Missed Connections Read Free Page B

you got hired right now just shows how great you are.”
    I raise my brows. “Reception at a New Age spa.”
    “Competition?” He rears back in mock outrage.
    “No. Inner Space. They do massages and acupuncture and some crystal stuff. Yoga therapy. Nothing that makes anyone prettier. It’s the spa Naomi told us about.” Naomi was one of his client-turned-friends. She works at Inner Space and told him they were hiring, and he passed that news to me.
    He smirks. “No one makes anyone prettier than me.”
    “You’re the best.” Jack humors Pete like a parent humors a child, then looks at me. “So you’ll be moving soon?”
    “As soon as I find a place.” My happiness is tempered by something in his eyes I can’t define.
    “Let me know when you need help.”
    “I will, thanks. What did you want to do for supper, P?”
    He rubs his hands together. “I was going to do spag bol instead of ordering in, but this calls for celebration! I heard about a new Thai fusion place in Williamsburg. Shall we go judge for ourselves?”
    Pete’s spag bol puts Del Posto’s to shame. “Nothing’s better than your pasta—please, let’s do that instead. You won’t get to cook for me much longer,” I wheedle. “I’ll even do all the dishes.”
    “I should try to fatten you up some before you go. Lord knows what things you’ll be putting into your body while unsupervised.”
    I try and fail to keep my gaze off Jack. “Lord knows,” I agree and move back to Pete’s laptop. “Guess I should start looking for a place.”
    Plugging in my earbuds, I click on iTunes and hit Shuffle to give the boys a little privacy.
    Privacy. I’ll be in my own apartment again, with my own computer, in my own space. What a glorious concept.
    Back to Craigslist. It’s still open to the home page, and just a click takes me to the apartments for rent.
    The past six weeks have been so stressful that I hadn’t realized how much they’ve weighed on me until now. Laughter brews at the tip of my tongue, waiting to be released at the slightest nudge. The rich aroma of garlic and onions browning in the pan seasons the air. Pete’s meat sauces need time to develop flavors, and though it will be a few hours until we eat, I feel hungry for the first time in ages, my stomach no longer in knots.
    Fern emailed me with salary details. It’s way below what I made at the firm, but enough that I can manage. I find and reply to a few brokers representing affordable apartments and see one that looks perfect. Tiny, overpriced, and way out in the ass end of Brooklyn, but it’ll be a place I can call my own. It’s all finally coming together. Soon, I’ll have a job to go to and money to spend. No more scrounging and hoarding and denying myself delicious gourmet coffees and treats when I’m out and about. No more reading the magazines at the bodega and never buying them, feeling like a junkie seeking a free fix while the store clerk looks at me with judgmental eyes.
    I’ve had my envious eyes on about seventeen new, hip restaurants that have opened since I got laid off. Soon I’ll be able to actually go to them. My mouth waters.
    I am not a failure. My old boss was wrong about me.
    It’s like I take my first real breath in nearly two months. Life couldn’t get better.
    Inbox (1)
    A reply already?
    My heart stops when I see the @. It’s from some woman I don’t know, but the @ is the law firm’s name. Why would they email me? Is this like tantric karma—life saw I was happy and is now bending me over to creatively screw me because I wasn’t depressed for a whole ten minutes?
    It’s from Brenda to [email protected]—and Sonya has accidentally forwarded it to me. I used to use my personal email when working from home, and people grew accustomed to contacting me via both. Apparently, they haven’t removed me from the contact list. I shouldn’t read it, but it’s like creeping an evil ex on Facebook; I can’t look away.
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