Page 5

“You should be all good. I must warn you that he is within his rights to not renew your lease at the end of the term,” I warn her.

She waves her hand dismissively. “I will move out at the end of my lease. He is a pain in my ass.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “You are truly a blessing, child. I’ll cook you another meal tomorrow as a thank-you.”

I grin. “You don’t have to…but I would love some curry chicken.”

She lets out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling in the corner. “Of course. I will see you tomorrow. God bless you!” I think all his blessings are missing me, because my life has been anything but a blessing. But that’s an issue I’ll discuss with my therapist. If I ever get one.

“Have a good night, Ms. Jean,” I say. I watch as she slowly makes her way back into her house. I don’t move until she is safely inside. When her door closes, I walk into my house.

As I close my door, my three orange cats run up to greet me—Hope, August, and Cookie. I bend down to give each of them a head rub, and watch as they scurry away, fighting each other playfully as they go. I am a firm believer that three cats do not make me a cat lady. I would need a minimum of five.

I do a quick glance around my home to make sure my cats did not destroy anything.

My home is something I have pride in. The outside is modern and well-maintained. However, the inside is bright and colorful. I have a purple couch and an orange sofa chair with walls that are painted with geometric line designs, which I did myself. Around the room are curated collections of random knick knacks, adding to the vibrant aesthetic of my home. My favorite thing is the large painting I bought from a local artist. It is a beautiful painting of a black woman painted in various colors, but she is surrounded by nothingness. I could stare at it all day if I had the time.

Once I’ve made sure everything is still intact, I walk into the kitchen. Dropping my tote purse and food container on the counter, I grab a bottle of wine and a glass. As I pour, my mind drifts.

What am I doing with my life? I hate being a lawyer. Every day I walk into work makes me feel like I’m slowly draining myself. This job is not worth my youth. I’m only thirty years old and there is still so much I haven’t done. I need to go out more if I am ever going to meet a decent enough man to settle down with. I’ve come to terms with there only being decent men. All the good men must have died out or are hiding from me.

Just my luck.

I down the rest of my wine and exhale a deep breath, the comfort of home and alcohol helping me feel like I can finally breathe for the first time today. I grab my food, inhaling it within five minutes.

I spend the next couple of hours preparing for court tomorrow. Exhaustion finally takes over my body and I decide to call it quits. I head into my bedroom, stripping my clothes as I walk towards my bed. I collapse onto it, immediately falling asleep.

3

IF WE GO DOWN, WE GO DOWN TOGETHER

The Day I Die

Jolting awake at the sound of my alarm, I automatically click the snooze button and close my eyes again. Just a couple more minutes.

Nine more minutes, to be exact. That’s all I need.

Unfortunately, the peace I requested does not last long. My phone begins to ring. I groan in annoyance and pick it up. The name of my asshole boss lights the screen and I let out an aggravated sigh. Goddamn it, Craig. Can’t I have a peaceful morning? Is that too much to ask for? Like, it’s six in the morning. I don’t have to be at work until nine!

I clear my throat and answer the phone. “Hello?”

“I need you in the office by seven. We have a potential client I want you to talk to.”

No. No. No. No. If this client is meeting outside of normal office times, that means he probably has a lot of money that my boss wants to get his hands on. Which probably means that this client has done something that I want nothing to do with. I’m not saying everyone with money is guilty, I’m just saying that there’s a higher probability.

I beg for the millionth time since I started at the firm, “Can I please stick with white-collar crimes? I do not want to—”

“You work for me. That means you do not have a choice. Here. By seven,” he demands, then hangs up. I grab my pillow, placing it over my face, screaming as loud as I can. Once I’m satisfied, I remove it and glare at my ceiling.

“He’s such a dick,” I say to my cats lying at the end of my bed. They just meow in support. I decide at this moment that I am quitting. I am. I hate my job. I hate being a lawyer.

Screw it!

I only have this life. I can’t mope around waiting for things to change. I have to do it myself. I’m quitting and opening a liquor store to be closer to my passion—day drinking. Before I do that, I’ll travel the world since I’ll finally have the time. I need to leave this country at least once before I croak.

I throw my covers off and jump out of bed, excited about my newfound purpose. I skip into the bathroom and turn on my speaker as loud as I can. I hop into the shower, humming, singing, and dancing while scrubbing my body. After the same song plays for the fifth time, I finally get out and prepare for the day.

I decide on a pastel blue suit and nude heels. It makes a statement. Bright colors in a courthouse as a lawyer is usually a big no, but I no longer care, so why not leave the legal field with a bang?

I fluff up my curls one last time, then walk into the kitchen and grab all the ingredients I need to make a delicious mimosa. It is the best way to start a day. I am finally escaping the hell my boss trapped me in. I will name today ‘Joyce Freedom Day’. I down my mimosa in three gulps.