The early afternoon sun was brutal, fading the colors of the world into flattened versions of themselves. Ora and Sally sat at a battered red picnic table next to Grillo’s Subs, its peeling paint sticking slightly to the underside of Ora’s forearms. The heavy scent of vinegar and hot asphalt hung in the air.
“It’s like life just sucks so effing hard,” Ora said, wrapping up her 20 minute tirade on the constant woes of her existence.
“Come on,” Sally encouraged, yet again. “It can’t be all bad.” Her friend did have a usual snark, but there was an unusual slump to it today.
“It feels like I’m constantly being flushed down the toilet.”
Looking up from her sandwich, Sally’s brow furrowed behind her sunglasses. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
Ora continued quickly. “Like I’m trying to breathe, trying to see, trying to swim my way out, but the strength of the whirlpool keeps just pushing against me. Keeping me there. In the damn toilet.”
Sally took a sip from her sweating, waxed cup and swallowed. “Do you think you need to see someone?”
“Like?” Ora replied in a bored voice.
“Like a psychiatrist?”
Ora spat a quick, sharp laugh. “Yeah, I’ll just dip into my mental health fund,” she said, flicking a tiny onion slice left on the otherwise empty wrapper. She gave Sally a leveled look. “I had to return cans for grocery money this week.”
A delivery truck rattled by in the background. The roar of its engine briefly drowned them out.
“So,” Sally leaned in, elbows on the table, chin in hand. “What are you going to do then?”
“Just keep getting flushed, I guess.” Ora balled the wrapper and tossed it back in the bag. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Wait,” Sally said, the idea coming to her in that moment. “Five things.”
“What?” Ora replied.
“Five things. List them. Five things in your life that make you happy.”
Another quick laugh, this time with an eye roll. “It’s not… I was… Just forget it,”
“No. Five things. Five words, even. Five words of things that make you happy,” Sally persisted, resting her cheek on her hand, unfazed.
Ora peered at her. “Alright.” A pause. Too long of a pause.
“Anytime,” Sally prompted, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I’m actually thinking. I can’t come up with five.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Ok, um… my cat.”
Sally held up one finger, nodding.
“Oh, sleeping.”
Fake answer, but no arguments. Two fingers.
“Wine,” Ora said dreamily. “Wine makes me happy. It truly makes me sad that I can’t afford to drink more often than I do.”
It was Sally’s turn to pop a laugh. There was some of that usual snark. Third finger.
“I like cooking,” she said, sounding like she surprised even herself.
Sally raised her brows. At least that one was legit. Pinky up.
“Ah… I… jeez, I think I only have four….,”
Sally just sat patiently with her elbow propped on the table, four fingers still up, gaze steady.
“Um….aaah…. the Food Network? My most looked forward to moment is coming home from work, popping open a box of wine, hanging out with my cat and watching the Food Network.”
“Ok. That works for now,” Sally said. “Now how about five things you don’t like about your life?”
“That’s easy, my job times 5.”
Sally held up one finger.
“Okay, still easy. My job, my apartment, everything in my apartment…”
Sally held up two fingers and shook her head, declining the answer with a small smirk.
“Ok, job, apartment…commuting to my job,” Ora poked out her lip and cocked her head for approval.
Sally held up three fingers.
“The whole not having the time or money to drink more thing.”
Sally smiled. Four fingers.
“And… my relationship with my family.”
“You’d rather be closer with them?” Sally asked.
“No, I’d rather not feel the responsibility to have to be closer with them. I’d rather be free of them. Not think about them. Not think about what shitty shit we’ve all done to one another. And then have to get dragged back into the shitty shit when someone fucks up, yet again.”
Sally exhaled, poked out her thumb to complete the five count and let her hand fall to the table with a soft smack. “I wish I could help you with that.”
Ora pursed her lips and nodded at the ground. A bike zipped past on the sidewalk behind her, breaking the moment for a heartbeat.
“But I think I can help with a couple of those. If you’re willing to let me.”
Ora raised her head, skeptical but alert and peered at her friend.
“Let me find you a job. A better job.”
The interest that flickered across Ora’s expression faded before it could land.
“I mean, it can’t be easy to apply for jobs when you’re getting flushed down the toilet all the time,” Sally reasoned. “Send me your resume and I’ll do all the searching, investigating, replying stuff. Then, when you get a real interview, you take it from there.”
Still unconvinced, Ora’s expression remained skeptical, so Sally continued. “What could be the harm? It’s not like you have to take whatever job calls you back. I think it’s a great idea! It should be a job in itself actually… a professional… job finder.”
