Nicola
“Nicola Price, you’re fired,” my boss says to me in his most Donald Trump-like expression. Only he’s not smiling like it’s a joke and his coif is so shellacked with hair goop that it would put Mr. Trump to shame.
Also, I’m pretty sure he actually said, “Nicola, we’re so sorry to tell you this, but we’re going to have to let you go.” But what’s the difference when they pretty much mean the same thing? In one damn second I’ve lost my job. My income. My stability.
My future.
It’s a wonder I don’t have a meltdown like the ones Ava throws when she can’t find her favorite plush toy, Snuffy. Or even leak a single tear. Instead, I just sit there like an idiot, a frozen, slack-jawed failure, while my boss, Ross (ex-boss now, I guess), prattles on about how sorry he is and how he wished they could have kept me but the company is downsizing and they’re removing one of the stores and yadda, yadda, yadda.
But none of that matters whatsoever since I know I’m one week shy of having worked for them for three months. In one week, I would have finished my probationary period and my health insurance would have rolled in. I would have gotten a raise. I would have gotten peace of mind and a career in the field I’ve been striving for.
And now I’m angry because I realize these assholes knew they’d never offer me a permanent position, they just wanted the cheap fucking labor. This had been their plan all along, to string me along under false pretences and then kick me to the curb before it became serious.
Sounds a lot like my love life, come to think about it.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” he asks, peering at me with concern, perhaps watching my face for signs of an imminent explosion.
Ava, it always comes back to my daughter. If it weren’t for her, I probably would have just nodded at the dismissal. Take it graciously like I try to do with everything life throws my way, like I’d been taught at a young age. Never let them see you cry; never let them see you as anything but perfectly appropriate. Suck it up and carry on, a vision of cool.
But my life at the moment isn’t cool and there isn’t a single appropriate thing about it. My rent at my shitty apartment recently increased. My car needs a part I can’t afford, so it just sits on the curb collecting rust from San Francisco’s eternal mist, and Ava has been increasingly sick lately. Nothing to worry about, the doctor says, just lethargic on some days but I’ve got an endless supply of worry for my kiddo and not always enough money to pay for a doctor’s visit. Not to mention a pretty useless doctor at that. I was counting on that goddamn medical insurance for her, not for me.
And so, like Bruce Banner when he turns into the Hulk – minus the shirt-ripping – I let it all unleash on my unsuspecting ex-boss. For three months I have been prim and proper and yes sir, no sir, running around all the stores like an overworked slave, all while keeping a big smile on my face. Never let them see you sweat. Always keep your cool.
Fuck that.
I’m not even sure what to say. It’s like I go into some deep, black pit of pent-up resentment. I think I even blackout for a moment. All I know is that when I realize what I’m doing, I’m standing up, my finger jabbing in the air towards my ex-boss, and I’m spewing a load of obscenities.
“You know if you had just fucked me over sideways, that would have been fine. But you’re hurting my daughter by doing this. How dare you just toss me aside a week before my health insurance kicked in!” I yell at him. “Don’t you have a damn heart?”
But from the way Ross calmly picks up his phone and asks his assistant, Meredith, to come in the room as if I need to be escorted out, I can see he doesn’t have a heart at all.
Meredith has never liked me and the last thing I need is her gloating, so I hightail it out of his office before she can get a glimpse of my red and distraught face. I quickly gather my purse from my cubby in the staffroom, grateful for once that while I was the company’s visual stylist for the past three months, I never had a desk of my own. What a pain that would be to clean out.
I don’t even say goodbye to Priscilla, the buyer whom I’d become somewhat close with, or Tabby, the regional merchandiser, someone whose job I hoped to have one day. I’m just too ashamed to tell them what just happened and I feel worse when I suspect maybe they knew all along.
When I first got the job for the popular yoga clothing chain, Rusk, I thought I’d finally made it. I’d spent enough time taking two steps forward and one step backward. The city doesn’t always make it easy on you, no matter what industry you’re in. And fashion is definitely one of the more challenging ones.
