i guess that sometimes

good things fall a p a r t . . .

〰️〰️〰️

I was having the most atrocious Monday I think I've ever had in my life.

It was always a given that they were the worst day of the week. Unless I was on vacation or asleep the whole day, I couldn't recall a single good time I had on a Monday. This one, in particular, was like a living hell.

My Uber driver almost got into an accident on my way to work and we were sent through four different detours due to construction around a sinkhole in the middle of the city. We had a staff meeting right away in the morning that, of course, I was twenty minutes late to. The power in our building went out for nearly an hour, which was like a death sentence in itself because an hour of work lost at Donatella's was like being gone for a month, coming back, and having no clue where to start.

On top of this, it was pouring fucking rain. All day long.

I'd just gotten off a forty minute phone call with Donatella's credit card company, spending half of the time straining my ear to understand the mumbling on the other end and the other half debating on barging into Donatella's office so I could hurdle myself out her windows and end the madness.

My forehead hit the surface of my desk with an alarming thump, barely missing my keyboard by a few inches.

Nadia cleared her throat for my attention, but I didn't move. Instead, I heard her voice from across the room ask with genuine curiosity, "You okay over there?"

"That's debatable," I grumbled.

"I'm surprised there's still enough room in here for us with your negativity all over the place."

Her accurate retort and disapproving sigh made me pick my head up. I saw her already staring at me; one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and a judgmental look on her face. It made me feel like I was the biggest disappointment of a person she'd ever seen.

That was probably true, though.

The sheepish flattening of my lips was all I had to offer. She threw her hands up as if she were done with my bullshit.

"Get your sorry ass up. It's time to leave," she announced, theatrically pushing her rolling chair back and standing up.

I didn't believe her, but when my eyes darted to the clock on my computer screen and I saw it was almost five o'clock, I jumped out of my seat. For two reasons.

One being the motivating mental image of downing a glass of wine the size of my head as soon as I got home. The second was Donatella emerging from her office with her eyes on me.

My stomach clenched at the impassive look on her face, while her bright red cashmere sweater reminded me that Christmas was next week and I still had some shopping to do for presents. I wasn't sure which stressed me out more.

"Bayla. A word?" She uttered. I knew she wasn't really asking, so much as telling me.

I inhaled shakily. "Okay."

She simply nodded. I did nothing. She backed away and the frosted glass doors shut.

When she was gone, I finally exhaled with an aggravated, "Fuck."

Her tone gave me no insight on why she wanted to speak with me. If I had to guess, it was either about my shitty attitude all day or my late arrival to the meeting this morning. Either way, I figured it wasn't going to be good. But what was one more thing added to the pile of shit that was becoming my life?

As I let my eyes close and I leaned back in my creaky chair, circling my temples with my fingertips like that was going to solve anything, I heard footsteps approach my desk.

"It's going to be okay," Nadia spoke up, delicate with her choice of words.

The world around her was cloudy when I opened my eyes again. She was looking at me with predictable sympathy, but that was just how Nadia was. She felt for everyone around her like a mother would. I had to feel grateful in a way that she continually put up with me, even though I would've given up on myself a long time ago if I were her.

"Gotta hear that a couple hundred more times and maybe I'll actually believe it," I said flatly.

Her lips twitched like she wanted to smile, but didn't.

We said a quiet goodbye, knowing we'd see each other in the morning to be met with the same shit all over again. While Nadia strode over to the doors to leave our cubicle, I trudged in the opposite direction, between our two desks to the bronze-handled doors that separated us from our boss.

The heels of my black leather booties clacked along the gray vinyl flooring of the narrow hallway leading to her office. I subconsciously folded my arms across my chest, tight like that were a source of protection. The fact that her office was regularly the same temperature as a meat locker made me believe it was for that reason and not my nerves towards this conversation we were about to have.

It was never a comfortable situation, being called in to speak with her without a warning. The cold, minimalistic design of the hallway only aided in making you feel like you were doing a march to the guillotine.

