“Okay, dial it down, drama queen,” she says. “Don’t you think you should cut yourself a little bit of a break considering everything that’s happened in the last few days?”
“I think that’s the problem. I think I’ve given myself too much of a break for too long. About everything. It’s past time for me to put on my big-girl panties and clean up the mess I’ve made of my life.”
My voice breaks as I say the words, and suddenly I can’t stand to be on the couch for one second longer with Chloe gazing at me sympathetically. I get up, walk over to the huge picture window that makes up one wall of the living room, and gaze out at the moody Pacific. It’s so much grayer up here than in San Diego, so much darker and wilder that it barely feels like the same ocean.
Not that I’m complaining. Dark and moody fit my vibe just fine right now.
“I beg to differ,” Chloe says after letting me brood for a few minutes. “You’ve got your big-girl panties on and you’re doing exactly what you need to do.”
“I’m not actually wearing any panties at the moment, so…”
She cracks up, just as I intend her to. But instead of acknowledging what a disaster I am, she turns the tables and says, “See? You’re doing such a good job getting your life together that you don’t even need your big-girl panties.”
I gag a little and she laughs again. “Too much?”
“A little,” I agree.
She shrugs philosophically. “Better too much than too little. You need someone in your corner right now.”
“What I need is a job,” I say for the third time since I walked through the front door. No matter what Chloe says, it’s Miles’s words that are playing over and over in my head, reminding me of how useless I am. How much of a mess I am. How utterly incompetent I am at living my own damn life. It’s humiliating and heartbreaking and absolutely devastating—the fact that he sees me like that and, more, the fact that he’s right.
“I already told you that Ethan and I can help with that,” Chloe responds. “He’s got openings up here and in San Diego. Just say the word and one of them can be yours.”
I want to say no, want to tell her how much I appreciate the thought but I want to make my own way. Want to do this myself. But losers can’t be choosers, and the fact of the matter is, my face has been plastered all over the Internet for days, and even though the story has spun off in a totally different direction thanks to Miles, that doesn’t mean I’m not recognizable as the girl in the Alexander Parsons sex tape. I won’t be that girl forever, but for now I am, and trying to get a job with that hanging over my head isn’t going to be easy. At least not if I want a job that requires me to keep my clothes on…
The truth is, I can’t afford to wait for things to die down. Not if I want to take control over the mess that is my life. And not if I don’t want to spent the next three months sponging off my friends. “I’m good with whatever Ethan’s got that he thinks I might be qualified for,” I tell her softly.
For a second, she doesn’t answer, her mouth hanging open in shock. “Really? You want to work at Frost? Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, if you guys will have me—”
“Of course we’ll have you!” She claps her hands together, nearly jumps up and down with excitement. “Now the only questions are, what do you want to do and where do you want to do it? Here or in San Diego?”
A part of me—a very large part—is screaming at me to say San Diego. That’s home, and more, it’s where Miles is. I just realized how I felt about him, and even though we won’t be getting back together—if we ever were together—there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave San Diego, that doesn’t want to break that last tie.
Of course, that reluctance is a pretty big reason why I should leave San Diego. Getting away from Miles and my feelings for him is probably the fastest way to move on. To forget how much I’ve come to care about him. To forget how much I love him.
But trying to eke out a living in San Francisco on an entry-level salary probably isn’t going to happen. And running away might be my modus operandi, but part of putting on my big-girl panties is learning how not to do that. Learning how to stay and face my problems instead of ducking out at the first sign of trouble.
“San Diego, I guess. It’s easier to find an apartment that won’t take my whole salary. Not that I expect a lot,” I rush to tell her, afraid of how that came out. “I know I’m starting at the bottom.”
“Ethan takes care of his employees. Plus, you know you’re welcome to stay with us. We’d love to have you.”
“Yes, because what I need to do is crash my bff’s newlywed nest long-term,” I answer with a snort. “So not going to happen.”
“It’s more a mansion than it is a nest,” she tells me. “And I swear, I’d love to have you. I have Ethan and Violet and they’re wonderful, but being married and a mom sets me way apart from my classmates. It gets lonely up here sometimes. Having you around would totally fix that.”
“Funny, but you don’t look lonely.”
“Funny, but you don’t look like you’re not wearing any panties,” she says with a smirks. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up in defeat. “Let’s talk to Ethan, see what open positions he thinks I might be able to fill—if any. And then we’ll decide where I’m going to live based on where the job is. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” She loops an arm through mine and starts dragging me toward the kitchen. “Now you can pour the wine while I get dinner on the table. I’m starving.”
—
Dinner goes by quickly as Ethan and I discuss possible jobs I might be interested in—and, more important, suited for. At this point I’m interested in any job that will help me put a roof over my head and shoes on my feet, considering the only pair I currently own are a pair of flip-flops I bought for ten bucks at a convenience store halfway between LA and San Francisco. Thank God I don’t actually have to interview for this position or I would be screwed. Somehow I doubt yoga pants and flip-flops will cut it at Frost Industries.