the idea of going to my sister’s wedding without him there. Hell, the idea of going to any wedding alone.
But as much as I need him as a crutch, I know it would be a mistake.
I’ll have to go on my own.
I glance at him over my shoulder and give him a small smile, maybe because I know this is probably (hopefully) the last time I’ll see him.
“I’ll be back at ten tonight. That should give you enough time to get your life sorted. Take care, Chris.” I pause. “And eat shit.”
And with that, I step out of the door and away from the man I thought I loved.
One week later
“Welcome aboard,” the tanned flight attendant with a stunning shade of red lipstick says to me as I step off the jetway and onto the plane, a huge Air New Zealand 747. “What row are you?”
I wave the ticket at her. “I’m one of the Skycouches,” I tell her gleefully.
She nods and gracefully points down the body of the never-ending plane. “Excellent. They’re at the rear of the craft.”
I thank her and cart my rose gold carry-on luggage behind me down the length of the plane to the very back. Normally, I avoid the back of airplanes if I can help it (I have a somewhat irrational fear of the plane breaking apart during flight and the bottom half landing on some island somewhere, but that’s what I get for being obsessed with Lost back in the day). But for this flight from SFO to Auckland, New Zealand, I opted for the Skycouch, which is when you have a whole row to yourself, and each seat extends so it turns into a bed of sorts.
These days it’s the little things that excite me.
Last week I was living my normal life, this week everything has changed.
Okay, so maybe I should go back in time a bit.
Four weeks ago I was living the good life. I had my boyfriend, I had my friends, I had my job. I was happy…I think. At any rate, I was looking forward to flying to NZ for my sister Lacey’s wedding, with Chris in tow.
Then I lost my job. None of us at Deschutes even saw it coming.
One gloomy morning where the fog was cold and dense, Harold the CEO, announced there was to be a merger with Yogalita, another even more successful athleisure wear company, and that massive layoffs would be imminent.
Everyone in the office was panicking. Everyone except me, that is. You see, I sort of lucked into that job, working for the company straight out of high school. Within a few short years I was moving up and up and up, until I accepted the position as head of marketing. When Deschutes became too big for the office in Beaverton, the company relocated to San Francisco, and I went along with them. I was somewhat vital to the company’s overall branding, and without tooting my own horn too much, helped push them to new levels of success.
So you can see why I assumed they wouldn’t let me go. How could they when I’ve been working for them for ten years? I was as hardworking and loyal as they come.
Apparently though, that wasn’t enough.
I was deemed easily replaceable by the head of marketing for Yogalita—after all, they were more successful than we were and they were the ones that bought us out—and that was the end of that.
I was out of a job.
A job that had become my identity.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was like I didn’t even know who I was.
Yes, I had money saved up over the years, and I knew the right thing to do was start applying for other jobs. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that yet. It’s like I’ve been in mourning, even though I’ve tried desperately to not dwell on it, to try and use this as a good opportunity for change, to look at it as a blessing in disguise. I’ve always tried to see the sunny side of life.
But that sunny side is hidden by a layer of clouds I can’t seem to see through. As much as I try, I’m not seeing the light.
Adding insult to injury, I obviously then caught Chris cheating on me with my friend. Both of those relationships dissolved so fast, it made me realize how precarious and empty they were to begin with.
“Excuse me,” I say to