Cover

1

Jenny

My soup is ruined.

Curse the crumbling ceiling above my stove. Curse the landlords who let the plaster get to this godforsaken point where it’s given up on life and flung itself into the boiling pot of my soup. And curse myself for being here in the first place.

It seemed like such a good idea, quitting my job. I’ve always been able to analyze data and figure out patterns and find best practices. You’d think I’d be suited for a career in the sciences, right? Maybe even a medical degree?

Maybe.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text message. Since the soup is a goner, I pick it up and check the message.

Celestia: I swear it’s the last time, but can you float me $200 for rent?

My pulse pounds in my neck. My sister has never been one to go meekly to the office, which is probably good for the world since she’s brilliant in her own way.

It’s just not necessarily with money.

I watch the plaster dumplings floating in the soup and do the complicated math of adding up the balances of my own credit cards and bank account. The responsible thing to do would be to focus on paying my own rent, but it’s my sister. She’s been trying her best. And who else is she going to call? Our parents?

Ha.

Jenny: Of course. I’ll send it today—same account?

Celestia: Yes! TY TY TY!!!

I toss the phone back onto the counter and take a deep breath. I don’t want her to know I’m struggling, too. I don’t want anyone to know.

Would it be any better if I’d gone the STEM route instead of listening to all my mother’s talk about the work of the soul and following my heart and working to live, not living to work?

Would I have an extra $200 to throw at my sister and never worry about it again?

Somehow, I synthesized all of my mother’s wisdom into a plan: get a dual degree in marketing and public relations. All the data you could want. All the gut-wrenching decisions you could want. And so much human connection! So many bonds to create and nurture!

That’s not what I got at my old job. Oh, sure, there were bonds to nurture, if by nurture it meant cutting them off at the knees. That’s what we did at Global. We did defensive PR. 

At least fifty percent of me wishes I was sitting at my old desk right now, doing the defensive PR I hated for a paycheck that was at least a paycheck. The apartment I shared with my roommate never became an added ingredient to my soup like this.