was gorgeous.
Other than the fact I was holding a pooper-scooper and a bag filled with said scooped poop.
If she was going to stalk me for a candid photo, she could’ve at least waited until I wasn’t holding shit.
The longer I looked at it, the more I decided I liked it as is. It wasn’t the most glamorous, but it added to the genuineness.
Removing the envelope tucked into the frame, I pulled out the folded note printed on the framer’s letterhead.
Some might not think this is much. Some might say it’s not a career or a real job. That it’s a hobby and nothing more. Or even a waste.
But you do it best, Briar.
Well that’s… nice?
If it were anyone other than Sue who’d sent it, I might have been insulted. But I took the note as a compliment because I knew the shelter was the one place I made a difference. To the running of the rescue, to Sue, and, most importantly, to the animals.
Carefully sliding the picture behind my catchall table so I didn’t break the glass before I could hang it, I pulled the plant in next. There was another note attached to a little plastic pitchfork stuck in the dirt.
Briar,
For your new apartment and for all you do.
-Sue and everyone at Redmond Rescue
That was much better.
Pushing it to the side, I grabbed the thick stack of mail. There was so much, the carrier must’ve decided to forgo my mailbox. I didn’t bother to look through the catalogs as I shoved them to the side to deal with later.
Flashes of red on the regular envelopes caught my eye, making my stomach drop.
Past due
Past due
Final warning!
Envelope after envelope, all stamped with some variation of the same ominous and threatening message.
I knew I wasn’t late on any payments. All my bills were set to autopay, and it may have left me with a few coins and cobwebs in my account, but I always paid on time. Owing money and being late both tapped into my issues with letting people down.
Logically I knew all that, my anxiety also wouldn’t let me leave until I’d opened every last envelope. With shaking fingers, I tore at them to find nothing but junk. Credit card offers. Credit consolidation, which would come in handy should I sign up for the aforementioned credit cards—which I wouldn’t. Car recalls and warranties, even though I had no car.
Good to see the robot spam callers have branched out to robot spam mailing.
Surrounded by jaggedly-ripped envelopes and crumpled papers, I shook out the catalogs to make sure some hadn’t gotten stuck in them. When I was done—and dangerously close to being late—I grabbed my purse and locked up before hurrying outside.
As I speed walked to my favorite restaurant in the history of all restaurants, I tried to control my emotions. But thanks to the mail, thoughts of my dwindling bank account, and even the disconcerting vulnerability that came from Sue’s well-meaning but invasive picture, I couldn’t settle my mind. I felt exposed and paranoid and stressed.
If I had his name and number, I’d have canceled my date even though doing so at the last minute was beyond rude. Ghosting him would make things a billion times worse, otherwise I just wouldn’t show up.
With no other option, I breathed deep, repeated my control mantra—with my salsa one thrown in for good measure—and kept going, even as the burn under my skin grew.
Turning a corner, I saw him standing in front of the building. Dressed in a sweater and jeans that fit criminally well, he scanned the area. When his eyes landed on me, a grin split his face.
Okay, if nothing else, tonight is good for my shitty self-esteem.
Even though he was already at the restaurant, he walked down the sidewalk to meet me. “Hey.”
“What’s your name?” I blurted by way of greeting.
He didn’t seem startled or irritated. “Alexander.”
“Hi. Sorry, that was driving me crazy. Briar.”
“I know. I heard someone say it at the center.”
“Right,” I drawled, self-conscious about my less than smooth greeting and the reminder of therapy.
“Hungry?”
I nodded and started for the door. When he opened it, gently putting his hand on my lower back for me to enter first, a pleasant shiver went up my spine.
Once we were seated and had ordered drinks, he opened the menu. Likely noticing I didn’t do the same, he asked, “Been here before?”
“A couple times…”
…a month.
Since food and I had a complicated relationship, and money and I had a strained one, I rarely got