Winter Wonderland

twenty: holding out hope

*

I don't want to get my hopes up.

I can't afford to get my hopes up.

But I just had an interview with Aisha King-Evans and a few of her senior account executives and it went well. It went well. Fuck, I think it went really well.

But I can't get my hopes up. She told me she'd get back to me within a couple of days so I guess I'm in for forty-eight hours of shaking hands and the nervous shits while I wait for the email that will decide my future. I've barely been able to think straight for the past day, up until the interview – I kept zoning out only to realize Storie was talking to me, because my brain has been so full of everything I need to remember to impress the people I need to impress.

Now it's done. An hour of my life on a cold, disgusting January day will decide whether I get a job that will change my life – I'll go from desperately clutching at any ten-bucks-an-hour odd job to a career. One that comes with comprehensive health insurance and dental and it even has paid parental leave. When I asked about job benefits, I was expecting Aisha to tell me about basic insurance and PTO and casual Fridays. I certainly wasn't expecting her to reel off this ridiculously long list of perks, including the entitlement to three months of paid leave if I have a kid.

There's nothing else I can do except wait and hope and I am hoping hard.

I don't know how I got home after the interview. It's only two blocks away but I don't remember the walk, no recollection of anything between saying goodbye to Aisha and letting myself into the apartment, but before I know it I'm leaning my forehead against the window, staring out at the city and trying to get my pulse under control. Every time I manage to distract myself I end up thinking about what it'll be like to have money I've earnt myself, to be able to treat Storie the way she deserves to be treated – explosive flowers; dinners out; trips all over the country – and there goes my heart again, hammering so hard it feels like it's trying to break out of my chest.

The sound of a key in the lock finally breaks me from my trance and it's only when Storie steps in with a shiver, brushing snow from her coat as she hangs it up behind the door, that I realize it's past six o'clock. The interview ended two hours ago and I've been stuck in a trance ever since.

"Hey!" She beams at me and I melt. "How'd it go?"

"All my fingers and toes are crossed," I say. "I think it went well."

"That's amazing!" She claps her hands together and then pulls me into a hug, and I sink against her body, relishing the comfort of her hug. "I'm so glad. You deserve this," she says, still holding me tight. She has such faith in me and all I want to do is make her proud, to truly deserve her – Astoria Sovany is too good for me but I don't ever want to let her go. "When will you hear back, d'you reckon?"

"She said a couple of days." I push my hair off my face, gathering it at the nape of my neck before letting go with a sigh. "I felt really good about it in the moment but god, Storie, I don't know. I've felt good about interviews before."

"But you've got Kaylani's endorsement, right?" Storie rubs my arm, those dark eyes boring into me. "It's not like this is just any interview – there's a healthy dose of nepotism here."

"Don't say that!"

"Hey, if you've got it, use it," she says, chuckling. "You think we'd be living here if it wasn't for Kris?"

I look around our apartment, this cozy little place that feels like home already in what little time I've lived here. "Thank fuck for Kris."

"Thank fuck for Kris," Storie agrees, "and thank fuck for Kaylani."