Scarlett
I walked away . I walked away without acc epting what could be the most life-changing job I have ever
been offered. And why? Because I’m stubborn. Because Morgan Bale challenged every sliver of dignity
I have. And I am not about men like that. Even if they are capable of altering the very state of my soul in
the sack. “Which is also why I walked out!” I say to myself as I compare the cost of apples at the
grocery store later that day. I am back to playing Russian Roulette with my groceries. I should have just
thanked him for the offer and taken it. And yet. I couldn’t bring myself to sink that low. “He doesn’t
even know who you are,” I mutter as I shove five apples into a bag and toss them into my cart. In a
word, I’m butthurt because I have never let someone in like that. I have never talked to anyone the way
we talked that night at the hotel, not a man, anyways. And I’ve certainly never had sex like that. I sigh
and continue my lap around the grocery store, playing a fun little game of how to get a week’s worth of
groceries for under twenty dollars. Because that’s all I’ve got. After paying my phone bill and the
minimum on my one credit card (which is getting a little scary balance-wise and something I said I’d
never allow) that is what I will have left. And that’s if I can get Jaque to give me a little breathing room
on my rent. Again. For the third time.
“It’ll work out,” I say as I push my grocery cart through the store. I got one of the small ones because
God knows there’s nothing I could buy with twenty dollars that would fill the big cart. Not unless I got a
hundred packages of ramen... which I could do. Of course, I’d need a bottle of Mira LAX too. Sigh. I
just don’t get it. I just don’t understand why or how I tanked that interview. I mean, I was on time
(mostly), respectable (other than the few times I got a little sassy with him), dressed appropriately...
“Oh, who am I kidding,” I mutter to myself as I toss a box of oatmeal into my cart. “I looked like Mary
Poppins.” I ke ep browsing the aisles looking for cheaper yet filling food. So far I have oatmeal, apples,
broccoli and frozen pizzas. I’ll just get a bunch of frozen pizzas. And some tissues, not for eating, of
course, but for crying. A lot of crying. Then again, I also need toilet paper, which can also be used as
tissues in dire straits. And believe you me... these straights are dire. I leave the store and sit in my car,
yanking a roll of toilet paper out of the package because my eyes are already hot and flooded again. I
need to message him back. I need to bite the bullet and take the job. And if he doesn’t offer it anymore?
Beg. Because a girl can’t go through life on apples and scratchy toilet paper alone. “No,” I tell myself as
I pull up to my apartment. “Give it a minute. A day at least. He’ll respect you more if you wait. One
day, Scarlett. No more, no less.” Grocery bags in hand, I make my way up the spiral stairs to my
apartment. I am in serious need of a glass of wine. I have boxed wine, though it’s getting dangerously
low these days. Maybe if I cut the bladder out, I can squeeze half a glass out. Boxed wine and oatmeal
for dinner, with a side of tissues. What even is my life? “Miss Moore,” I hear my name at the top of the
stairs, and st ep aside.
“Good evening, Jaque,” I say with the best smile I can manage. But he doesn’t return it; he simply heads
down the stairs. Odd for Jaque, but I’m too tired to worry about it. I stop at my door, juggling my
grocery bags while fumbling with my keys. Then I stop, dropping nearly everything. There, on my door,
is a white paper. And on that white paper is bold, capital letter wording. “Jaque!?” I call out, ripping the
paper from the door and hurrying down the stairs. “Jaque!” He stops only because I loop in front of him
and block his path. “Miss Moore–” “You can’t evict me,” I blurt out, trying to hand the paper back to
him. Like if he takes it, it will reverse the notice. “Actually, legally I very much can,” he says,
attempting to st ep around me, but I block him again, and Jaque sighs. “Listen, Scarlett. I like you.
You’re one of the best renters I’ve ever had. You’re not noisy, you’re clean, and you always paid on
time,” “Exactly,” I say with a grin. “Which is why I just need–” “Paid. Past tense,” he cuts me off. “You
used to pay on time. But these last few months–” “These last few months have been hard,” I explain.
“Jobs have been spotty and...” “And I have a business to run, too, Scarlett. You’ve been later and later
with each payment, and I can’t ke ep covering for you. The money from my renters pays the rent on my
bakery. My bakery pays for my family to stay here.” I nod, biting my lip. “I understand.” And I do.
Before, when I was traveling more and making more, I was able to pay, even though I wasn’t here as
much. A catch-22, if you think about it.
I head back to my apartment, paper in hand. I even use it as a tissue because it’s not like I need it. I
know what it says. I have to get out. And without a job or a home, I’m going to need help. I’m going to
need my sister. And I’m going to have to admit that she was right. My dreams weren’t ambitions. They
were mistakes. I stand over the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal. Maybe I should call her now. Get it over
with. It’s either cry into sad, bland oatmeal or listen to Claire tell me passive aggressively how she was
right all along while eating leftovers of whatever she made for dinner. I bet it was stuffed p eppers. She
always makes the best stuffed p eppers. Suddenly, my phone buzzes, and I take the pot off the heat
before it boils over and sniff, picking my phone up. It’s a text from my sister. Claire- Hey sis. How did
the interview go? Did you get the job? Yes. And I turned it down. Because I’m an idiot. An idiot who
needs to get her shit together because she’s about to be homeless. Scarlett- It went really well. And I’m
going to take the job.