“I think rich people do that. They get headhunted. Retail workers don’t have that. They just get shit on.”
“Ok then, let’s do it! I’ll apply for jobs I think you’d like, customize the cover letters, correspond with them, etc. You do nothing or know nothing until I get you an interview. And, when that time comes, you can even turn down the interview if you don’t like the job. It happens all the time. Deal?”
Ora shrugged. “If you wanna spend the time, I guess…,”
“Well, I thought of a way you could repay my kindness,” Sally smiled, leaning back with a glint in her eye.
Ora’s brows contracted again.
“By cooking us dinner once a week. You said cooking makes you happy. You pick the menu and I’ll bring the stuff to make it to your place. We can even review the jobs I applied for so I get a better idea of what you’d like, if you want, and have a nice meal.”
Ora still looked unconvinced.
“I’ll bring wine,” Sally tempted.
“Deal!” Ora shouted quickly.
Sally leaned forward again with a light laugh, finishing the last bite of her sandwich. Across the table, Ora smiled genuinely for the first time that day — tired, yes, but at least not hopeless. And, also for the first time in a while, she didn’t dread going back to work after lunch. Knowing she might not be there too much longer, made actually being there slightly more bearable.
It wasn’t an escape — but it was a paddle. And for now, that was enough to keep her head above water.
Ora didn’t send her resume.
Not Monday. Not Tuesday. And by Wednesday morning, she’d stopped pretending she was going to.
There was no big reason. Just a dozen small ones not to.
She kept telling herself: Tonight. I’ll do it tonight.
But nights came, and nights went, and the resume stayed where it was — saved as a draft, buried somewhere in her email.
What was the point anyway? And even if she a better job, it would still be a shitty job. That was what she was trained for. The shit jobs. She felt sorry for people that fooled themselves into thinking that ‘new’ meant ‘better’, when she was at least smart enough to know the shine wouldn’t last on that penny either. Just pointless. Fake and pointless. She had to at least be honest with herself. No one else seemed to know what that word even meant.
On Wednesday afternoon, the store’s air conditioning was broken. The sweat started under her arms and spread down her spine in thin, cold trickles. She wasn’t even moving that much — just standing at the customer service counter, pretending to care that someone’s box fan “smelled weird out of the package.”
By 2:00, Ora had stopped pretending at all.
She just stared at the woman’s receipt and nodded vaguely. “You can exchange it or return it. Up to you.”
The woman stared at her like she expected more. Like, as the customer, she expected service or something. Odd, Ora thought, customers expecting to get service at the customer service counter.
Ora blinked slowly. “That’s… it.”
“Okay. Wow,” the customer muttered, choosing “return” like she was doing Ora a personal favor. She walked off shaking her head, the wheels of her cart squealing like they, too, were sick of this place.
Ora watched her go. Then turned and rested her forehead briefly on the counter before she realized how disgusting that was.
“Living the dream,” she muttered, clocking out for her 15 minute break.
Getting her phone from her locker, she opened the group chat with Sally and a couple old friends and scrolled up through their recent conversations. Most of it was memes. Inside jokes. Someone had posted a picture of a cat with human teeth.
She didn’t feel like laughing. The cat freaked her out, anyway.
She thought about texting Sally, but instead she clicked the screen off, opened the fridge, and let the cold air hit her sweaty self. A dented plastic container of yogurt sat inside next to a communal bottle of coffee creamer, long expired.
Hearing a noise, she shut the door and left the break room before someone tried to talk to her, finding refuge in a bathroom stall, where she could just… exist for a while. Not Ora the cashier. Not Ora the friend. Not anyone.
Just Ora. Breathing. Quiet. Blank.
She just sat and stared at the chipped paint on the metal door, the graffiti scrawled in dry Sharpie.
Two hours left. Then she could go home. Which in itself wasn’t a great reward, but it was better than being here.
By the time she finally did get home, she could feel the ache blooming behind her eyes — not quite a headache, just the weight of the day pushing forward.
She kicked off her shoes and stood for a long moment in the entryway, keys still in hand, trying to decide what to do first.
Clean the litter box?
Shower?
She chose option three: do nothing.
She dropped her bag near the couch and dropped herself next. Face-down first, cheek pressing against the cushions, one arm dangling limply off the edge like a forgotten puppet.
Eventually, she rolled over and grabbed her phone.
