“Natalie, as you know the aquarium has been experiencing declining profits and our department’s budget has been cut. I’m really sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.”

What? My insides froze as “let you go” wormed through my brain. She’s firing me. “Why me? I’ve been here way longer than Carrie and Janine.”

“Frankly, you’ve lost your edge. You’re frequently late and you don’t pay attention in meetings. I can’t use anything you send me anymore. I will not fight for you if your designs are poor, no matter how many years you’ve been here. I’m sorry.”

She was indifferent to my emotions. I couldn’t find the words—my world was falling apart. My voice stumbled in an attempt to desperately salvage my first ever job.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. It’s the stress over losing Ben. I’m still not over him. Please give me another chance!”

Her face creased. “Natalie, it’s almost been a year. I quite understand that break-ups are painful, but it shouldn’t have affected your job like this. I’m sorry. I would keep you, but we just don’t have the budget.”

First my relationship and now my career. How did everything fall apart so neatly? Miranda was immune to my tears—I was just another casualty of the failing economy, a lackluster employee who finally was cut loose.

Ignoring her outstretched hand, I turned around and bolted from her office like a coward. What else was there to do but empty out my desk and go home? I didn’t want to face my coworkers and hear their sympathies. I wanted to drown myself in a bottle of tequila.

Don’t be stupid. Your designs are good. You’ll find another job, easily.

But I turned down an interview at Apple six months ago. Cringing, stinking fear always kept me from advancing my career. I was convinced that I was never good enough. It’s only a matter of time before I fuck up, just like today.

“Natalie? What are you doing?”

A photo of Ben and I sat on my desk, its metallic frame grinning. Fuck you. It’s all your fault. I hurled it into the trashcan. My arm swept all of the unnecessary crap on my desk into the trash. Was there anything I should salvage? I shoved my coffee mug in my purse.

“Natalie!”

Janine poked her head around my cubicle and I dissolved into tears when I saw the concern on her face. “I was laid off.”

“Oh my gosh. Natalie, I’m so sorry.”

I waved it off and dried my eyes on my sleeve. The box of tissues was buried deep in the trash. Another surge of violent heat seared through my veins. I was so sick of tissues, so sick of crying all the time.

“You’ll find something else.”

She placed a tentative hand on my shoulder, which I ignored. I ripped open my drawers and crammed the files I wanted to keep into my already overfilled purse.

“We should go out for a drink or something.”

I shook my head. I didn’t think I could handle dozens of people saying how very sorry they were, and how they were sure I would find something else. Not today.

“Sorry, Janine. I just want to get out of here.”

Maybe there was a bit too much bitterness in my voice. Ugly thoughts swam in my head as I gazed back at her. I had seniority over Janine, but that didn’t matter.

Her eyes shined with nauseating pity.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?”

Shouldering my purse, I shrugged at her and walked out of the office. I slammed the elevator button as I thought what I should do.

Telling my best friend what happened was my first instinct, but I knew it would give me little comfort to have her look into my eyes with the same pitying expression I used to give her. It was embarrassing.

Poor Natalie. You have so many problems. Supportive, middle class upbringing. Zero student loans or credit card debt. Christ, I would never measure up to her. The problem with having a best friend like her was that we could never see eye to eye. How could Jessica ever sympathize with someone like me? Knowing about her shitty childhood made me feel like I didn’t have a right to be unhappy.

Maybe I would just go home and visit my parents for the weekend. I thought longingly of home: the oak trees, the ranch-style house where I grew up, the sparkling pool, the sunshine pouring through the kitchen, the comfortable beds, and Mom’s cooking.

What would Mom say?

I chewed my lip the whole way home. Dad will be angry. He never really supported my decision to major in graphic design. Graphic designers were a dime a dozen, and competition was fierce. Unless you got lucky, it didn’t pay very well. But that wasn’t the point. I majored in it because I loved how something simple as a logo could evoke the aura of an entire company and become so widespread that it was part of culture itself. Every decision of color, font, no matter how small—was monumental. Sure it was commercial, but it was still art.

Somehow, I lost sight of that. I forgot about making art. I was just going through the motions.

I shot off a quick text to Jessica, explaining what happened and where I was going. My phone vibrated and lit up with a call that I knew was from her. The phone blared with its merry tune until it fell silent and died. I just didn’t feel like talking about it. I picked it up and my face reflected in the dark glass. Then I called my mom.

* * *

“I don’t understand. Why did they fire you?”

The fork clattered loudly against the ceramic plate. Frustration boiled my blood, but I didn’t raise my voice. “I was not fired. Laid off. There’s a difference. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mom and Dad sat around me on the dark, rectangular kitchen table; their aged faces basked in orange light. The kitchen was unique because half of its walls were made of glass. As a result, the kitchen gleamed with light even though it was five in the evening. The whole house was always filled with sunshine and usually I preferred it for that reason. It contrasted heavily against my gloomy apartment. The change in scenery did nothing to alleviate my mood.

Dad gave me a doubtful look that made me grind my teeth together.

“You obviously did something wrong if they got rid of you and not the newer hires.”

That’s true. I shoved the doubt away. “There are plenty of jobs on LinkedIn. I’m going to call my agency on Monday.”

My mother swiveled in her chair to talk to Dad. “Maybe it was because she took so many days off for that girl.”

Bored, I looked up from my plate to glare at her. Her tactics were as subtle as a flying brick. It took me years to understand them. “You know her name—Jessica. She’s only been my best friend since I was thirteen. And no, it wasn’t because of that.”