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She meant well, and I’d have to level with her tonight about the situation. I laid back on the bed and closed my eyes.
I’d have to move to the backup plan.
Vipersoft contracted with an outside cleaning crew, and I knew their routine. In time I’d find a way onto their crew and gain access to the building again. It would take time, but good things came to those with patience and persistence—two qualities I possessed.
I opened my eyes. It was time to stop whining, get changed, and start dinner.
Once in my sandals, shorts, and T-shirt, I started pulling together the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. Billy expected homemade pizza.
By the time Ramona returned with him, I’d preheated the pizza stone in the oven, rolled out the crust, and we were ready for toppings.
Cooking for the three of us was good therapy. It got my mind off my work, or lack thereof, and back to the basics in life: food and family.
Billy put down his backpack. “Mommy said you get to be the boss.”
I shot Ramona a you-shouldn’t-have look.
“What? I’m proud of you,” she said.
“Salami or hot dog slices on your pizza?” I asked.
“Salami and no olives. I don’t want olives.”
Ramona shot him a scowl. “Yes on the olives. They’re good for you.”
He’d been getting really picky about his eating lately.
“But I don’t like them.”
Ramona didn’t back down. “Then you can have green soup tonight, and Auntie Jenn and I will have the pizza.”
His shoulders slumped. “Okay. But I don’t like olives.”
The split pea soup she’d threatened was at the absolute bottom of Billy’s food list.
I added the toppings, including the black olive slices Ramona liked, and slid the pie into the oven.
Billy had already turned on the TV when Ramona wandered my way and braced herself against the counter.
“What happened?” She plugged one charging cable into her phone, and the other into mine, which I’d left on the counter.
I slid sideways to get the plates. “Huh?”
“You can’t hide your bad mood behind a pizza.”
She was probably right about that. The cooking was only a temporary distraction. “Work didn’t go very well. I didn’t get the supervisor job.”
“How come? You said they offered it to you yesterday.”
I pulled napkins from the counter. “I screwed up by asking about staying, and the new CFO decided he wanted somebody more committed to the new company.”
“I’m sorry. Something better will come along soon. I’m sure of it.”
She should have been mad, knowing I’d screwed up the raise that would have allowed us to move, but she didn’t focus on that. Ramona was the most supportive sister a girl could ask for.
“There’s more,” I added, preparing to tell her that instead of getting a promotion, I was about to get fired.
My phone chirped the arrival of a text when it powered up.
