1

Carolina

"Longest. Shift. Ever," I groan into my phone's speaker as I slam my apartment door behind me, shucking off the black mini-apron I wear at my job as a waitress.

Through the phone, Noah laughs. I kick off my shoes, not bothering to line them up neatly by the doormat, and pad through my small apartment toward the bedroom.

"You're laughing, but I'm serious. I swear, the customers today were ridiculous. It was like they were conspiring against me."

"No, no, I don't mean to make light of your struggles," he says innocently. "Please, tell me more."

"We ran out of zucchini, and the truck doesn't come until Thursday, so we had to strike a couple items off the menu. And guess what everyone wanted today?"

"The zucchini stuff?"

"Of course," I sigh. "So how were things on your end?"

Noah and I make a habit of keeping in touch with each other regularly. I talk to him like this most days. We were close when we grew up together in foster care, and have stayed close since.

"Oh, you know," he says. "Finally closing that deal with those pain-in-the-ass clients."

"Customers are the same, no matter what kind you're dealing with. What did they even want?"

"Well, at first, they were trying to rush things—speed the process along. And then, once we were finally close to wrapping the whole thing up, they started to get cold feet. Delayed us by a week, at least."

"God, that sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"You know," I say, teasing, "maybe you should quit all that and get into the foodservice game, like me. Waiting tables, that's where it's at."

He chuckles at my joke, but then says, "Oh, c'mon, Carol. You know you're not gonna be a server for long. You're so close to getting your dream job. I just know it."

"I hope you're right."

I've been out of grad school for almost a year now, throwing my resume all over the place. It's been hard to find jobs that line up exactly with my goals, but I'm not willing to compromise on my career.

I want to find a job that will let me help kids like me. Kids who grew up in similar situations, who need someone to advocate for them. And if I can't find that kind of career, then I'm going to have to wait for it to come along.

I can be patient. It's worth it.

Right?

"Of course I'm right," Noah says confidently. "Hey, weren't you going to hear back about that latest one today?"

"Oh, my god! You're right!" I reach over to the coffee table for my laptop. "Thanks for the reminder."

My heart is in my throat as I open the computer and type in my password. I tab over to my email, and my breath catches when I see the new message. It's from the company that interviewed me for that social work job.

"Oh, they emailed me!" I gasp. "I have an email from them! This is not a drill!" Nerves flutter in my stomach as my cursor hovers over the email.

"Good news? Bad news?" Noah sounds almost as excited as I am.

"I don't know yet. I'm too nervous to open it."

"Open it!" he insists. "Read it out loud!"

Steeling myself, I click on the message and clear my throat.

"Dear Ms. Winters," I begin. "We appreciate you taking the time to interview for this position. Unfortunately, it has been filled by a more experienced candidate."

I swallow, hesitating, the bitter sting of disappointment in my throat.

"We'll keep you in mind for any future openings with our organization," I finish, my voice dull and flat, all of the excitement gone. "Thank you."

Noah is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Do you want me to go over there and beat them up or something?"

I laugh feebly, but even Noah's jokes can't cheer me up. I'm crushed.

And he knows it. He knows me better than anyone. Even though we're not related, we're practically siblings, and Noah has long since learned to recognize my forced laughter.

"It will happen," he reassures me. "I know it'll happen. You're going to land the perfect job, and this is all going to seem like the blur before things fell into place. You're gonna forget all about that restaurant. I promise."

I try to smile as I close my laptop, my chest aching with regret. "Thanks," I say, feeling a bit better. Still disappointed though. "I know social work isn't all that glamorous, but... I was excited about that one."

"I know."

"It's what I really want to do. It's my dream."

"I totally get it, Carol. You want to give back. You want to help other kids in rough situations. It's a noble goal." He pauses, then asks, "Hey, have you heard from your mom at all recently?"

I let out a breath. "No. Thank god." If my mom had tried to get in touch, things would be way worse right now. But it's been radio silence from her for a while. I can only hope it stays that way. More chaos is the last thing I need in my life.

Noah's attempt to change the subject falls flat, since I don't exactly want to talk more about my mother. She only appears in my life when she wants something from me, and I'm not one to entertain a transactional relationship.

He seems to take the hint. "I hear you, Carol."

I nod, even though he can't see me. If anyone understands how I'm feeling right now, it's Noah. I'm not in the mood to talk about my mom. Not right now.

"Hey, listen," he says, in another attempt to change the subject, "why don't you come over to my new place on Sunday? I was planning to take the day off, so I'll have some time to show you around. Give you the grand tour."

"You?" I gasp teasingly, clutching my pearls. "Take a day off? Since when?"

"Carol—"

"I'm serious. I don't think you've had a day off in, like, eight years. Or more."

Noah sighs into the speaker, and I grin. Noah is a workaholic. Usually, when he has time to meet me, it's for coffee or lunch breaks amidst the long hours he spends in the office.

"You coming, or what?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. That'll give me something to look forward to, at least. For the past couple of weeks, I've been anticipating the post-interview email, so I do need something else to get me out of bed. "That sounds great."

"Sweet," says Noah. "I can't wait to see you!"

"Same here."

"Oh, shit—I gotta go, Carol." I can hear a beeping sound on the other end of the line. "I've got another call coming in."

"That's okay, Noah. Take your call."

"I'll text you later about a time, okay? And, hey—don't think too much about that interview. Those people were idiots, and they don't know what they're missing."

I smile despite my still-lingering disappointment. "Okay, Noah. Thanks."

"See you later."

He hangs up the call, and I sigh, dropping my phone onto the couch. I stare at the open laptop screen and the rejection email for a few more minutes, wishing it wasn't what it was.

It's my fault. I'm picky about the jobs I apply for. Maybe too picky. I was worried that I wasn't qualified for this one from the beginning, and was lucky to have gotten to the interview stage at all.

Closing the laptop lid, I get to my feet, stretching. Today has been long, and tiring, and I just want to be done with it.

It's dark outside, probably nine o'clock already. I want to get to bed. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I just have to update my grocery list before I forget.

I slip into the kitchen and make a couple of amendments to the shopping list that's magnetized to the fridge.

Paper towels. Olive oil. Hand soap.

I pause to think for a moment before adding...

Ice cream.

After all of this disappointment, I think I deserve a treat.