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“What is your deal?” he asks.
A name plays in my head on repeat, one that I thought was done haunting my life.
I harshly tug out of his grip, and run straight out of the house with tears streaming down my face. He doesn’t follow me, not this time.
I’m as relieved as I am devastated.
9
Autumn
I’m nervous for more reasons than one as I take in the small office building. From the sidewalk, you can see everything going on inside the brightly lit space. The walls are painted a sage green, and every piece of furniture is a dark shade of brown. There are so many plants placed around the open room that I don’t bother counting them. From this image in front of me alone, I’d trust her to make over my apartment.
I don’t notice anyone inside from out here, which makes me question what I put in my calendar. I’m almost positive she told me to be here at eleven, and it’s currently two minutes until then. I could run back to my car until the second I’m on time, but that feels like a bit much.
With a deep breath, I push the glass door open and hope there’s a bell to alert someone of my presence. Mostly, I just hope there’s someone here tobealerted. I imagine there must be since the door wasn’t locked.
There’s no sound other than some soft radio music, and there’s definitely no one in the main room. I take a deep breath, and approach the large desk closest to the door. What other option do I have other than to wait? I’ve never been good at situations like this. How long is too long to stand here? Should I try to message her? Should I call out in case someone is hiding behind one of the two doors I see in the back?
“Hello?” I decide on the last option without realizing I even made it.
A squeak comes from behind one of the doors, followed by some shuffling, and what sounds like someone kicking something. Sure enough I hear some quiet exclamation in a voice that’s definitely not Amelia’s.
“Sorry, just one second!” the voice calls.
I’m waiting there for a couple more awkward minutes, before a bright eyed, red-haired girl comes bouncing out. She doesn’t look any older than twenty.
“You must be Autumn!” She shakes my hand when she reaches me, and it’s a surprisingly firm grip. “Sorry about that, I was trying to get some food in me and lost track of the time. I’m Kaitlyn! I run the show around here when Amelia is out. I’ll just look over your resume and ask you some basic questions if that sounds good to you!” Kaitlyn isverybubbly, it reminds me of Reya.
“Sure, sounds great,” I say with my best smile. “Amelia isn’t here?”
“She’s running late at an appointment, it’s hard to say when she’ll be back. Do you want to have a seat?” She points towards one of the smaller desks with two cushioned chairs in front of it. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, juice, water?”
“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”
I walk over and drop down into one of the chairs, which is much deeper than it looks. I sink right in, and struggle to situp and look professional. My purse falls to the ground in the process, some of my things spilling out onto the floor. Ihavehad plenty of interviews before, Iknowhow to do this. It’s frustrating me that I’m failing to look like it within the first few seconds of this thing.
Once I’ve managed to scoot myself to the edge of the seat, and collect my things, I realize Kaitlyn is laughing.
Upon eye contact she stops, and waves her hand. “I am so sorry, don’t be embarrassed. Those chairs ruffle a lot of feathers, and it never gets less entertaining. I spilled an entire coffee down the front of my shirt the first time I sat in it. Think of it as an initiation! I’d say that was a pretty harmless one.”
I smile at that. The explanation calms me down, knowing it could have been much worse. Her personality helps too, not what I was expecting. Especially becauseAmeliais what I was expecting. I think I’m relieved that’s not the case.
“That’s fair enough.”
She reaches out for the folder in my hand. “Let’s see that resume.” I hand it over and watch as she reads it in its entirety. She doesn’t look up or say anything until she’s completely done.
“Pretty impressive,” she says. “I do have to ask why there’s a large gap here, that can be a red flag.”
I gulp nervously, like I’m a cartoon character or something. I never know how someone will take it when I explain what I do, and what my goals are. Not a lot of people take it seriously, or want to hire someone that’s not fully focused on the job they’re applying for. Been there, had that go wrong.
“I’m an author. I used those gaps to focus on writing and publishing,” I explain.
“Anauthor?” She says it like it’s the most exciting thing she’s heard all day. “Why isn’t that on here? That’s incredible!”
I go with honesty, because she’s given me no reason to think I should have to fake an answer. "It was on there once upon atime, but I got a couple of negative responses. It comes off as the equivalent of putting babysitting on your resume at sixteen. People think it’s filler.” I shrug in a way that says,what can you do?
“Wow. I can’t say that surprises me, but how frustrating! You should be able to brag! What have you written? Have I heard of it? Will you sign one for me? I’ve never owned a book signed by the author before.”
