GRACE
“You got fired?” my brother asks me, but I can hear the disappointment in his voice. It’s not nearly as bad as what my father’s would sound like, which is why I am turning to Owen.
“It wasn’t intentional.”
Owen snorts into the phone. “Clearly. I don’t know many people who try to get fired.” He sighs. “Did you try to find another job?”
“I’ve spent the last two weeks looking. But I feel like I’ve been blacklisted.”
“Why would you be blacklisted? What the hell did you do to get fired?”
I bite my lip. I can’t tell him I am ninety percent sure that a prominent senator got me blacklisted for trying to expose a sex ring. So I give him a half truth. “I had a huge article. I decided against writing it. My boss got pissed and fired me. And I am sure the editor told her friends.”
Owen is silent on the phone. I run my hand along a few of the boxes in my apartment of the things I boxed up, waiting for a friend to swing by with a truck so I can place it all in storage. I gaze out my window, the views of DC in the distance. My heart clenches. I fought hard to make this dream a reality, to tell the truth to people, to let the world know about indecencies that plague humanity.
And I failed.
“Are you in trouble?”
I blink at his words. “W-why would I be in trouble?”
He sighs into the phone. “Because I know you, Grace. I know the type of journalism you do.”
I shake my head and answer. “No, I’m not in trouble. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
He clucks his tongue at me. “You know I am married with three daughters. I know the word find means everything is far from fine.”
I lean against the window frame, looking out, the dreams I had fading away with the incoming storm. “It’s just… without a job and without any prospects…” I let the words trail off. “You know I didn’t make a lot of money as a journalist. And rent is already ridiculous enough here. Even if I went and worked at a coffee shop, I would just be scraping by…”
“Do you need money?”
I look back over at the boxes again. All the things I worked so hard for. Every article I wrote, even most were short pieces that didn’t get much traction, afforded me the things I have. “I can’t stay here, Owen. I… I was thinking of going to Asheville. See you for a while. Hang with the girls and Chelsi.”
He sighs into the phone. “You know Chelsi’s pregnant. Our house is already crowded as it is.”
“It wouldn’t be for long. Just until I can get on my feet again. I thought maybe you could get me a job at your law firm—”
“Grace,” he cuts me off.
“Come on, you know I worked at Dad’s law firm for four summers through college, and I have my paralegal certificate.”
“Why don’t you ask Dad?”
I scoff into the phone. “You know the answer to that.”
He’s quiet again for a few moments before speaking. “We just hired fall interns.”
“I could just work in the mail room. Hell, I’ll wash the damn bathrooms.”
He snorts into the phone. “No, you wouldn’t. And this isn’t Dad’s giant corporate firm. We don’t have a mail room.”
“Don’t you need an assistant or anything?” I am starting to beg and sound desperate. Which is the truth, I am desperate. And there is no way in hell I am turning to our father.
Owen sighs again. “I can talk to the senior partners, see what they have in the budget. Maybe my friend could use some part-time help. He has some big cases, and he is on his way to partner.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I chant. A glimmer of hope lighting up the cloud hovering over me.
“So I guess this means you are moving in with Chelsi and me.”