Good, like the time I gave Henry Bane a hickey, and he went down on me in the back seat for a half-hour durin’ a football game. And bad...when I drove home, fresh out of the dean’s office with my walkin’ papers, tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt, and no degree to show for it. I was just a few months shy of graduatin’.
But no matter what I tried when I moved back home to Sweetgreen, nothin’ stuck after that. I tried a few certifications in the medical field, like phlebotomists and X-ray techs, but somethin’ always came up—usually a lack of money, interest, or both—and I just couldn’t finish.
And here I am, twenty-eight years old, still livin’ with my parents, and barely even holdin’ a few thousand dollars in my savings account. Not nearly enough to get my own place. I’m a failure. And now, I’m about to be an unemployed one.
Pullin’ into the parkin’ lot of the shop, I look over at the attached warehouse on the left side. The couriers will be gone by this time of the mornin’, already done with the first sort that came in, trucks loaded up and taken off with their deliveries of the day.
I park my Jeep and grab my crossbody bag before I get out. Just as soon as my door is open, I’m slapped by the hot humid air. A groan sneaks out of my lips as sweat already starts to gather at my brow, and I hurry across the swelterin’ pavement to the front door. A cheery sign with the company’s logo—a big purple box with a golden script that says Swift Shipping Services on it—brightens the storefront.
I yank open the door, the bell ringin’ as I step into the cool space. My flip-flops are snappin’ over the worn purple industrial carpet as I make my way to the high desk ahead, stacks of cardboard boxes and envelopes for sale to the left, bubble wrap and greetin’ cards to the right.
“Medley!” I’m greeted by Deja, who’s mannin’ the front desk. She smiles at me from her spot, her dark skin so smooth that she could be a makeup model.
“Hey, Deja,” I say, glad that she’s the only one in the shop right now. She’s sweet and young—barely out of high school herself. She’s great with the customers, and she can handle just about anybody who comes in through the doors.
“I heard what happened. You okay?” she asks, worryin’ her lip.
I lift a shoulder. “Patricia’s had it out for me for a while,” I reply. “But I’ll be fine. She around?”
Deja nods and leans in conspiratorially. “She’s in her office.”
“Good. I’ll just sneak in the back and grab my stuff.” Hopefully, I can get in and out without Patricia seein’ me.
Deja nods and presses the hidden button beneath her desk, makin’ a lock click open for the swing door built into the desk partition at the end. I walk through, headin’ in the back, careful to bypass Patricia’s office.
All is quiet as I make my way down the hall, which spits me out into the warehouse. I hurry to the back where the employee break room is, and go right for my locker. Swingin’ it open, I dump all of the contents into my bag, not even carin’ to toss out the half-opened bag of chips that’s been in there for weeks. I just wanna get the hell out of here before I have to deal with Patricia.
“You.”
Well, so much for that thought.
My shoulders tense up at her voice, and I take a minute to suck in a deep breath, a good reminder to myself to keep it together. Yesterday was a slipup. I was off my game and rattled, but I’m not about to let that happen again. Slammin’ the locker shut, I turn around to face my now ex-boss.
“Patty,” I greet her, knowin’ she hates the nickname.
The woman crosses her arms in front of her, makin’ her disproportioned boobs more noticeable as she pulls the purple fabric of her polo uniform taut. “Make sure you get all your things, because you won’t be welcome back in the buildin’ after today.”
I stop myself from scoffin’ at her tone. Like anyone would ever want to be here if they didn’t have to be.
“What if I need to send out a package?” I snark in a falsely sweet voice.
“You can go to the Post Office,” she says without missin’ a beat.
“Good point. They’ve got a better lobby, anyway.”
My words hit their mark because her mouth tightens. Patricia personally reconfigured and designed the lobby last year, and she couldn’t stop braggin’ about it for weeks. I watch with a hint of satisfaction as her nostrils flare slightly. She could be an attractive middle-aged woman if she wasn’t always lookin’ like she smelled somethin’ foul on her upper lip. That, and if she wasn’t such a bitch.
“I’ll mail your last check.”
“Great,” I say sardonically, even though I know full well my paycheck is sittin’ on her damn desk.
I make my way toward her so I can leave, but she doesn’t move out of the way so I can go down the same hallway I came in. Instead of dealin’ with her shit and gettin’ into some power struggle I don’t have the time or patience for, I veer off and head further into the warehouse instead. To hell with it.
Of course she can’t just let me go, she has to peck like the hen she is, so she follows behind me. “I’ve never had such an irresponsible employee before you, Medley. It’s a wonder you lasted this long. I was warned that you’d be trouble, what with your history of violence and
