have to stay focused so I can get through Skye’s bachelorette party and wedding.
I laugh out loud—wow, when was the last time I did that?—as I leave the building with my box of items.
Well, now I have all the time in the world to focus on Skye. I’ll even have money.
You’re going to have to search for a new job, Tessa.
Yeah, I know that.
Skye’s back from New York now, and I should call her and let her know what’s going on with the bachelorette party. Which I would totally do, if I had a clue. Ben said he’d handle everything.
But now I have the time, and I need something to prod me along. Because frankly? I’m so tired of feeling like I’m trudging through mud, each step a challenge. My work was getting me up each morning. That’s gone, so I need something else.
Once I’m back at my apartment, I decide to call Skye.
“Ben Black,” the voice on the other end of the line says.
The phone slips from my hand and clatters to my floor, scaring Rita.
“I’m sorry, baby.” I pet her quickly and pick up the phone.
Ben Black?
Did I tap his name instead of Skye’s?
I look at my recent phone calls. Sure enough, Ben called me right after Skye did. I had my phone on silent during the meeting with Charlotte.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Hey, it’s Tessa. I’m really sorry. I thought I was calling Skye.”
“That’s not a problem. Always glad to talk to you.”
“Well, since I’ve got you on the phone, I have some more time to deal with this bachelorette party fiasco.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. I just got laid off from my job.”
He pauses a moment. Then, “I’m sorry to hear that. You doing okay?”
Such a loaded question. I hardly know this man, and he doesn’t give a damn if I’m doing okay. How could he?
“As a matter of fact, no, I’m not doing okay. You know my past. I’m having a fucking hard time, Ben. And I’ve got this bachelorette party and wedding looming over me. The last thing I need is for strangers to ask me if I’m okay.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
This is not who I am. I don’t go around looking for pity by spouting out my problems or snapping at people for expressing sympathy. But I can’t bring myself to apologize.