Page 41 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
I wish I hadn’t told her about it now. I tell her that it doesn’t matter how much they love me, and that they are looking for other things.
“What other things?”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. It matters to me. You sound upset, Meg.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
Ours has been a rocky relationship over the years, but she’s fine now and she’s stronger. Our roles have reversed again so that she’s the mother and I’m the daughter once more, but even though I’m all grown up, she still worries about me.
It was strange, that previous role reversal. Nursing her, making sure she was going to be fine, and taking care of Jensen and Erica, while letting go of my college dreams made that year after high school brutal. Losing the safety of school and stepping into the real world, working shifts at the ice-cream parlor and then waitressing in the evenings and on the weekends made me grow up fast.
Exhaustion was my friend. It numbed me to the pain of abandonment that I might otherwise have languished in. I didn’t pine for Mr Turner for too long. I was too weary when I came home and fell asleep in front of the TV.
“You’ve been there for years,” my mother protests.
“That doesn’t matter. For management positions, employers want qualifications.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
“It is what it is.”
“I wish I’d been stronger for you instead of falling apart…”
“Don’t, Mom.” I don’t want her blaming herself more than she already does. She sees what I did, the sacrifices I made and hates that it was because of her. “Don’t go blaming yourself. All of that is in the past now.”
“All those rumors flying around the school, you and that teacher,” she scoffs. “As if you didn’t have enough troubles to deal with what with that teacher, and then I added more to your load.”
“Let’s not go back to the past,” I plead. She would hate it if she discovered what I’d been up to with Mr. Turner.
“It was probably a good thing he left the school; else I’d have done something nasty to him.”
I can’t help but suppress a smile at that.
~~
I didn't get the job. I've just read an email telling me the news I knew was coming.
I sink back in my chair feeling defeated. Even though I suspected my interview was weak, the confirmation burns like a hot poker.
It better not be Preston.
I hope it’s one of the other guys. The older one, the man in his fifties. Experience and wisdom, and probably a good college education is what he'll have going for him.
Please let it be that older man.
Preston is insufferable at best. I dread to think what he'll be like now. I get up to leave, not wanting to burn the midnight oil in a company which doesn't value me, but Preston swarms in, rubbing his hands together with the most hideous smile on his face.
He did get it.
I almost slap a hand to my head. The douchebag. This guy has always come to me when he’s stuck at work. I am better than him, and most everyone in my department would agree.
“I got the job!” he says, in a sing-song voice that makes me want to slap him. He does a little jig, and I resist the temptation to throw something at him. I force a smile.
“But you already knew that. You assumed it. Congratulations.”
“Let's go and celebrate.”
