The Wall of Winnipeg and Me - Mariana Zapata Page 0,26

level.

It was one thing to be his employee, but for him not to care even a little bit that I was leaving? On top of that, for him to let this asshole talk about me? About my freaking looks of all things? I’d never shown up to work a sloppy mess. My straight, auburn hair was usually fine because I didn’t do much with it other than let it loose around my shoulders. I put makeup on and put some effort into my clothes. I wasn’t gorgeous, but I wasn’t ugly—at least I didn’t think so. And sure, I wasn’t a size zero or a three or a five, but was Trevor fucking kidding me? Me? A goddamn dinner roll?

I was hit on every once in a while. If I wanted a boyfriend, I could have a boyfriend, and he wouldn’t look like Shrek either, damn it.

Fucking asshole. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t exactly Keanu Reeves to begin with.

I managed to count to two before thinking “fuck it” and letting myself get mad.

What was I doing here? It had been weeks since I told them I was quitting. Aiden had been bossier and moodier than usual. Colder. I couldn’t completely blame it on his injury at this point either.

And here I’d been stressing out about keeping his house clean, putting chocolates on his pillow, and delaying my dreams because I felt bad leaving him, and he couldn’t even tell Trevor not to talk about me.

I swallowed and blinked once. Only once. I met Zac’s eyes and found his jaw clenched. Biting the inside of my cheek, I thought about what I told myself out on the curb with the trashcan. I’d begun going for walks that day. I’d even done a little jogging. I’d gotten paid last week.

This was my life, and I was the one to choose how to spend it, didn’t I? Hadn’t I done enough? Put up with enough? Sucked it up enough?

If I didn’t put up with people who should have mattered, why the hell was I putting up with people who didn’t? Life was what you made out of it, at least that was what those Chicken Soup books my foster father thrust on me when I was a teenager imprinted on me. When life gives you lemons, you get to choose what you make out of them; it doesn’t always have to be lemonade.

With a mental slap to my own butt, I nodded at the only loyal person in this house. “I’m out of here.”

“Van—” he started to say, shaking his head. His long face was tight.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re not worth it.”

Zac scrubbed at the side of his jaw before tilting his head in the direction of the stairs. “Get outta here before I try to go kick both their asses.”

That had me sucking in a watery snort. Try to kick both of their asses. “Give me a call or a text every once in a while. All right?”

“Nothin’ would stop me from doin’ it,” he assured me, putting his fist out.

Thinking of my psychopath older sisters, I filled my veins with every inch of hard-earned resolve I had within me, and fist bumped him. We looked at each other for a moment before hugging, just a second, not a good-bye but an ‘I’ll see you later.’

Down the stairs, I ignored the bare walls I’d be looking at for the last time. The sound of voices in the living room almost had me glancing over, but I didn’t care enough to waste the energy.

I was over this.

In the kitchen, I pulled my work phone out of my bag, fished my keys out of my purse, and pulled Aiden’s house, mailbox, and PO Box key off the ring. Setting those four items on the kitchen island, I rubbed at my eyebrow with the back of my hand, adjusted my purple-framed glasses, and tried to make sure I hadn’t left anything lying around. Then again, if I left something, Zac could grab it for me.

I rubbed my pants with the palms of my hands and slung my purse over my shoulder, nervous anticipation flooding my stomach. I was doing this. I was fucking doing it.

“Could you go out and grab me something to eat?” Trevor asked, suddenly standing in the kitchen when I turned around to leave.

While I knew I was supposed to kill even this dipshit with kindness, I couldn’t dig deep enough inside of me to be an adult.