Two | Sloan

Elbow deep into the mailbox, my arm swirled around the metal interior. Once again, I was feeling the heartache from searching for what wasn't there. Empty.

"Dammit," I said, mumbling to myself with disappointment.

I retreated my arm, slamming the front of the box shut with a quick scan of the neighborhood to ensure that no one witnessed me talking to a mailbox. The last thing I needed were the neighbors thinking I had completely lost my mind, because my best friend already did. My search came up empty, minus a stray tabby cat who ducked beneath an old Buick across the road. I was in the clear—this time.

Two months since Hallie submitted the culinary school application, and I still had received nothing back—no acceptance or denial letters. With classes beginning in one month's time, my hope was lost. Perhaps one day I would have the courage to reapply. For now, I needed to focus on myself and my immediate future. More than anything, I needed a job, and it wasn't happening as easily as I had hoped.

The day's weather was far from perfect. Dark gray clouds hid every bit of sunlight; there was a breeze cool enough to need a jacket, and it misted a cold rain. It definitely was not the ideal spring day for a walk, but because of my dwindling bank account, my own feet had become the primary method of transportation. I hated it when I first started, nearly giving up my food money for gas money. But now these walks had become almost enjoyable. Therapeutic, in a way. Alone time was proving to be beneficial—not completely healing, but it was better than becoming a recluse and crying all day in my bedroom. It was harder to cry in public.

Before beginning today's jaunt, I grabbed the only jacket I owned—a pale blue one made of a slick material which I hoped would help keep me dry. This was donned with a pair of black dress capris, the nicest white blouse I could find in Hallie's closet, and a pair of open-toed, black, strappy sandals. Sandals weren't exactly ideal for job searching, but I couldn't walk around the burbs of Chicago all day in heels.

The challenge for today was keeping my resumes safe from the elements. My best friend came to the rescue and slid the crisp white papers into a large zip-lock bag, keeping them perfectly free of wrinkles and creases, yet maintaining their current dry perfection. They were now tucked safely within my jacket against my stomach, with my arms wrapped around myself, keeping them in place.

Even with the cruddy weather, I was relieved to be out of the house. Fresh air was seriously underrated. Since a therapist was completely out of the question, I had to find cheaper ways to make my heartbroken depression manageable. Being outside seemed to help.

During my walks, I attempted to focus on silly things. I would recite song lyrics in my head or dream up recipes I immediately wanted to try once home. Anything that would take my mind off of Steve and how our lives had come to this. These tricks only worked for so long before a particular house—near the edge of the business district—would remind me just where I came from.

The pink house—which was once red but had faded without proper upkeep—now had a large 'X' spray-painted in black across the door. The bright yellow notice of it being condemned wasn't surprising. It was complete garbage the three times I was fostered there. The state never cared though, just as long as they had somewhere to stick you. The Murphy's—the couple that had taken me in multiple times by request—were pieces of shit. They only fostered me because I was old enough to take care of myself and every other kid there. The only thing they cared about were the paychecks from Illinois. No one truly understood or could relate like Steve, Hallie and TJ. That's what made us all so close. The moment we met in a group home for non-fostered children, we were inseparable. That was until Hallie and TJ found their forever homes. That left only Steve to keep me sane through the most hellish of times, and I did the same for him.

I thought growing up in the Murphy house would be the biggest low of my life. Now everything was one disaster after another. The man who kept me sane was now the one who had me losing my shit. I never dreamed I'd end up with Steve, and now I couldn't fathom being without him.

I tried the outlet mall on the brink of town first. I had already attempted every open kitchen and serving position I could find and was yet to be contacted by any. Options were becoming scarce. Retail was not something I had worked before and was now a last resort. It didn't help that Hallie loved telling horror stories from working in a mall. I wasn't sure if I could bite my tongue if some Karen with a mom-bob and minivan came in demanding use of an expired coupon.

The boutique door chimed as I entered. It was the first store in a long line of similar outdoor malls on this road. I had been in this store once before—hoping to find a casual dress for my courthouse wedding—and was immediately turned off by the steep prices of the merchandise. Instead, I wore a gray cotton sundress off a bargain store's clearance rack. I spilled a celebratory beer down the front of it while dancing and never wore it again—money well spent.

There were few customers today. I passed two women sifting through hangers and many creepy mannequins dressed better than myself. The register sat at the rear of the store, where I was hoping to find an employee but didn't. I tapped a small service bell and stood to wait.

"Hi." A cheerful woman appeared from behind a door to my right. "What may I help you with?"

I took a moment to compare my ensemble with that of the woman now standing on the opposite side of the counter. She wore a deep burgundy colored pantsuit, with a white, flowing top and perfectly accessorized gold accent necklaces. The entire ensemble looked like more than my rent. If this was the dress code, I hated thinking of how much of my paycheck would go back to work clothes.

"Hello." I offered my hand. The woman happily took it and gave a small shake. "I'm Sloan Smith. I was wondering if you had any positions available?"

"Sure we do, Sloan." As the woman dropped her hand, I noticed she had a name badge clipped to the pocket of her suit, displaying the name Carol. "Do you have a resume?"

