Art of Convenience by Michelle Carrero

Author:Michelle Carrero [Carrero, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

When I decided to take the long way home I didn’t take into account that I was wearing my interview heels and not my sneakers. The pinching pain digging into my toes is a sick distraction until my phone vibrates against my side.

Hobbling a few steps I make it over to an outdoor bistro and sit at an empty table before digging through my bag. I’ve taken so long that when I finally find my phone I answer it without even looking to see who’s calling.

“Mija!” My stomach churns and my only saving grace is that I’m sitting down. “Hello?”

“H-hi mom,” I answer, clutching my purse in a death grip to my chest.

“Hi honey, how are you?”

“I’m…” I’m having a difficult time breathing. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Busy, busy as usual.” A waiter comes over to my table and I feel guilty for sitting here, not ordering anything so I cover the speaker of my phone and mouth ‘coffee, black’ and when she doesn’t reply with an over-the-top smile, a cartwheel, or a ‘great’, I assume she hates me and I begin picking at a notch in the table. “Are you there, mija?”

Moisture begins to burn behind my eyelids. I haven’t talked to my mom other than a few texts here and there over the last few weeks. I tried a few times. The least I could have done was let her know I left my job and I’m looking for a new one. Every time I picked up the phone to make that call I saw the disappointment across her face. I heard her asking a million questions that I either didn’t have the answers to or did and couldn’t stomach telling her the truth. The nausea rolled so heavily that it was enough to make me put the phone down every time.

“Yeah.” The high pitch of my voice trying to fight back the cry is threatening to give me away. “I’m actually out to lunch with Taylor right now, and it’s just kind of hard to hear.”

“Okay, honey. Give me a call later then, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Tell Taylor, I said hi. I love you, both.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I drop my phone in my purse and put my head in my hands, focusing on my breath. The clink of my coffee hitting the table forces me to look up in time to see my waitress already heading back inside. I pull out cash to cover my drink and a tip and leave it next to the full cup.

Between the interview from hell and a phone call from my mom, caffeine is the last thing my anxiety needs right now.

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