Donatella was sitting at her desk in total silence when I reached her. The rain-streaked windows along the back wall were letting in a gloomy, blue glow that created a halo around her hair that was a black as the ink she wrote with when she used her quill pen. It lit her up from behind like some sort of mythical creature that both mesmerized and terrified me.

In front of her, there were massive piles of papers, an open book that was about the size of an encyclopedia with numerous highlighted sections on the pages, and a brand new bouquet of red roses I had delivered to her earlier.

I got a glance at the tag that came with the roses before I gave them to her. It read "genio" in perfect script, with her brother's name signed underneath. He still lived on the Amalfi Coast where they'd grown up, so he often sent her random gifts since they didn't see each other too much.

I could wish for my brothers to send me flowers with a note attached that said "genius", but we didn't have that kind of relationship. While it was endearing for Donatella, if Duncan or Asher did that for me, I'd think it was out of pure sarcasm.

My shoes made no noise as I crept across her carpeted office. I sunk into one of the seats that faced her desk, folding my fidgety fingers on my lap and crossing my legs. Typically, you never sat in her office unless you were told to do so. It was common knowledge for everyone that worked for Donatella. She was our queen, and we practically bowed in her presence.

From the quick, empty glance she shot me upon entering the room, I knew that was the only indicator I needed to let me know I should sit.

She looked vacantly at my hands, making me suddenly self-conscious about their shabby appearance. I hadn't painted my nails in months, since Sutton's bridal shower to be exact, and I had a burn mark on the inside of my wrist that was ever so slowly healing from a curling iron incident.

Before I could shift in the chair to tuck my hands under my thighs, she sucked in a sharp breath to initiate the start of this discussion.

"I'm going to Milan next month," she said abruptly, her voice strong and bouncing off all four walls. I jumped at the sound, though I don't think she noticed because she continued without skipping a beat. She still wasn't looking in my eyes, and she was spinning a pencil between her fingers. "I have a lot of prepping to do before Fashion Week. I'll be gone for about three weeks."

Her pause made me think she wanted some type of reaction, so I nodded.

I was acutely aware of what she was telling me. Every January and September, she flew to Milan for an undetermined amount of time to prepare for Fashion Week. Though her studio was in Philadelphia, and the easiest choice would've been for her to show her collections in New York, Donatella was never a fan of doing things the easy way.

Facile, she'd say, is for the lazy. It took me far too long to realize that was the Italian word for "easy".

And so she'd been showing her collections in Milan for years, as an homage to her Italian heritage.

Nadia had been the one to go with her every year in the past for both trips. She'd been with Donatella for a bit longer than I had, she was higher in the office ranking, and made a bit more money than I did. Consequently, I'd be left in the office while they were gone, training an intern that was paid next to nothing to take Nadia's place in the meantime.

It was never anyone I could tolerate. It was never anyone that was comparable to Nadia. Donatella recruited young college girls for the position – which is exactly how she found me, but that was a different story – and all they wanted was to make money and look cute, not actually work. I wasn't necessarily the authoritative type so it wasn't like they listened to me anyway. If I were more like Sutton (though thankfully I wasn't), it might not be as much of a nightmare as it tended to be.

I hated the annual Milan trips for this reason. Somehow, I always managed to get the shitty end of the stick. I guess that was where my People Pleasing abilities came in handy the most.

Donatella sat up a little straighter, catching my attention. Her eyes finally connected with mine. "I'm going to need someone with me. Another set of hands, another pair of eyes, another brain," she murmured, not giving me a chance to mull over what she said before asking, "What do you say?"

My heart stopped. It kicked in even faster when I realized I wasn't just imagining this.

I wanted to faint. I wanted to kiss her feet. I wanted to thank her until those were the only two words I was capable of pronouncing.