For nearly an hour straight, she sat scrolling. Not even reading. Just moving. Thumb up, thumb down. Screenshots. Recipes. Reels. Offers. News. Outrage. None of it landed. All of it passed.
Everyone else was doing something.
Eating things she couldn’t afford. Wearing things she wouldn’t feel comfortable in. Traveling to places she’d only seen on TV. There were people who took their shoes off on planes and laughed about it like it was a story to tell. People who remodeled kitchens because the cabinets were “a little dated.”
She watched a video of someone organizing their fridge by color. Someone who bought fresh herbs weekly.
All her frig contained was mustard and sadness.
She watched people clean their baseboards. People who woke up at 5:00 a.m. and called it “magic hour.” People who journaled in sunbeams about their van life goals.
Her screen went black for a moment and she caught a reflection of herself.
Chin doubled. Eyes empty. Corners of her mouth pointed into a fixed grimace.
She looked paused. Like a bump on a log, her grandmother would’ve said. Lifeless.
The cat meowed from the kitchen. She got up, fed her, and realized she hadn’t eaten either.
She scrounged. There was bread. Half a box of dried pasta. Sad frig mustard. Hey, a surprise slice of cheese that was probably still okay. Eh, that’ll have to do.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
Sally: Hey, you didn’t send me your resume, but I think I have a couple leads anyway. Wanna have dinner tonight? I got wine!
Ora looked around her apartment — clothes on the chair, dishes in the sink, dust bunnies riding cat-hair tumbleweeds floating in the air-con breeze across her floor.
She didn’t feel like entertaining. She didn’t feel like being present. And she definitely didn’t feel like cleaning her apartment.
She texted back. “Raincheck? I’m wiped.”
Sally: Sure. You good?
Ora typed :“Yeah just tired.”, “Long day.” Then, after a moment: “Sorry.”
Sally: No worries. I get it. But I’m gonna stop by and leave you a present.
She stared at the text. Her stomach twisted. Not the frantic kind — the kind that said: You’re failing again. You always do.
Self-preservation. That’s how she rationalized the silence, the canceled plans, the unread messages. She couldn’t keep pretending. Being around people required optimism, fake truths, and putting on a mask she was too tired to wear. It required lies she just didn’t have the energy to tell.
So she hid. Hid away in her apartment…never to be heard from again.
Ora shook off her thoughts, closed the frig and got in the shower. At least then she’d have an excuse for not answering the door if Sally knocked.
Self preservation.
Twenty minutes later, when she opened the door, she found a bottle of wine and a bag of BK in her lockbox for packages. Original chicken sandwich, no lettuce, extra mayo.
She remembered. Ora breathed a smile.
There was a note rubber-banded to the bottle.
“Enjoy!”
Ora stared at the word for a while. It looked so expectatious. The exclamation point demanding it so.
She took the bottle and bag inside and put the food in the fridge. Empty stomach and a bottle of wine? Good night to me, she thought. She liked the kind of night where there were no thoughts. Just a decent buzz and dreamless sleep.
She turned on the Food Network — Chopped marathon, sweet — and sat on the couch in the dark, sipping her wine through a straw, letting the light from the TV swirl around her. The cat jumped up next to her, settling against her thigh like a heating pad that purrs.
When the wine was no more, she weaved her way to the fridge and tossed the sandwich into the microwave, sampling a couple of cold fries before giving up on them and throwing them back in the frig.
Not too bad, she thought, elbows propped precariously on the counter as she hunched over her sandwich, swaying to the ringing in her head.
Midnight BK was something. A wine buzz was something. A nice apartment is something, Ora thought, blearily glancing around, before breaking out into a quick rendition of Two Outta Three Aint Bad.
She stumbled her way to her bedroom where she careened into bed and didn’t think, thankful that the wine and food had rendered her loud mind silent for yet another peaceful night.
Ora shifted the grocery bags carving red lines into her fingers and tried not to think about the sweat trickling down her back.
Visitor parking at her mother’s apartment was a joke. Walking from the store might’ve been faster.
The tired brick and narrow windowed building, all with the subtle sag of time finally met her view as she trudged the last few steps to the main entrance. The air in the corridor hit her with its usual blend of damp carpet, boiled vegetables, and a hint of Lysol that somehow made it all worse.
Weaving through the halls to her mother’s door, she knocked once and then let herself in.
“Mom?” she called, giving the door a nudge with her hip.
“In here,” came the voice from the living room—sharp, but slow. Like she’d been waiting.
Ora stepped into the kitchen first and set the bags down with a grunt. She flexed her fingers, stretching the half-moon dents on her palms from the handles.