I went to college with Stephanie at the Art Institute in downtown San Francisco, connecting with her after being decades apart. I grew up near Steph in Petaluma, a town north of the city, and I knew her in grade school until my parents got divorced and I moved with my mom to the Pacific Heights in San Francisco to live with her terribly rich new husband. Long story short, after spending high school with the rich kids – and being one of the rich kids – I enrolled myself in college, wanting to do something with my passion for fashion. After all, the garments I designed and made in my spare time, ones with screen-printed graphics and kooky phrases, would never grant me an income or a career. They were good but not “that good” (as my ex-stepfather had pointed out). So, I thought a career in fashion merchandising would be the next best thing.
And it was. I mean, school was amazing. I finally felt in my element, surrounded by people who understood my passion, who “got” me. But finding jobs after school wasn’t so easy. And even though I managed to snag a few internships in some pretty important places (Banana Republic being one of them), I struggled to find a job that was related to my field and paid enough to give Ava everything she needed.
That’s usually what it came down to, my daughter. Her arrival was a curveball to my perfectly crafted life but I took it in stride, determined to love her. And I do, with all my heart. I never regretted keeping her for a second. But it was Phil, my baby daddy’s leaving that really undid me. And after that, everything just kind of kept falling apart. Me and Ava against the world.
One day, though, while I was still with Phil, I thought my prayers had been answered. I had gotten a job at an online jewelry store as the copywriter and buyer. It was actually pretty amazing. The pay was excellent and all signs pointed to a long and promising career. But online retail is a cutthroat and fickle industry, so after a couple of years the site went bankrupt. I was out of a job. Then I was out of a boyfriend. Then my mother cheated on her new husband and, thanks to the indemnity clause, I was out of any extra financial support as I bounced around the city from a nice apartment to a so-so studio to a run-down in the sketchy Tenderloin district trying to find work again in the industry.
Finally, after a yearlong maternity leave stint as a sales clerk in the Nordstrom shoe department (not at all what I wanted to do but it paid the bills), I came across the position at Rusk. I thought I found something that would kindle my passion while providing the financial support I wanted for Ava. It’s not that she asked for anything, but I wanted to be able to give her whatever she desired. I’d do anything for her including working my ass off just so she could have all of life’s opportunities.
Rusk promised a great career in visual merchandising and an amazing paycheck with fabulous benefits. Even though my probationary salary was barely above minimum wage, I was fueled by their beautiful promises. I quit Nordstrom and jumped at the chance. I really thought everything would change.
And it did. For the worst. Now…now I’m hurrying past the people on Sutter Street on the verge of a panic attack. Every person’s face is a blank blur and my vision occasionally clouds over as tears swarm my eyes, hot and potent. They never fall, though. That has to mean something. That I’m a trooper. That I will get past this.
I will find another job. I will find another chance.
Sometimes I feel life is just one episode after another of trying to find another way. I wonder what happens when you discover there is no other way this time.
I make my way down Leavenworth as the streets become a little less clean and the people a little less friendly. Or too friendly, depending on how you look at it. The same man with his toothless smile asks me for change outside a liquor store, but today I don’t spare him a cent. I just keep my head down and brush through the riff raff of the neighborhood, a place I’ve resented ever since it became my only option in this high-priced city until I’m unlocking the door into the lobby of the apartment building.
Pausing, I stare at the door just as I’m about to close it behind me. The door is glass and there are long vertical bars on the windows, indicative of the neighborhood. I remember when Phil moved out and I lost my job at the online retailer, how I could no longer afford to live in Noe Valley, a gorgeous neighborhood next to the Castro. That apartment was everything to me but there was no way I could afford to live there on my own while supporting Ava. The two of us bounced from apartment to apartment, the standards of living slipping each time, until I found myself staring up at the bruised façade of this building, both hoping I could get an apartment and promising myself I’d move us out of there the first chance I got.
