“That’s the point. I can’t.”

If she’s this aggressive when I explain a personal issue, I wonder how she would’ve reacted if I told her I’m going to California to meet a man. This woman is something else.

“What do you think this is? A telecommute job?”

“No, I don’t think that. I just need a week of vacation.”

I feel my voice is starting to crack.

“You’re so disrespectful. I gave you a second chance and everyone told me it was a mistake. There you go. Now you’re proving their point; you didn’t deserve my pity.”

We all have a breaking point. It’s that moment when you forget you’re a coward. You forget there are consequences, you have no back-up plan, and your decision will cost you.

“I work harder than anyone else. I’m there first and leave last. I write the most material, and I’m paid the least,” I say, my jaw clenched. I’m unsure if I do it not to scream or not to cry.

“Stop whining. Everyone works hard. Go to Long Island, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

“Are you trying to get fired?”

“Who’s going to do all the work if you fire me?”

“You are an ungrateful little brat. I should fire you.”

“You can’t, because I quit!”

“What?”

“You heard me. I quit. I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

She hangs up.

Twenty-Two

It suddenly hits me. I left David. I quit my job. I’m about to find out who Max is. My life has changed drastically in twenty-four hours. Again. It’s like a cycle. Once a year, something related to Carmel pops up, and it’s like a whirlwind.

I’m alone, unemployed, with barely any money in the bank, no prospects, and about to go chasing a man who wants nothing to do with me by all accounts. Crazy much?

There is a moment when I consider driving back, ripping the letter for David and just pretending like it didn’t happen. But that moment passes. I’ve done the right thing. For both of us. Just like I’ve done the right thing with Janice. Just like I’m doing the right thing by driving to the airport. I have to do this. I HAVE to. For myself. For the last year and all the sleepless nights. For what I felt that day and ever since.

I hesitate again when I stop at a UPS store and mail my book boxes to Hartford. It costs me a fortune. Not a good time to be spending right now.

I hesitate again as I’m standing in line at the counter at the airport and buying my one-way ticket with two stopovers—the cheapest I could get on such short notice—to San Francisco.

I hesitate when I call my mother and tell her about my change of plans.

“Won’t make it home this weekend after all. Sorry, Mom. I’m headed for the airport.”

“Airport? Where are you going?”

“California,” I say. “To meet—”

I’m about to say ‘friends’, but I hate lying. Hate it! I crack down and tell her the truth.