Page 75 of The Thorne at My Side
What’s Worse than “Worse”?
MAGGIE
"Maggie, it's as simple as us trying to stay current with the trends, to use all the technology available to us. It isn't personal. It's politics."
I'm nodding and willing the sting in my nose to evaporate so I don't cry in front of the president-elect and her chief of staff.
Two people that I have given everything to this last year.
Two people who are telling me I don't have a job in their administration because they're going to use AIM for speech writing.
"We appreciate everything you've done with us, for us, and will help you get settled anyway we can," Ben says and the urge to kick him in the shins is strong.
"I understand. Is there anything else you need from me?" I ask slowly so I don't disturb the tears that are threatening to spill over.
"That's all for now," the president-elect says and she stands up and offers me a hand to shake. I return it but it feels like I'm floating away from my body. Like I'm watching myself shake her hand. Like maybe this is all a terrible dream.
How is it possible for me to have absolutely nothing left?
No job.
No plan.
No partner.
No prospects.
I slide my bag on my shoulder and hand my security badge over to the agent at the door. The tears slam into the backs of my eyes as I envision walking int my empty apartment. So, instead of going straight to the metro station I decide to walk. It's warm for a November day and I am banking on the fresh air being good for me.
As I wind my way past the Smithsonian. I take in the scene around me. The walls of these buildings have seen so much history. I'm certainly not the first person to be strolling down these streets feeling dejected and rejected. There have been plenty of political analysts scorned in this town. When I reach the edge of the tidal basin, in the shadows of the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, the water makes me think of home.
It's the last place I ever wanted to be but I know no one in my small hometown will care about all the things I've come to worry about here in D.C.. They'll be proud that I helped get the senator elected. They will think it's normal not to be working for her anymore. Or, they won't know any better, at least.
I could spin it so it seems like I was the one who left. Like I wasn't the one who was stood up on a blind date. Who didn't fall for the mystery person writing the words on the other side of a small e-ink screen.
They'll think my clothes are fancy; my big city habits exotic; my connections to people they see on TV mesmerizing.
I sit on a bench and look out over the water and call my mom.
“Well, hello, big shot!” My momcheers as she answers the phone. “Charles, come here, Maggie’s on the phone. Come say hello before I tell her what Dawn was telling me about The Inn earlier.”
“Hey Mom,” I say, sounding every bit dejected as I feel.
“What’s wrong?” Her tone is more first responder than concerned parent.
“I, umm, I’ve decided to step away for a bit.”
“You got fired?” Dad supplies.
I suck in a breath between my teeth. “I wasn’t included in the restructured team.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” My mom coos into the phone. Her sympathy doesn’t help the tears I feel gathering.
“What do they think they’re going to do without you?” I hear my dad say. His voice starts louder, grows fainter, and then comes back to full strength which tells me he’s pacing a few steps away and back. The same thing I do when I’m processing new information.
“I dunno Dad. So, yeah, this is not ideal, but, umm, can I…” I stop to sniffle up the tears that are now flowing freely. “Can I come home for a bit?”
“How long is a bit?” I hear my dad ask from a distance while my mom says, “Of course.”
