“Daisy, it’s Ian Roubideaux again. Sorry for the bombardment of calls. Listen, I’d like to offer you the job if you’re still interested. If not, I understand.”
“Of course I’m still interested,” I said, and Caroline’s eyebrows shot up and she grinned, giving me a thumb’s up. “But . . . what happened? Did the other person not work out?”
“Something like that,” he said. I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “So, if you’d like to pick a time in the next couple of days to come in, that’d be great. I’ve been the one manning the office for the time being, so things are a bit chaotic. Which is where you come in. And I did like what you had to say about organization. I think you’ll be a good fit here.”
“Well . . . thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Is tomorrow okay? I can come in tomorrow.”
“You’re a go-
getter, aren’t you?” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a compliment or not.
“Um . . . yes,” I said. “I can be. Is eight o’clock good?”
He coughed, or maybe he was trying not to laugh. “Eight? No. If you come down here at eight, you’ll be waiting around for a while. We don’t get things started in the office until nine, nine-thirty. Why don’t we say ten o’clock, just to be on the safe side.”
“Ten,” I repeated. “Sure. I’ll be there at ten.”
When I got off the phone, Caroline was looking at me, a big grin on her face. “Was I right?” she finally said. “That sounded good! That sounded like you’ve got a job!”
“You were right.” I nodded and looked at the phone, wanting to feel as excited as Caroline was. She held her wine glass up to me.
“Well, cheer up then, buttercup! You’ve got a job! That’s fanfuckingtastic!”
I forced a big smile, because she was a right—this had been a rather unexpected turn of events, and for once, it was good. I should be happy about it. I held up my own glass and we clinked them together.
“Cheers,” Caroline said. “I knew this would work out for you.”
I took a sip of my wine. I hoped she was right.
I was up early the next morning before the alarm even went off. Way earlier than I normally was, but I hadn’t really been able to sleep the night before. I was too nervous. Ian had changed his mind. But why? What had happened? I couldn’t get that thought out of my head, and all the possibilities that went along with it. I knew I just needed to focus on doing a good job and handling my responsibilities, but the way everything had gone done, I was already doubting myself.
I got up out of bed when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep. I kept the light off and went over to the window and peeked out. No Rav4, no person lurking in the doorway across the street. I exhaled and stretched, then went out to the kitchen to make coffee. I’d poured the water into the machine but then remembered I was out of coffee filters. I could go out now and get one, or I could just stop on my way into work. I decided I’d just get one on the way in; I didn’t want to leave the apartment now and then come back to get ready.
I decided to pick out my outfit. I didn’t want to wear anything inappropriate, though I really didn’t need to worry about that because I didn’t own anything that could be deemed as such. As I looked through my clothes, I couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of things that Ian might like. He probably wasn’t at all interested in girls like me, though. He’d be interested in someone like Rosie, someone outgoing and really sexually experienced. At twenty-four, I was still a virgin. Not necessarily by choice. Well, now it was kind of was, and especially since this whole thing with Noah had happened. I’d had a boyfriend in high school, but we weren’t that serious; the most we’d done is make out a lot, and he put his hands up my shirt a few times, and we rubbed against each other, but it had never really gone further than that.
In college, I’d gotten involved with a guy named Emmett who was quiet and serious and seemed like a good match for me. We were both creative writing majors, and he was very sensitive about his work, and any distraction that might take him from his work, which I turned out to be. If he hadn’t broken up with me, we probably would have slept together. After that, I’d been on some dates, but that was it. Sometimes I wondered if I should just go out to a bar and get a little tipsy and sleep with the first guy I talked to, though that would probably end up being someone married or totally not my type.
I finally settled on a simple navy-blue A-line skirt and a gray short sleeve blouse. For shoes, I chose a pair of blue pumps with a kitten heel, which was actually my go-to choice because they were quite comfortable but also looked pretty dressed up.
After I washed my face, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed out my hair, which fell to the middle of my back. My hair was naturally blonde, but I’d let Amanda talk me into getting some lighter highlights when I first started working at the salon, and I liked how it turned out, so I kept up with it. Now, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do that, though I supposed I could go to a different salon.
I twisted my hair up and secured it with a tortoiseshell hair clip. I left the bathroom and slipped the shoes on, then looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I looked decent, I thought; like someone who knew what she was doing, who had confidence in herself. That’s one of the things Caroline was always telling me: Fake it till you make it. My stomach might’ve been so full of butterflies that I wasn’t even going to attempt to have anything for breakfast, but I didn’t have to let anyone else know that. So long as I could pretend that I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing, then no one else would know any different.
I left early so I could stop and get coffee. My hand was on the car door handle, about to pull up when I heard my name. I froze.
“Daisy—Daisy, it’s me; hold up!”
I was parallel parked, so it wasn’t like I could just jump in the car and drive away. But it was broad daylight out, and there were people walking by on their way to work, and cars and taxis, so it wasn’t like I was alone. I gritted my teeth and turned just as Noah crossed the street and hurried over.
“Noah,” I said. “Um. What are you doing here? I’m on my way to work.”
“You are?” He sounded surprised. It was already quite warm, but he was wearing a blue sweatshirt, zipped all the way up. “I thought you weren’t working there anymore?”
“How do you know that?”
He gave me a sheepish look. “Well . . . I might have called there looking for you. You haven’t been answering my calls! Or responding to my texts! Have you been getting them?”
I’d blocked him, so, no, I hadn’t. “I’ve . . . I’ve been having phone issues,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just tell him to fuck off? Why was there still some part of me that was worried about hurting his feelings?