Page 58 of Higher Ground
It was, more than likely, Jaxon. Or his property manager. There were only two more weeks left on her lease, and since she was yet to formally acknowledge that she’d be moving out,she imagined someone was calling to confirm she would, in fact, have the property vacated on time. She still hadn’t been back since evacuating to Byron’s for the flood, and the more time passed, the less she cared. There wasn’t anything of worth left there anyway. Jaxon could deal with all their old furniture.
The number flashing on the screen caught her eye, though. It was, as it turned out, neither Jaxon nor the number she had saved for the property manager. It wasn’t even the café, calling to ask her if she could come back to work. She rushed the hot drinks to the coffee table, nearly spilling half the liquid over the side.
There was only one other person she could think of. Well, a few people really, but all with the same intent. A warm drop of hope spread behind her eyes, and the cool sludge of dread bubbled in her stomach.
“You okay?” Mya called as she raced back to the kitchen.
Emory didn’t answer. She lunged for the phone, connecting the call and bringing it to her ear with a deep breath. Her heart raced, but she stood as tall as she could and forced a fraction of composure through her voice.
“Hello, Emory speaking.”
Shit, so much for composure. Instead of the professional flair she had been hoping for, her voice had come out all high-pitched and breathy.
“Hi, Emory, my name is Ashleigh. I’m calling from Sydscape Media. Is now a good time?”
Holy even more shit.
Sydscape Media was Emory’s number one preference for a marketing position. Applying for their highly exclusive graduate program had been Emory’s stretch goal. The application she sent was purely so she wouldn’t spend the rest of her career wondering ‘what if’. She never expected to hear from them, let alone so soon.
She nearly dropped the phone, fumbling it between her fingers. There was no time to falter, though, so she pushed her shoulders as far back as she could and turned away from Mya’s prying eyes.
“Hi, Ashleigh, yes, of course. How are you?”
The conversation was brief. Ashleigh mentioned being impressed with Emory’s determination and persistence with her course, given her circumstances, and gave her a breakdown of how the graduate program ran. Emory managed to talk herself up without being at all cocky or condescending. All traces of her imposter syndrome were kept firmly at bay. There was a natural rapport between the women that helped the conversation flow well.
Overall, Emory was excited, and hopeful.
“It would be great to chat with you more about the position and your skills,” Ashleigh said as the conversation hit a natural pause. “Can we set up a formal interview later in the week? Maybe a video call while you’re still out in Gardner Creek?”
“That would be great. Thursday?” Emory held her breath. This felt too good to be true.
“Thursday is perfect. Does mid-morning suit? I’ll email you with an invite and some extra details.”
Shit, she’d only said Thursday because it was the first weekday that came to mind and all the research Emory had done on interview skills said that it was better to offer a date for the next step than leave it too open. But Thursday was only two days away. She had a lot of work to do if she wanted to impress Ashleigh in a formal interview.
Emory fumbled her way through a pleasant goodbye, suddenly flustered and increasingly overwhelmed at the gravity of what having secured an interview with Sydscape meant. Hanging up the phone a moment later, Emory sank the back ofher legs against the bench and dropped her hands to her knees. She should be happy, right? Ecstatic even.
So, what was this squeezing feeling inside her chest? It made it hurt to breathe, and she couldn’t stand up straight. She sank to the floor, sucking in short gasps of air through the pain.
A hand dropped to her shoulder. The ends of Mya’s green sundress tickled Emory’s cheek, and she crouched down. Emory instantly fell into her, curling into Mya’s open arms.
“What happened?” Mya whispered.
“Sydscape wants an interview with me,” Emory choked out through sobs.
God, it wasn’t even a job offer, and she was like this. The pain of even trying hurt so deeply, she wasn’t sure she could continue.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Mya swore under her breath. “I thought someone had died.”
“It feels like someone died. And it’s just an interview.”
“Like someone good died, or someone bad?”
Emory swiped her cheeks with the back of her hands and shifted out of her friend’s arms. “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind that makes you stop crying?” Mya stood from her squat and grabbed the two mugs of tea she’d brought over but left on the bench. She slid her back down the kitchen cabinet and passed one drink to Emory. Cradling the cup in both hands, she took a sip and stretched her legs in front of her.
Emory tracked each movement, wondering if she really was acting that intensely. This wasn’t the kind of issue that warranted a kitchen floor conversation. Was it?
