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Frances
“Francesca, there’s a letter here for you!” my grandmother shouted from the kitchen. When I reached the table, she placed the letter and a plate filled with pancakes in front of me.
“Sit. Eat.” She pointed to the chair. I hadn’t come down for breakfast in two days, claiming to be sick. I couldn’t face my family having lost two jobs.
“Thanks, Nonna.” I opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper along with a check totaling two weeks’ pay for the PA position.
“Told you he’d come through,” said Marco, looking over my shoulder. I crushed the letter against my chest and left the table to read it privately. I should’ve been happy when I realized it was a letter of reference for Frances Netto, but my heart had hoped it was something else from Colton. Not exactly sure what, but not this.
Dropping the letter on the front console, I grabbed my jacket and purse from the closet. “I’m going out,” I called back before walking out the front door.
A cold breeze slashed through my hair and across my face as I struggled to tie it back. After zipping my jacket, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked toward the major intersection. We didn’t live far from the main road; it only took me about ten minutes to reach it.
When trepidation scratched at my throat, I breathed deeply, pushing it down my chest.
You have to do this, Frances.
Passing the familiar pawnshops, fruit stalls, and discount stores, I didn’t stop until I reached the medical building I’d found online the other night. Inside, I read the names of the services provided in the building. Noting the floor and room number of the mental health office, I took the stairs to the second floor. My hands shook and my teeth chattered, but it wasn’t from the cold.
A woman sat at the front desk and looked up when I walked in. “Please take a number at the door.” Looking around the room, I was the only one there. Despite wanting to say so, I grabbed a ticket and sat down.
“Number thirteen?” called the woman. I handed her my ticket. Finally, looking up, she asked, “Name?”
“Frances Netto.”
“Reason for your visit?”
“I’d like to speak to someone.”
“About?”
My life. But I didn’t say that. “Um. Is there a therapist here or something?” I handed her my insurance card.
“Yes. I can book you in with Dr. Lee next month.”
“Next month?”
“Yes. But if you need to talk sooner, Dr. Lee holds free walk-in group sessions each Tuesday night. She’s holding one tonight if you wish to attend.”
I nodded. “I’ll still take that appointment, though.”
“I already have you booked.” She smiled and handed me back my card. Thankfully, my dad’s union job had great benefits. I could hear my mom’s voice now, begging me to apply for a position at his factory: What more could you ask for, Frannie? A lot more, Mom, I thought. I just never did.
Walking back home, I stopped at one of the fruit stalls to buy a pineapple. Marco liked adding them to his fresh smoothies. I was nearly home when my phone beeped in my back pocket. Hugging the pineapple awkwardly against my chest, I checked my message. It was an email from one of the recruiting agencies.
‘Dear Ms. Netto,’ the email read. ‘We would like to arrange an interview with you at our office tomorrow at 4 p.m. Would you be available?’
Scanning the rest of the email, I realized the job interview was for Sterling Realty. They were the second-largest land developers in the city. Second to Crawford Corp. I’d be working for one of Colton’s competitors. I hesitated for only a moment before I typed my reply.
‘Thank you for considering me for the position. The date and time work for me. I look forward to chatting with you.’ I hit send and stuffed my phone back into my pocket. I wasn’t an employee of Crawford Corporation any more. I wasn’t Colton’s girlfriend, either. I had no reason to feel guilty about this. None.
So why did I feel like throwing up?
Nerves. I was just nervous. No one had interviewed me in nearly six years, not since Clive hired me for the mailroom right out of college. I needed practice, that was all.
I dropped the pineapple on the counter and texted Erika when I got home.
Me: Can you come over after work?