Going on a Milan trip with her was a pipe dream, something I thought wouldn't ever be achievable to someone like me. It was glitz and glam. It was blood, sweat, and tears. It was long days and sleepless nights. It was having an affair with a new city, getting a taste of what life was like outside of my Philly bubble. It was what all of us at DiNardo Designs worked so damn hard for every single day. It meant everything.

I inhaled slowly. My tongue had the word yes dancing on the edge of it, like swirling liquor around to catch every note of its taste. Like testing the word before saying out loud as if I were practicing a speech.

And then I remembered my sister's wedding.

It was just over a month away. That last weekend in January was so close I could taste the fresh açai bowls straight from a beach shack, smell the salt of the Pacific ocean, see the vivid colors of a sunset in Hawaii if I tried hard enough.

If I thought I'd gone through hell and back for the last year, that was nothing compared to what these next forty-six days would be. This was the time when Sutton would need me the most. This was what my family, the bridal party, and I had all been preparing for. This was crunch time in its most extreme form.

A mental checklist of everything left to do for this paramount wedding was scrolling through my mind at the speed in which I used to spin toilet paper off the holder when I was kid and my dad would lecture me on how wasteful I was because of how often we'd need to buy more.

My mouth was dangling open, leaving me to look like a koi fish waiting to be fed. Donatella was blinking at me like she wasn't expecting me to take this long to answer her.

"I-I um..." I spat out a muddled response that her eyes fluttered at. I gulped, managing to be more intelligible to the human mind this time. "I would love to. I'd be honored, really. It'd be a dream come true," my voice wavered, my throat tightened, "but my sister is getting married in Hawaii next month. I'll be away for a week. I'm in the wedding, I have to be there. Plus, we have so much other stuff to do beforehand that I have to be a part of. I'm so sorry. I hate to decline this offer. I'm honored that you even asked me. I'd love to go with you... but I can't."

There were so many other things I wanted to say; like how I hated myself for turning down this opportunity, how much I hated Sutton for getting married, how I hated that my life revolved around everyone else but myself, but I didn't think my boss wanted to hear about every bit of drama in my life.

Donatella stopped mindlessly spinning her pencil. She slumped back in her chair, the leather sighing beneath her lean body. I didn't know what else to do other than squeeze my own fingers and keep staring into her eyes that were the same color as the espresso she drank every morning.

She blinked, then looked down at the clutter on her desk. Her head lolled slightly to the side as if she were deep in thought. I was betting she was wondering why she hired such an ignoramus to work for her. AKA, me.

Then she hummed. She nodded for too long. I was chewing on my bottom lip so hard I knew I'd need to lather it in chapstick the minute I was out of here.

"Very well," she concluded quietly. She refrained from looking at me and started spinning her pencil again. I couldn't help but cringe at myself. "It could be a life-changing experience for someone in your position. Arguably a career highlight. But, I do admire someone who puts family in front of work. Money you can always make. Time you can't get back."

Donatella was the living embodiment of fear, but she was kind. I couldn't deny that.

I also couldn't figure out if she remembered I'd be out of the office for a week, considering I marked down the dates I needed off almost four months ago the minute my mom booked the flights and hotel rooms.

"I-I know. I'm sorry. I already hate myself for this," I said, dropping my gaze to my hands on my lap.

"I'll do some scouting and find you an intern to use while Nadia and I are gone. When I get more details about the trip, I'll pass them onto you. I have Angeline from the front desk set to cover your spot while you're gone, as well."

I nodded, too ashamed and angry with myself to speak up.

Apparently she did remember. It seems she just wanted to see if I'd pick work over family. Not in this lifetime.

There was a long beat of silence that made me think we were finished. That was all she called me in here for. Knowing Donatella, I didn't believe it, so I sat up to test her.

She fell for it.

"One more thing," she blurted, the boldness back in her tone with her eyes slicing right through me. "If you're late for another meeting, there will be consequences. I need your A game at this stage. No slip-ups, not at this time of the year. I need all hands on deck, everything you've got. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand," I answered and nodded my head vigorously. It was a trained reaction when getting scolded by Donatella.

