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“Company layoffs. Downsizing. Severance package. Blah blah, all that shit.”
Gavin has been at this company doing client relations for years. He works nights and weekends, putting in eighty hours a week, traveling nonstop. He handles client functions, makes all kinds of money. He thrives in it, I think. At least, he did. He likes being important. He likes closing deals. He probably likes being away from home.
“How was your trip?” he asks.
“Alright,” I answer.
“How’s Tara?”
“Leaving,” I tell him.
“No shit,” he says with surprise in his tone.
“Yeah. Silas got residency in Arizona.”
“Ah, damn. Sorry.” He looks at me briefly, then turns back to the TV.
“It’s alright.” I sit down on the couch next to him. “She’s ready to move on.”
“Mm,” he mumbles in agreement. “I get that.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah. I’m okay. I just need to sleep it off. Figure this shit out in the morning.”
“Could you talk to somebody? You were a top earner for them. They can’t just cut you like that.”
“They can. And they did.”
“Damn. Well, severance is good.” But I know he’s thinking about out of control rent prices, the bills. Our shitty landlordthat never repairs anything. Things I never gave a shit about until we moved in together and he was breathing down my neck about savings accounts and finances. I always found a way to just make it work. Maybe that’s the privilege talking. The fact that I always had my older brother fighting for me, watching out for me.
Maybe I need to do a better job of watching out for him, too.
“We can look for something new in the morning,” I offer.
He just nods but doesn’t look at me. “What time is it?”
“Um.” I check my phone. “Almost three.”
“Should probably head to bed.”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
We throw the pizza box into the fridge and head to our rooms. I leave my luggage in the corner by the door.
We’ll deal with it all in the morning.
Chapter four
Julieta
We wore the samesize: nine. That was always a running joke, because Agostina is a size ten and Delfi is an eight, and so I was the shoe twin.
These shoes are a perfect nine: stretched, worn in, loved. A simple heel— maybe three inches at most—a curved front with some very small embellishments. Sturdy leather soles for gliding along the floor.
They’re beautiful. There’s no denying it. Maybe part of that is the sentiment talking, but I can’t stop looking at them.
I think about watching her dance now. How elegant and powerful she was. And I think about how she made all of those moves in these very shoes, the ones sitting on my lap at this moment.
