Page 9 of You'll Love it Here

“Right. Thanks!” I accept it with my free hand and take a sip. Its warmth and subtle nutty taste are probably the only good thing that will happen today. “Good coffee,” I mutter.

His eyebrow raises. One of his dimples has returned. It’s actually... not bad when he smiles. “By the way, on Fridays cheese fries are half price.”

I cough up the coffee I inhaled into the wrong pipe.

Disturbing Some Animals

As soon as I make it to the dingy hallway of my apartment, I glance guiltily to the end of the hall, where Irene’s door is. She’s got a joke sign that reads:111 days since last incidentabove her door that’ll need to be reset.

I let myself into my unlocked suite and Ernest nervously follows me in. After I unclip his leash he shuffles around, smelling each item, then exhaling little puffs of air like he’s wondering what my deal is. He’s pressing his wet nose on my clean furniture, but I try not to think about it.

Alice is floating listlessly in her bowl, her eyes tracking my movements. I left her here during a fire evacuation. This might just be the final nail in the coffin of her already dismal opinion of me. Although she’s seen me eat sashimi before—she knew what I was capable of.

It’s time to tidy my mess. I slide off my slippers and align them in the row of shoes near the wall. I grab the Cheetos bag and toss it, then consider the two pieces of the vase I broke/stole last night. Another flash of memory returns. I’d stumbled into the table and knocked the flowers over. Like a moron, I’d brought the broken vase back with me, figuring I could glue it back together today and nobody would notice if I got it back in time (I definitely underestimated the rest of the mess in the lobby). I should’ve just left it. Now I’ll have to sneak it to the bin when the coast is clear.

I rinse off the shards and leave them drying in the sink, like some kind of low-stakes criminal souvenir.

I retrieve my phone from atop my dresser. I haven’t left it alone for this long in... I can’t remember. At least I remembered to charge it before I passed out last night. I take a breath and face the screen.

My work-friend group chat is filled with messages from last night and this morning. The messages are of the “hope you all got home okay,” “feeling like shit,” “surprised that Iactuallygot drunk” variety that usually accompany a night of regrettable choices.

I type:All good here! Never drinking again! Coffee soon?

My message looks too upbeat, not at all like the shithole inside me. Corbin and Lisa heart it immediately. They’re probably standing around the espresso machine gossiping right around now, and a pang overcomes me. I just want to sit in my tiny office in my little rose-colored velvet chair that’s designed for crossing your legs on (I got it last year with my small bonus), stare out my narrow window that has a view of the side of another building (like an industrial late-stage capitalist art installation), and drink the office coffee that’s so much better than the drip machine I have at home.

A side message appears from Olivia:Best wishes to your mom. Let me know if I can help with anything here, but I’m sure things will be great when you return! Love you!

Olivia and I are the same breed of person. We didn’t come from money or get help from our parents. She knows how hard-won everything I’m now at risk of losing is. She’s a level below me, and my promotion to director would have cleared the way for her to move into my old role. Falling off the treadmill now feels like I’m lettingherdown too.

I heart Olivia’s message but can’t handle saying anything more.

I also have three missed calls fromMom Cell A. When I don’tanswer—which is often, these days, as I’ve been so tied up with work—she leaves me what’s basically a podcast in my voicemail. But today, she just sent two texts.

Mom:Is it legal for a restaurant to steal your money in a slot machine?

Mom:I think I’m being cheated and it’s not professional.

Ah, shit. I immediately call via FaceTime.

She picks up after the first ring, and I’m greeted with the boldest sight in the world for 11:04 a.m. She’s dressed in a shiny metallic blouse and has more makeup caked on her face than I’ve worn over this entire moon cycle. “Mom, you’re in public, I see. Haven’t they suffered enough?”

She immediately flicks her hand at me. “I don’t have time for silly jokes, this is an emergency.”

It’s the blinking lights in the background and the machines I notice next. “Mom, are you in a casino?”

Her eyelids flit downward for a second, shameless. “Safa says they have nice beef dip, and we’re watching the Britney Spears drag queen. She’s not good so she does the lunch crowd, but I feel like she can get better with encouragement, so I clapped a lot. I’m very supportive.” She grins, as if everything she just said is perfectly mundane.

“Cool.” The least amount of words is usually the most efficient way to deal with her lately.

She leans toward the screen conspiringly but doesn’t quite lower her voice when she cups her mouth to say, “But there’s a big emergency here. I found a scam.”

“Oh?”

“My hand slipped and pushed the button of the slot machine too early, before I could infuse it with luck, and the machine stole from me. The asshole tried telling me I couldn’t get a respin withnew money on the house. Now this fucking manager guy is telling me I need to calm down, but how can I when they’vestolenfrom me?”

She angles the phone toward a dignified-looking older white-haired guy in a starch-pressed casino uniform.

I sit up higher in my seat. “None of what you’re doing sounds good or reasonable.”