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“Mr. Kingston would be making a huge mistake to let you go.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way.”
“Then another company would be lucky to have you.”
“If they’ll take me. I’ve been job hunting, but it’s so disheartening.”
“No bites then?”
“Not even a nibble.”
“Man, that sucks.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose this job without another one lined up. I’ll only be able to go a few weeks before my money runs out, and the unemployment benefit won’t even be enough to cover my rent.”
“If worse comes to worst, could you move back in with your parents while you job hunt?” Brooke asked.
Her words were a punch to my gut.
My parents.
Two people I could no longer rely on. Two people I would never see again in this life.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
Brooke cringed. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and forced myself to perk up. She hadn’t meant to hurt me. I didn’t want her to feel bad. “It’s okay,” I said.
“I’m such an idiot.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” Mike asked, glancing back and forth between us.
“My parents are dead,” I explained.
“Oh…” He frowned. “That’s rough.”
A heavy cloud of awkwardness settled over our table. For a minute, no one spoke. I struggled to keep my tears at bay while I finished my coffee.
At last, I set my empty cup down. “I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air,” I said.
“I’ll get back to work,” Mike said.
“Me too,” Brooke said.
As Brooke and Mike hurried off towards the lifts, I left through the most secluded exit of the building. Parked cars lined the street. The sound of a passing helicopter rained down overhead. I leaned against a wall covered in graffiti and wiped my eyes again, sniffing back tears.
The reality of losing my job and having nowhere to go if I ran out of money was beginning to hit home. People like Brooke and Mike didn’t realise how lucky they were, having family they could fall back on at the first hint of a crisis.
My mother died when I was three; a brain aneurism. She just dropped dead one day. I can hardly remember her.
My father died when I was twenty-one. He took his own life. I barely knew him, either. Not really. He became a husk of his former self after my mum passed away. I did my best to make him happy, make him proud, but it wasn’t enough. I was never enough.
I dropped out of med school after it happened and lived on the unemployment benefit, renting a large rundown house with several other tenants who were also down on their luck. That was the hardest time in my life.
