Page 108 of Wicked Pickle

Me: But the county will shut down the bar. Decided fuck it. Let it go.

Me: Merrick and I re-enlisting. Taking an R&R, then we’ll ship out.

I hesitate, waiting to see if she’ll jump on. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t. I don’t want my mind changed.

When nothings happens, I say one last thing.

Me: You were a fucking goddess to me. I’ll miss everything.

Fuck. That’s about as schmaltzy as I’m going to get. I yank the cord out of the phone, and for good measure, I smash it against the corner of the table.

I don’t need it. After the R&R, we’ll be back in training. I’ll have Merrick, and he’s the only person I want to talk to now, anyway.

Everybody else is what I have to leave behind.

CHAPTER 35

SYMPHONY

My elation over the interview is dashed hours later when the texts from Diesel come through.

They went to jail?

They’re abandoning the bar?

They’re re-enlisting?

After the goddess text, I spend hours trying to come up with a line to message back, but in the end, I never do.

Both of our lives are going forward. We lasted longer than anyone expected. This is what had to happen.

Two weeks later, on my first day of the new job, Mina leans through the doorway of the office I share with three other interns. “I’m off for lunch. Do you have plans?”

“I don’t think so.”

Bryce, one of the experienced interns, turns to us. “Yeah, there’s no budget for first day treats here. But the Cuban truck two blocks down is killer and cheap.”

“Noted,” I tell him. “You want to come?”

“Nah. I work through so I can leave early.”

I haven’t spoken to the other two people in my office yet. They have on headphones and are typing away. I’m glad Mina got hired, too, so I have a friend here.

I open the drawer to extract my purse. “See you in a little bit.”

Bryce nods.

Mina and I head to the lobby. “How is your first day going?”

She groans. “I wish there was a real training. I’ve done nothing but read policy manuals.”

“Same! Ugh. It’s been hard not to fall asleep.”

“I’m bringing coffee back for the afternoon.” Her glasses fog up the moment we exit the building. “Oh, this humidity!” She pulls them off and wipes them on the ends of her headscarf.

“It’s brutal.”

We approach a sandwich shop and opt for air conditioning rather than the Cuban food truck and an outdoor bench.

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