It looked like that chance wasn’t going to happen for quite some time.
I sigh, my heart a stone in my chest, and make my way up to the second floor. My mom usually babysits during the day on Thursdays and Fridays and I pay Lisa, my usual sitter, to watch Ava the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to get her into some affordable daycare but that shit is hard to come by in the city. The waiting lists are epic and you really have to be wary of where you put your kid. Before I had Ava, I had no idea how difficult it could be to keep your child secure and safe. I thought daycare and babysitters and education and healthcare would be easy, maybe because I had it easy growing up (or maybe as a child, you just don’t pay attention to those things). But now I know better.
No one is looking out for you or your child but you.
I slip my keys in the door and quietly open it just in case Ava is down for a nap. The apartment is a one-bedroom but only about 550 square feet. I made it as beautiful as possible, though, and in my opinion it looks just as good as my fancier place in Noe Valley did. To be honest, it’s pretty much an Anthropologie showroom. I couldn’t afford to shop there anymore so I held onto my old stuff like it was gold, gluing back coffee cups if the handles fell off or sewing curtains back together if Ava tugged on them too hard (which has happened more than once).
Ava and Lisa are playing with dolls on the shag carpet and the moment I step in, Ava smiles that big, gorgeous bright smile of hers and gets up, running over to me. She wraps her arms around my leg and before I can even shut the door behind me, I crouch down to her level and envelope her in a giant hug. Just being around my daughter elevates my mood and increases my heart rate. It makes things both hard and easy at the same time, something I have a hard time figuring out myself. I think sometimes when you love something too much, you’re that much more aware of how much you have to lose. Holding my little girl in my arms brings me peace but makes me realize that I’m going to have to do everything in my power to make sure she’s okay in the end.
When I pull away, Ava looks at my face with open curiosity. “Mommy, why are you crying?”
I hadn’t even noticed. I quickly wipe my tears on my shoulders and give her a shaky smile. “I’m fine, angel,” I tell her.
Lisa is standing up, wiping her hands on her jeans. I get to my own feet, close the door behind me and put my hand on Ava’s ash-blonde head. Normally my hair is long and dark brown, many shades darker than Ava’s, but Steph recently chopped it off to shoulder-length and put lots of highlights in it. I tell her when she’s done with running her own business she should become a hairdresser instead.
“Everything okay?” Lisa asks, peering at me through her glasses. Tall, reed-thin and sporting an ever-present ponytail, Lisa’s a whip-smart student who seems wise beyond her age, sometimes more mature than me. She’s been looking after Ava for two years now, whenever she can fit it into her schedule. I don’t want to let her go and I have no idea how I’m going to even broach the subject, but the fact is I don’t see how I can possibly afford her while I’m out of work.
Shit, if I ended it a bit better there’s a chance I could have at least worked the last week and gotten more money. I doubt I can even put Rusk on my résumé now after the way I yelled at Ross. No one wants to hire a crazy person.
I give Lisa a small shake of my head and tell Ava to go into our shared bedroom and put her doll to bed. She runs off and I collapse onto the couch with a hard exhale.
“What is it?” Lisa asks, sitting on the arm of the couch.
I chew on my lip for a moment, avoiding her gaze. “I got fired today.”
She breathes in sharply. “What, are you serious? Why?”
I shrug. “They told me a whole bunch of bullshit about closing down some of their stores, but they weren’t the stores I worked at anyway. I think they just wanted cheap labor.”
“Dude, that sucks,” she says. “What are you going to do?”
I eye her apologetically. “Look for another job. But until I find one, I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay you anymore. Money is going to be really tight around here.”
Her face scrunches up for a moment but it quickly becomes sympathetic. I forget that she may have depended on me the same way I depended on her. “I understand. And I’m sure you’ll find something really fast.”
“I hope so,” I tell her. “I kind of have to.”
She gives my shoulder a light pat. “Well, I better get going. I guess you don’t want me to sit tomorrow night?”
