“When am I not struggling, Gabby? When has a good grade ever come easily? Never, that’s when. Even when my shit’s on time, it’s never good enough. I’m not smart like you are.” The edge to his voice catches me off guard.
“I… I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” I say gently. I know he’s sensitive about how difficult school is for him sometimes. “And don’t be ridiculous—of course you’re smart. I’m just saying I can help if you want. Do you need anything proofed? I can look over your assignments and explain—”
“That’s just it. You can’t always swoop in and do my shit for me.”
I still, a mix of anger and hurt colliding in my chest. My eyes sting, and I blink quickly. “I’m not the enemy, Rider. I’m on your side.”
Groaning, he rakes his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m freaking out. I don’t mean to take this out on you. You’ve been great.” He gives me a weak smile, one I don’t really believe.
This is what he does when he gets stressed. I’m starting to see the pattern. How he pulls away.
After a fight with her husband, I once overheard my foster mom talking to her friend about a book she had called Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. According to this book, when men get stressed or worried or freaked out, they retreat into a cave. Women prefer to talk and figure things out, but men isolate themselves.
Since I was ten, I had no idea what “hiding out in a cave” meant, but now I understand. Rider is in his cave. He’s protecting himself. He did it freshman year, and a bit right after we reconnected this fall.
A knot tightens my throat as I think about how well that turned out the last time.
I place the baby monitor on the coffee table and sling my bag over my shoulder. “You obviously don’t want any company, and I get it.” Even though he’s apologized, I still feel the bruise where he stung my pride. I can’t bring myself to reach for him to hug or kiss goodbye. He doesn’t reach for me either. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
He nods, wordless.
So I leave.
59
GABBY
With my palm, I smooth down my hair before I knock on the door to Mr. Barstow’s office. When he yells to come in, I enter.
“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Barstow.” I printed out my résumé so I could have it on file when that opening becomes available. I sit in one of the cushy leather chairs in front of his desk. “I’ve heard the English department has someone retiring at the end of the year, and I was hoping to interview for that this spring.” At his incredulous expression, I stutter. “Or… or this summer. Whenever you conduct interviews.”
His eyebrows crinkle together. “What are you talking about? That’s not why I asked you to come to my office.”
“You… Wait. What?”
He waves a pudgy finger toward his door. “I sent someone to fetch you.”
“Oh. Um. What did you need?” This is embarrassing.
Keep it together, Gabriela. So he called you in here for another reason. That doesn’t mean you can’t discuss that position.
As he grabs a container of TUMS, he shakes his head. “We won’t be requiring your assistance anymore. I need you to gather your things, and I’ll escort you to your car.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except an annoying squeak. “I’m sorry, sir. What?”
“I can see you don’t understand. Let me be more clear. You’re fired.”
I almost laugh because this has to be a mistake. I’m early for my shifts. I do what I’m told and never complain even when the staff is rude or demeaning. And I always do a great job because I never cut corners. What in the world could I have done to upset him?
Unless he doesn’t like me because of Miranda.
I swallow. “Yes, sir. I heard you, but I’m confused. Why am I being fired? This is my last week on staff since I was told Archer wouldn’t need any temps during finals. Do you mean my temp position has ended early because of staffing needs?”
“No, you’re fired. You do know what fired means, correct?”
To my great shame, my eyes fill with tears. I cough and blink and stammer. “Yes, sir, I understand what being fired means. I just don’t understand why you would fire me. Especially so close to the end of my contract.”