Page 52 of Puck Drop
Jennifer purses her lips as she watches me with thoughtful eyes.
“We will have to part ways,” she confirms.
Shame instantly fills my entire body, and I am embarrassed to even look at her anymore. I drop my face into my hands and let the tears flow. So many things go through my mind, none of them good. While I still have some money from the amount I came here with, I spent a lot on a deposit for my apartment, furniture, sheets… God, those sheets had cost me a fortune. I doubt that I can return them now that they’ve been used. Not to mention, my and Logan’s bodily fluids are currently all over them.
“I understand how hard this must be…”
I jump when Jennifer touches my shoulder. I didn’t even realize that she wasn’t sitting in the chair anymore.
“I’m not sure what I am going to do,” I mumble in my hands, not even sure that she can hear me. “Where am I going to get another job?”
The question is rhetorical. I don’t expect Jennifer to do anything right now other than maybe march me out of the building and straight to my car.
“Well, what do you really like to do?” she asks. “What are you passionate about?”
I bring my head back up, but I still can’t deal with looking at her. This entire process feels incredibly humiliating. I’ve never been in this type of a situation before. How do people deal with this?
When she puts a box of tissues in front of me, I pull out a few and take my time blowing my nose and wiping my face. Thankfully, I didn’t have time to put any makeup on before rushing over here, so I don’t have to worry about my mascara running or anything like that. By the time I am done cleaning myself up a bit, I am determined to beg for her to allow me to stay.
“I will grow to love this job,” I tell her. “I just haven’t really had a chance to dive into it, you know?”
I feel a sneeze coming, so I pause to do that and blow my nose. She waits for me patiently, probably being a lot nicer to me than she should have to be, or than anyone else would be in this situation.
“I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do when I moved to Texas,” I explain. “My best friend encouraged me to try and use the certificate in nutrition that I received last year. We both took the course together,” I explain, although, no one is asking.
“Elizabeth,” she stops me. “Your qualifications are not in question,” she assures me. “The position you were hired for is how everyone right out of school with that type of certification would start out as. We never thought you would be a bad choice.”
“Why are you letting me go then?” I ask, then wince at how I sound. I am whiny, like a small child, giving her no choice but to treat me as such.
“We are letting you go because you seem to be having an issue with being on time,” she tells me in a firm tone. “Also, when you are performing your job, it is obvious that you’re not into it,” she adds. “We see a few bursts of excitement here and there, but this is not where your heart is, and you make it obvious.”
That gives me pause. I thought I was hiding my dislike very well. I am crushed to hear that they all saw right through me.
“Maybe you should look into a position in a field you are truly passionate about,” Jennifer encourages me. “Something that makes you happy. You are the type of person who wears their heart on their sleeve.”
“I love to paint,” I blurt out. “I love art. Where am I going to find a job that pays me to paint?”
Jennifer goes back to her seat across from me. Her face looks pensive, like she is actually giving my problem some thought.
“There are lots of artists who make a living off their art.”
I nod because I agree, however, it’s not as easy as she makes it sound. “That’s for the more established artists. I haven’t sold one piece of anything in my life.”
“But they all started somewhere,” Jennifer points out. “Why are you already leaving from the premise that you are not good enough? Or not as good as the artists who have made a name for themselves?”
Her questions throw me off. They make me realize how insecure I have become. I used to have the world by the ass, and now, look at me. I just got fired from my first real job at the ripe old age of almost twenty-five.
Once again, I drop my face in my hands, trying to hide from the reality that is my life nowadays. “God, I am so pathetic,” I mumble.
Jennifer chuckles softly. “You’re not pathetic, Elizabeth. You’re growing up. Most people experience this at a younger age,” she makes sure to add, just in case I wasn’t feeling crappy enough about myself.
I take a deep breath in as I try to regroup, focus even. I have no idea what to do next. I don’t even want to go back to my apartment, knowing that I can no longer afford it. I could call Logan, but I feel so ashamed.
Dropping my hands from my face, I finally have the courage to look Jennifer in the eyes.
“Is there any chance I can fix this?” I force myself to ask. “I could work more hours. For free,” I add when she opens her mouth to speak. “I could…”
Jennifer puts a hand up to stop me. “I’m very sorry, Elizabeth. The answer is no.”