I give her a quizzical look and then quickly remember. “Shit,” I swear loudly while hoping Ava doesn’t hear me. Linden’s birthday is tomorrow night and he’s celebrating it on a Tuesday instead of the weekend like any normal human being. I eye Lisa. “No, I guess not. It’s best I stay home.”
She nods and picks up her purse from the counter. For a moment she looks like she’s going to cry.
“I’ll text you as soon as I’ve got something lined up,” I tell her and she gives me a quick smile before she walks out the door and closes it behind her.
The apartment is silent for a few moments and I can’t even hear Ava playing in the bedroom. Then comes her small voice, “Mommy?”
I get up, feeling extremely old all of a sudden, and shuffle over to the bedroom. I lean against the doorway and see Ava putting her doll in her bed. She looks up at me, full-cheeked and proud.
“See, I take care of her. Like you take care of me.”
It takes all that I have not to break down in front of her.
***
I spent last night in a daze, cuddling with Ava on the couch watching her favorite shows and trying not to think about anything except Dora the Explorer’s terrible haircut and fashion sense. After Ava went to bed, I finished half a bottle of wine, flipped through Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar and avoided texts from Steph and Kayla, also letting a call from my mom go to voice mail. They didn’t know anything and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. My father, before my mom left him and he jetted across the world to India to do charity work (wish I could have done that after Phil ditched me) used to tease me about my pride. My mom and I both suffer from it, never admitting our faults, never asking for help.
But now in the cold, grey light of day, as I’m able to sleep in for a bit and explain to Ava that her mother will be home with her for the next while, I know I have to face the music. I need to get my life on track as best I can. If I can do it without anyone’s help or anyone feeling sorry for me, then all the better.
I spend the morning going through Craigslist and a bunch of other job sites before the anxiety becomes too much and I take Ava to a playground in Little Saigon. After, we get Pho and I keep checking my phone, hoping to hear back about something already. It’s maddening applying for jobs. Each time I read a job description that I fall in love with, I become obsessed with it. All my hopes go riding on it as if the job will make my life a million times better, as if I even have a chance. Not being able to put Rusk on my résumé really put my career a step back, too.
After the fifth text gets ignored, Steph finally calls me just as I’m putting Ava down for a nap. I close the door to the room, take in a deep breath and answer the phone.
“Hey,” I say brightly. “You never call.”
“Because you usually answer your texts,” she says quickly. “Where have you been?”
“Here,” I tell her.
“Like in California, or somewhere more specific?”
“Just…here.”
“Are you okay?”
This is why I didn’t want to talk to Steph. She usually has a sixth sense about things.
“Mmmm.” A non-committal answer is best.
“You’re still coming out tonight, right?”
“Well…”
“Nicola!” she says. “I haven’t seen you for weeks.”
That’s true, though that’s more on her end. She’s been super busy with her new online business. She used to run her store, Fog and Cloth, in a bricks and mortar location but went online to go with the times. But, as it was for the company I used to work for, it hasn’t been easy. It’s very competitive and she’s a two-woman show so far, having only one person working for her in the warehouse. I rarely see her, especially coming into the summer season.
“Look,” I say, pushing my hair behind my ears and eyeing the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. I’d give my left boob to have a glass right now but I wouldn’t dare with Ava under my care. “Something’s come up and I don’t have Lisa to sit right now.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But I want to know.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you always want to know.” I take in a deep breath. “Okay, promise not to make a big deal about it?”
“Yeah…”
“Actually promise you won’t talk about it? At all.”
Silence. “Maybe.”
“Then I’m not telling.”
“Oh, come the fuck on.”
“Whoa, language, angry lady. Your husband is rubbing off on you.”
At that she giggles and I have to roll my eyes again. I believe that even if the person can’t see you roll your eyes, they can tell.
“Never mind,” I quickly say, “you pervert.”
“Seriously,” she says. “I won’t talk about it. Just tell me.”
