LATER IN THE DAY
Yesterday, Timmy had insisted he wanted to ride in the truck with me to my job interview today, but he changes his mind at the last minute.
“I can’t,” he whines. “I have a splitting headache.”
Fine. I’m better off without him in the truck anyway. I don’t need someone to hold my hand there and back, and a few minutes of peace sounds heavenly.
But something feels off.
Before I leave, he stops me. “I need to admit something,” he says, his tone strangely sheepish. “You know how I sold my chop saw yesterday and said I’d give you the twenty to thirty bucks for it?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah? What happened with that?” He had returned without the chop saw, but I also haven’t seen any money.
“Well, I ended up spending it at the store. I got a shitty bottle of vodka, hence my headache.”
Unbelievable.
But I’m too tired to be angry. I have an interview to prepare for, and I’m not wasting any more energy on this nonsense.
I attend the interview, and I have some reservations about the role. It’s something I could do in my sleep, but the industry is really uninspiring, and so are the executive leaders whointerview me. The more I learn about it, the less I think it’s the right role for me.
And the more I think about it, the more it weighs on my mind that it’d be near-impossible for me to successfully perform a full-time job while in a relationship with Timmy.
He himself is a full-time job, and I’d be an anxious wreck all day, wondering what kind of trouble he’d be getting himself into while I was away.
Later, I drive Timmy to his therapy appointment, and I’m parked outside when the recruiter from my interview calls.
“They loved your experience, but they felt your outfit was too casual,” she explains. “Would that be an issue going forward?”
Are you kidding me?This job gave me red flags from the start—five days a week in the office, rigid executives who’ve worked together for nearly two decades, and a soul-crushing approach to HR. Picking on my clothing feels petty and unnecessary.
“I’m not sure I could work for a place that values appearances over capability,” I say. “It doesn’t sound aligned with the transformative approach I bring to HR.”
I’m not perturbed. It’s not even slightly disappointing. If anything, it’s a relief.
The universe is shoving me toward my dream of writing full-time, and away from the draining world of HR, and I’m ready to embrace it.
Timmy returns to the truck, looking depleted. “I talked a lot. I cried. But I feel like they bait-and-switched me,” he says. “I was supposed to have the main therapist lady, but now I have oneof her students instead. She doesn’t have much experience, but hopefully, she’ll be okay.”
I nod, not sure what to say. The fact that he went at all feels like a small victory—enough to give me a little sliver of hope.
But I can’t shake the suspicion that he’s not legitimately concerned about the person allocated to be his therapist, and that he’s merely laying the groundwork for an excuse to stop going at some point in the future.
For now, though, he’s trying.
And that’s more than I can say for most days.
CHAPTER 45
SINK OR SWIM
MARGAUX
LATER IN THE WEEK
“Let’s go swim with the dolphins!” Timmy announces, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It’s one of the best parts of being out here on this side of the island!”
The idea thrills me immediately. Wild dolphins, out in nature—it sounds like a childhood dream come true.