Public Relations

Chapter 31: Mia

A week had passed since the conclusion of my job and they, shockingly, had not called to beg for me to come back. No emails about the grave error they made, no flowers with a note about how the company is burning to the ground without me.

It hits me, this solid, cool reality, that it was just a job. I was just an employee. And that door is closed behind me now, most likely forever.

I can't pretend that this has been an easy pill to swallow. My identity was wrapped so firmly in this occupation, this career I'd been building so rapidly, that the loss of it leaves me stumbling blindly through the motions of life for a few days. I rediscover cooking and learn that my oven doesn't even preheat properly. Then I have to place a humbling work order to my apartment complex in which I state that I don't even know when this broke in the first place. I try painting and photography, the two extracurriculars I exceled in in high school, and realize I wasn't that good, I was just the only student applying myself.

Where I find comfort, naturally, is shopping.

I've spent hundreds of dollars reversing the sterility of the apartment with soft terracotta throws and plants from the local nursery. I hang up pictures I dig up from the bottom of my closet and clutter the space with kitschy handmade items from local businesses.

And after a week of this, I search for jobs. Casually. Or as casually as I'm capable of.

It's the middle of the week when there's a knock at my door. I'm in sweatpants, which I have always tried to avoid during the day but can't deny their comfortability, and my hair is on its fifth day without a wash. There's soup on the stove, because the weather is five degrees cooler than it was last week and I can't resist an opportunity to make soup.

It's a whole new me.

When I swing the door open, I'm met with a whole new Brett.

His face cracks into a smile immediately, resembling something like relief. Then he drinks in the sight of me, this laidback version of myself he's not seen too often before, likely bombarded by the scent of lemon chicken soup simmering behind me.

"Mia," he breathes, and it comes out like a prayer.

I blink at him in surprise, then embarrassment, then confusion. "Brett, what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" he asks, as if he hadn't heard me. I expect him to invite himself in the way my father is wont to do, but he waits for permission like a fucking vampire. I wave him through, still baffled.

He stands in my living room, evaluating everything as if for the first time. "Wow," he says, glancing around in awe. "You've done a lot with the place."

I try to shrug nonchalantly. "I've found myself with a lot of time. And I'm here so much, ya know?"

He turns back to me suddenly and closes the distance between us in two short strides. Before I can react, he envelopes me in a warm hug, his coconut shampoo overwhelming my senses, the firmness to which he's holding me bringing tears to my eyes. I feel him rest his head atop mine.

"How have you been doing?" he asks. "That should've been the first thing I said."

I let out a muffled laugh, the sound dying against his broad chest. "I'm doing just fine. Revisiting some old hobbies, redecorating. I've even heard back from a few jobs."

Brett stiffens around me. "Is that it then?" He pulls back, his hands resting on the tops of my shoulders. "You're done with the old place?"

I smile sadly. "It was overdue, Brett. I should've cut ties with my father years ago. This miserable job was the last thing holding me to him. It's good that it's over."