And so I launch into it. To her credit, she doesn’t say a word until I’ve caught her up to speed, breathless and angry all over again.
“Wow,” she says. “That…well, I won’t talk about it. But…seriously?”
“Stephanie,” I warn.
She groans. “Okay, fine. But you have to come out tonight. You can’t be there alone.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear the part about me not having a babysitter.”
“Bring Ava along!”
I almost laugh. “Yeah, right. To a bar?”
“Well, maybe not the bar, but we’re meeting at our place first for an hour or two, for pre-drinks. At least you can come to that.”
“I can’t even afford a cab and my car is still messed up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I tell her, feeling my hackles go up.
“I know, but still. I’ve got you, okay? That’s what friends are for. I’ll get a car to you and you’ll come here and we’ll have a nice time with friends and we won’t discuss anything you don’t want to. Please. Don’t make me beg.”
“But I like it when you beg.”
“So does Linden.”
“Okay, TMI, I’m hanging up now.”
She giggles again. “Sorry. All righty, be ready at 6pm. We’ll have appies here so don’t worry about dinner either and I’ll fix something up for Ava. And by that, I mean Linden will since he’s the only one who knows how to cook. See you soon and hang in there. You’re going to be okay.”
I hang up the phone not at all wanting to be around people, even if they are my friends. But I also don’t want to have a staring contest with that half-drunk bottle of wine either and spend the evening wallowing in feelings of panic and inadequacy.
Luckily as I take a quick shower and get ready for the evening, I feel my spirit perk up a bit. It’s probably because I haven’t gone out in a really long time and there’s something about dressing up that makes me feel like I’m in my element. I bring out the waves in my hair, squeeze myself into a pair of skinny jeans and a white fluttery, off-the-shoulder top, add a pop of red lipstick and I’ve got this sultry señorita look going on, even though with the freckles on my nose and my English rose skin, I’m the furthest thing from it.
Ava is beyond excited to go to an “adult party.” She seems to copy my lead by spending a lot of time picking out an outfit, even though in the end she wants to wear her SpongeBob pillowcase. I put her in a purple dress instead and we head downstairs to wait for the cab to show up, booster seat in tow.
When I see a navy blue Mercedes pull to the curb, I wonder if Stephanie ordered the priciest Uber in town.
The car parks and I hold Ava’s hand, remaining at the door to my building until I know for sure they’re there for us. When the driver’s side opens and a tall gentleman in a suit gets out, I know it can’t be for me. No Uber driver dresses that well.
That is, until I see his face.
Bram. Fucking. McGregor.
I blink. My cheeks grow hot and I’m wishing this is all a huge mistake. Bram can’t be here for me, can he? I mean, the last time I saw Bram was at Steph and Linden’s wedding and even though we shared a hot make-out session, it wasn’t long before he found another pair of lips to hook up with. And by “not long,” I mean minutes.
“Nicola,” he says in his Scottish accent, looking incredibly dapper as he leans across his spiffy car. “Are you ready?”
Oh, fuck. He is here for me.
I nearly drop the booster seat.
I squeeze Ava’s hand and take in a deep breath. I want to kill Stephanie, even though I never told her I made out with her brother-in-law, so there’s no way she could possibly know that I hate Bram with a passion.
Remember what I said about pride and how it’s something I’ve got in spades? Well, Bram bruised that far more than he could possibly know.
And now I have to get in a car with him, with my daughter, when I’m at one of the lowest moments of my life.
He eyes the heavy seat in my hands. “Do you need a hand?”
I’m this close to telling him, “Thanks, but no thanks,” and that I’ve changed my mind all together about the party. But Ava pulls me forward toward the car, as if I’ve never taught her to be aware of strangers, and says, “Come, mommy. His car is shiny.”
She’s going to get herself in a whole load of trouble when she’s older.
My eyes briefly meet Bram’s and it brings out one hell of a jackass smile from him, a smile that boils my blood.
I guess I’m going to the party with Bram McGregor.
Shit.