"I do."

I cursed myself for not opening the plastic bag outside of the store, but I couldn't risk getting it wet. I awkwardly withdrew a crisp white paper and offered it. For being twenty-three, there was not much work experience on the list—two position titles at three establishments. However, I was well-liked by the management at each restaurant. Serving and hosting were the only two jobs I had any experience with, but I knew how to run a register. Carol politely held the paper with both hands, scanning it with a smile which slowly faded as she progressed to the bottom.

This reaction seemed common these last few weeks.

"Um," Carol's throat cleared, "it says here you have a G.E.D.?"

I forced the smile to remain on my face as I agreed with a nod.

Good job, Carol. You can read.

"That's correct. And it holds the same value as a high school diploma."

"Yes," she said, continuing to eye the paper. "Well, I will be happy to pass this along to the store manager. Thank you for your interest."

She may have said the word yes, but her tone didn't hold sincerity that she actually agreed with its equivalence. My nails dug into the skin of my palm as I thanked Carol for her time, and then I quickly removed myself from the store. I inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air, already feeling on the verge of frustrated tears. I wanted to give up, but walked to the next store in the line. I held the same conversation again and again, knowing I was in for another long day.

>>

With a toss of the paper wrapper to the trash, I stood in the donut shop, allowing the rain to subside a little more before venturing out again. Not even a chocolate Long John with pink sprinkles could make this day better, and that was my absolute favorite donut. There was one store left on this road to visit, and I was out of resumes. I should have requested them all back, since it was highly unlikely that any of the stores would call back. Those papers I had fought to keep dry were probably in trash bins already. Although, I wouldn't need one for this last store. I knew if I walked in, I would get the job. All I had to do was ask for it.

Hallie was going to murder me for this.

I darted from the donut shop and braved heavier rain droplets than those earlier in the day. Both hands were used to prevent my hood from blowing off as I ran across a traffic-free road. But not even the rain could stop my hesitation of opening the door of Thomas Jones' Consignment. Eventually, after a lot of internal debating, I gave up and entered.

This store was quite large. From the outside, you couldn't see how deep it was. It wasn't anywhere close to upscale, but it wasn't dirty like many other places near the city. Bright red signs hung from the ceiling, pointing to various sections, such as clothing departments by gender and size, household goods, and furniture. It had been two years since I entered the store, but I still got lost while searching for the main counter.

"Sloan?"

I turned to the familiar voice; this time, unable to hold the fake smile I had been offering people all day. TJ appeared astonished, likely because of our last encounter. It involved me pounding on his door at midnight, yelling for him to open up and prove he wasn't cheating on Hallie. He had been stupid enough to tell Steve earlier that day, and I had to see for myself. Instead of opening up, he called the police on me. There were no charges when he realized he was going to have to open the door anyway and then begged me not to tell Hallie as his trashy girlfriend left. Obviously, I told my best friend everything, but our friendship didn't stick after that—even after knowing each other since children. He lost all his friends and didn't even come back when we needed him most.

"Hey," I said, trying to tuck my loose bangs behind my ear.

TJ stood quietly, looking unsure what to say beyond a small, awkward wave. He then clutched his short, black beard with his fingers and gave it a tug while rocking on his heels. I wasn't used to seeing him in slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. It didn't look right on him, but he wasn't the same man I grew up with.

"I need a job, TJ."

Why beat around the bush? We both knew I wouldn't be here if I didn't absolutely need to be. TJ was a last resort—one I was sure I was going to avoid when I began my job hunt.

He nodded. "Full-time? Part-time?"

"Anything."

"Hallie know you're here?"

I clutched my elbow, not offering an answer, because that was an answer. Hallie was going to hate this, and I hated betraying my best friend. This was breaking girl code, but I needed TJ's employment to help pay back money Hallie was lending me.

He sighed heavily. "Didn't think so."

"This has nothing to do with Hal. It's me who needs the job. No one will hire me with my G.E.D., and you understand why I have it."

"I'll hire you. I don't care about a diploma. You know that."

"Thank you."

Relief rushed me like a wave, and I sighed with it. Even though Hallie wouldn't understand why I went to him, one problem was being crossed off my list. I was going to receive a steady paycheck. Hallie would just have to deal.

"Listen, Sloan. I saw Facebook, and I..."

"Don't!" I instantly panicked, halting the conversation with my hand and my raised voice. TJ's eyes widened. "I don't want to talk about Steve, okay? I'm a little fucked up because of him, and that conversation is off limits between us. You weren't there."

This job wasn't an attempt at repairing our friendship. This was about money only. I need money; he has it. If one more person told me everything will work out in the end... they would need to lock me in a psych ward. I definitely didn't need to hear it from the guy who chose some home-wrecker over his lifelong friends. Part of me knew she wasn't the entire reason for his absence. But his friendship with Steve was not my problem right now. He didn't get details on what he saw on social media.

"Okay," he said, agreeing. "I won't bring him up again. Be here tomorrow at eight."

One hurdle accomplished. Talking Hallie down was next.