Page 5 of Joy to Noel
When I open the door of our small rental house, I’m met with the smell of burnt . . . sewage? My brain doesn’t even have a classification for whatever this scent is. I’m afraid to know what Ivy is doing, but I’m more afraid tonotknow what Ivy is doing.
Poking my head into the galley kitchen, I find her muttering to herself in front of the stove. The exhaust fan is on, and something black sits on a plate next to the stove.
“Um, what happened here?” I dare to ask.
Ivy looks over at me. “I saw a recipe to make crispy durian, but I think I heated the coconut oil too high, and the whole thing burnt. My date tonight is vegan but an adventurous eater, so I wanted to show him I’m a versatile cook.”
Versatile, maybe. Cook, no.Of the three of us roommates, I’m typically the one who cooks meals.
Except now it’s just the two of us. Amy moved out last week, leaving me alone with Ivy. I’ve hemmed and hawed over whether to move out or find a new roommate to balance out Ivy’s . . . Ivy-ness. But this is the final straw. I’m ready for a permanent respite from Ivy. Not to mention I won’t be able to afford rent in a couple of months.
“Ivy, I’m not going to renew our lease. I’ve decided to find somewhere else in the metro to live,” I declare.
She glances over at me and gives an indifferent shrug. “No problem. If all goes well on the date tonight, maybe I’ll move in with him.” Ivy looks back to the blackened pan in front of her. “Maybe I’ll suggest we try that new vegan restaurant that just opened.” She pulls out her phone and walks away toward her room, texting as she goes.
Making zero moves to clean up the mess (and smell) she’s left behind.
My eye twitches as I fight the instinct to dispose of her experiment and hose down the kitchen.It’s not your problem. Make her do it.
I close myself in my room and drip some lemon and peppermint oils into my diffuser to try to cover up the smell, at least in my little space. Flopping spread-eagle across my navy bedspread, I groan. When that’s not enough, I cover my face with one of the coral throw pillows so I can full-on scream.
What could I have done differently to prove my worth? How could Mr. Douglas listen to Chad’s stupid advice? Using AI is a terrible idea. I’m light-years better than AI. Aren’t I? How could I have worked harder to prevent this from happening? What did I do wrong?
Rolling onto my stomach, I attempt to smother my thoughts but really only succeed in smothering my mouth and nose. Grumbling, I sit up and grab my phone.
ME
Free to chat??
CLARA
We’re on our way home from checking in on Pops. I’ll call you as soon as we get to the cabin.
Pops, the elderly man who serves as a surrogate grandfather to Clark, is cantankerous in the most superlative way. I love him.
His house is only a few minutes away from Clara’s cabin—everything in Noel is only a few minutes away—so I know it won’t be long until she calls. As I wait, I start to regret reaching out to her in the first place. I don’t want her to feel guilty for leaving WritInc. Even if this never, ever would have happened on her watch.
Replace a professional proofreader with AI?
Clara would never.
But she’s my best friend, and everything about my life is falling apart. I’m not usually one for overly-dramatic theatrics, but losing your jobandthe roof over your head on the same day seems to land fairly high on the “life-falling-apart” scale.
Even though I technically chose to lose the roof over my head. Ivy and her shenanigans forced my hand.
When my phone rings, I answer it by saying, “I was fired today, Ivy nearly burned down the kitchen with horrid-smelling fruit, and I’m going to be homeless in two weeks. My entire life is a giant failure.”
“Wait, hold on,” Clara responds. “Back up a second. What do you mean you were fired?”
“I mean that Chad, the heartless robot who replaced you, convinced Mr. Douglas that I could also be replaced by a robot,” I say, launching into an explanation of my crappy day. Clara responds with frequent gasps of shock and hums of sympathy, making me feel like maybe I’m being just the right amount of dramatic.
“Mads, this is terrible! Oh, I never should have left WritInc! If I was still there, this absolutely would not have happened,” Clara says, genuine remorse in her tone.
“Stop it,” I chide. “We’ve been over this so many times. You deserved to chase your dreams. And they’re coming true! As much as I hated you leaving, it was the right thing to do. I only wish that Mr. Douglas had found someone other than Evil Chad to fill your position.” I sigh. “What am I going to do, Clara? I have some savings built up and a severance package, but this feels like I’m starting back at ground zero. Nowhere to live. Nowhere to work. I’m twenty-nine years old—I shouldn’t be homeless and jobless!”
“Take a deep breath. We’re going to figure out a solution. What do youwantto do?” Clara asks.
I swallow down the fear that knots my throat at her question. Because I’m not sure I have any clue what Iwantto do.
