Page 5 of Rare Blend
“Hello?”
“Hello.” It’s some kind of automated message. Maybe the universe is gifting me a fake vacation.
“This is EDU Financial Services. Reminding Marisa Castilla that the first payment to the student loan ending in 6547 is due on October twenty-fifth. To speak to a financial representative, press one. Para español, oprima el dos. For more options, visit our website at www.edufinancialservices.com. Goodbye.”
My body jolts upright so fast I feel a little dizzy.Shit, shit, shit.With shaky fingers I log-in to my account, my heart beating erratically as the page loads. I have been deferring my student loans, and I was supposed to start finally paying them last year. In amoment of stupidity, I ended up consolidating them into one giant loan with a third party for future Marisa to worry about. Money was tight, and I wanted to buy myself another year of not having to pay. Which would all be fine and good if I wasn’t currently broke and jobless.
They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. Well, what happens when it feels like you’re dying? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening when I see how much my payment will be. My eyes blink several times. That number can’t be right. How is it possible I owe $2,500? Not total, that’s the monthly payment amount. I don’t even want to look at the total, because it’s a hell of a lot more than I took out. Stupid interest. Aren’t there laws on this now? I could’ve sworn this was all over the news.
That payment would be hard to make even if I still had my job, now it seems impossible. An overwhelming sensation knots my stomach, gripping so tightly I can’t think straight. My first instinct is to call my mom. She’s nothing if not a problem solver. As the first on my favorites list, I select her name and wait for the call to connect, but nothing happens; no ringing, nothing. She must not have any service. It’s sometimes difficult to get in touch with her when she’s out at sea. The cruise lines always have Wi-Fi, but she’s not the most tech savvy.
“Fuck!” I scream. There’s no one home, so at least I can have my meltdown in peace.
I go to the next name on my list, Hillary. It used to be Brandon, but he got deleted and Hillary got promoted.
She answers on the second ring. “You just woke up, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
She must note the panic in my voice, because I hear rustling and the sound of a door closing. “What’s going on?”
I relay the disaster that is my student loans.
“Shit,” she says. “That’s a house payment. Well, not here, but somewhere, that’s a house payment.”
“What am I going to do? I have enough for the first payment, but that was money I was saving for a down payment on an apartment, and now I can’t even do that because I don’t have a job.”
“Don’t panic. You’re a month away from the due date. You didn’t tell your mom, did you?”
“Well no, not yet. Only because I couldn’t get through. Why? Do you think I shouldn’t tell her?”
She used to think my mom was one of the cool moms, but her opinion has changed as we’ve gotten older. I don’t really know when things started to shift, but it’s become a point of contention between us.
Hillary lets out a long breath. “It’s just that she can be really judgy and ends up making you feel worse than you already do. Maybe don’t tell her, or at least wait until you’ve come up with a solution.”
“She’s my mom, Hill.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You know, you could?—”
“No!” I cut her off. I know what she’s going to say. And I can’t.
“He would help you, you know he would.”
I don’t want to go down that road. “I should go. I’m going to try to apply for unemployment.”
She sighs. “Okay, but think about it. I’m serious.”
We say our goodbyes, and somehow I feel even more panicked after our phone call.
I spend the next hour trying to navigate the unemployment website. I’m convinced they make it difficult on purpose because they don’t want people to actually figure it out. When I have everything completed and filled out, I click submit and it loads and loads and loads. After several minutes pass, I get hit with a red error message:Insufficient Information.Great. That’s just great. I slam my laptop closed and head for the bathroom. I need a scalding hot shower, hot enough to match my frustration, or I’m going to lose my mind.
The guest bathroom may not be the luxurious spa-like one I left behind at Brandon’s, but it’s been recently remodeled with high-end finishes and a rain shower head that beats down on me, alleviating some of my tension.
Mid-shampoo, Hillary’s words come back to me.He would help you, you know he would.
Long after I’ve finished scrubbing every inch of my body, to the point that my olive skin is now a raw, pink shade, I stand under the searing water and almost succeed in temporarily melting away the little voice telling me to give up and call him.
The voice festers in my head as I towel dry my hair and lather my body in a thick layer of lotion. Why did she have to bring him up? Now it’s all my mind seems to want to think about.