Her lips tipped up into the smallest smile. It didn't reflect in her eyes.

"That'll be all."

The unsettling look and the curt dismissal got me up out of my seat in an instant. I was halfway to the door, a lump growing in my throat and haste in every step, practically fighting back tears with every ounce of strength I had, when she called out to me again.

"Bayla?"

"Yes?" I froze, spinning around on my heel to face her.

She ran her eyes over me, her head tilting as she stared at my shoes.

"I think those boots have seen better days, don't you?"

I was numb to her deprecating observations after working for her all this time, but they always managed to strike a nerve because of how humiliating, subtle, and damn spot-on they'd be.

I peered down at my feet as if I had to judge for myself.

The black leather was battered. There were a handful of scuff marks embellishing the almond-toe. There was a significant slope on the back of the two-inch heel from how much I walked in them.

They were four years old. I knew they weren't in pristine shape, but they were my most comfortable go-to pair of boots. They made getting dressed easy because they went with everything, from t-shirts and jeans to tights and mini dresses.

A wry smile came onto my face. I looked up at her again and said, "Yeah. I'm looking for a new pair now."

She nodded. That was my cue to leave.

As soon as I was out of her office, I grabbed all of my things and ran outside. I fought the urge to cry the whole cab ride home.

〰️〰️〰️

I walked into my apartment and saw what could've been an outtake from Scarface right in my kitchen.

Gus, still dressed in his work clothes with his sleeves rolled up and the top button of his shirt undone, was kneeling on the ground between the island and the sink, wiping up a white powdery substance that coated our laminate wood floor. He was elbowing Ziggy aside, who kept trying to climb over Gus' arms so he could likely roll in or eat aforementioned powder. A jumbo-sized zip-top bag was torn to shreds a few feet away from them that left a chalky trail in its wake.

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

I kicked the door shut, and the sound alerted Ziggy that I was home. He wriggled his way through Gus' arms and frolicked over to me, lifting himself so his paws were on my thigh, so I absentmindedly scratched his head for a greeting.

"What the hell happened?" I asked breathlessly, my eyebrows pinching together as I tried to grasp the scene in front of me.

Gus paused his cleaning to glare at me. I could feel the sting of his arctic gaze from across the room.

"Your fucking dog broke into the pantry and destroyed my protein powder," he grumbled.

I sighed, half-laughing though I wasn't amused in the slightest, and I stalked over to the island. Ziggy followed as the two of us avoided stepping in any protein powder on the way, and I dropped my bags onto a bar stool.

"I love how when he does something bad, he's automatically my dog," I retorted.

"Well he was your idea," he snidely remarked under his breath.

I took a wide step to the right so I could see Gus and my eyes narrowed at him.

"I have had the worst day and this is the literal last thing I needed to come home to."

"Do you really think I wanted to come home to this?" He said, focusing back on the mess surrounding him.

I scoffed. "Sorry that he's a dog and he's a little reckless sometimes. What do you want me to do? I can't control everything he does."

"I'm so tired of this shit," he mumbled.

"Well I'm tired of this–" I exasperatedly gestured between us with my hand "–shit."

This was hardly a fight at all for us. Worse things have been said. Gus knew my weaknesses, and I knew his. We'd been so vicious with one another that you wouldn't think we were in love at all. There were times where it'd lead to one of us leaving the apartment, for days at a time occasionally if it was that bad.

What I just said was mild compared to all the things I'd called Gus in the past. Maybe that was why it stuck out so much.

He hesitated, pondering my words with his hand clutching the dishrag. Then he sat back on the heels of his feet, elbows on his knees, brows furrowed as he looked up at me.

"What are you saying?" He asked, which threw me off. I didn't anticipate such a dignified response from him, but maybe he felt the same way that I did.

Tired. Defeated. Done.