Page 34 of The Breakup Artists

Nah. I’d have offered that to anyone. A world full of bad painters is the stuff of nightmares.

Ella

Said no one ever.

Me

Imagine if all the sign designers, clothing designers, building designers etc were TERRIBLE artists???

Ella

Fine. You’ve achieved neutral.

Me

Because I made a good point?

Ella

Lack of stupidity is definitely a plus in those I consider neutral.

I stare at my phone. This girl is witty.

Me

Woohoo! See you at the coffee shop in an hour.

Ella

Wait... How did you know I was going to be there?

Your parents told me you work on your blog there most afternoons, and since there are no parties and the weekend is over...

Me

I didn’t. I’m just going to be there.

Ella

Coffee shop is mine. I told you that you could have the park bench. Soooo

I consider typing a response, but my mom opens the passenger door.

“That Vinnie is such a nice man,” she says as she slides into the seat, her hair curlier than usual because of the rain. “Did you know he has five kids? How wonderful it must be to have all those children running around the house.”

My heart does a nosedive. “So you didn’t get the job.” I start the engine.

“All that laughter,” she says, tracing the rain down the glass.

I squeeze the steering wheel and tighten my jaw as I pull onto the street, trying to will myself not to care that this is the fourth place we’ve tried with a hiring sign, easy pickings. How do you not get hired to serve pizza? Is that even possible?

“I should’ve had five children. Five’s a good number. Don’t you think?” she asks.

No. You couldn’t support two, much less five. Hell, you can’t even support one.

“And think about all the grandchildren,” she says and sighs.

“Stop, Mom,” I say, frustration seeping through my words as I turn onto our street. “Just admit you didn’t get the job.”