“Got you the stuff you asked for. Eggs, milk, rye bread, and that salmon you talked about. Used my employee discount.”
“You do know what I like,” she said, materializing in the kitchen doorway, a dishtowel clutched in her hands. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled into a bun.
Ora, out of learned habit, tried to gage her mood.
“Well, employee discounts don’t get what they used to, eh?” her mom added, peering into the bag like it had failed a test.
Ora opened the fridge a little harder than necessary and began putting things away. “Helps, though.”
“I suppose, so. Well, thank you in any case, my dear. Would you like to sit for a cup?”
“I have a bit of time. Go ahead and sit—I’ll get it all situated. I bought those little cookies you like too. Shall we open them?”
Her mother shook her head. “Let’s save those. I’ve got some that need using up.” She held up a plastic container, cloudy with age. Inside, a stack of half-stale sandwich cookies were nestled in wax paper.
Ora took it and set it on the table without protest, pouring the coffee and grabbed two saucers, placing one in front of her mother with slow, measured movements. It was like a dance, these weekly visits, weaving around each other to avoid landmines.
“Oh, did you hear that Josh got promoted again?” her mother asked as she settled into her seat.
Tick, tick, tick, Ora thought, thankful she could roll her eyes privately before she turned with the pot.
“They even leased him a company car.”
Ora pasted on a smile. “That’s great!”
Landmine averted.
“He certainly works hard,” her mother said, with finality. Ora wondered, for the millionth time, if her mother even noticed the way she fawned over her first born like he was the second coming. “So, how’s your job going then?”
Ora’s lips covered the pasted smile and her jaw cracked from the grit of her teeth. “It’s fine. Pays the bills.”
Her mother sipped her coffee with that same expectant expression. Like she was waiting for a better answer. Or, perhaps, would prefer one worse. Ora decided not to provide either. Sipping her coffee, she steered the conversation toward neutral ground. “So, did you check out that recipe I sent you? The one with broccoli and sweet potatoes?”
Her mother’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Oh, yes. Looked interesting. Though sweet potatoes in that way… not sure it would reheat well.”
Ora nodded, lining up another attempt. “It’s supposed to cool down a bit next week. That’ll be nice. It’s been so muggy.”
“Yeah, it’ll be dry though. My plants have really thrived in this weather with all the evening storms.”
Swing and a miss. Ora scanned her mind. You didn’t talk about work unless it was to say you were tired from it. You didn’t talk about relationships unless they ended. Everything had to be fine. Everything was always fine.
Before she could settle on something neutral. Ora’s mother beat her to it. “So tell me what’s going on in your life lately?” A little warm fuzzy emerged in Ora’s smile, until her mother followed up with, “I mean, there’s gotta be something.”
Ya know what, perhaps a little landmine will spice up my day.
“I’m looking for a new job.” Ora shrugged, purposefully dismissive.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just poking around. It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, that’s great,” her mother replied. “Just—make sure it’s not a scam. These places put anything online nowadays. You have to do your research. You shouldn’t leave something stable for a pipe dream.”
Says the woman who sneered at the employee discount of a lowly cashier, Ora thought. “Well, Sally’s actually…”
“Sally?” her mother asked. “What’s she got to do with it?”
Whoopsie. Tick, tick, tick, boom! “She’s just helping a bit. Keeping an eye out for jobs I might like.” Her mother never liked any of Ora’s friends. Or that Ora had friends.
“Hum,” her mother said, lips slightly pursed, which Ora counted as a small victory. “Well, good for you. Always nice to try for something new, even if it doesn’t work out.”
Ora blinked. “Thanks. I think.”
“You know what I mean. And make sure try to negotiate for benefits. You’re not young anymore. You’re gonna need them sooner than you think.”
“I’m 39. And I have benefits now,” Ora interjected.
“Really? Well, that’s great. Not too shabby, huh?” she said. “Josh got a pretty impressive… what did he call it? Oh! Incentive package with his new job. I guess it holds quite a bit of value. Of course, they recruited him,” she said almost as an aside.
Classic. Ora tried to chug her coffee on the sly. She knew the playbook. Playing the game was almost pointless.
“It’s brave of you to put yourself out there, though. What’s types of jobs are you looking into?”
“Nothing specific. I’m just seeing what’s out there.” Ora said, shrugging again. “Who knows if anything will come of it.” Slidding her empty cup away, Ora rose to her feet. “Alright. You’ve got food for the week, and I’ll call before Friday, okay?”
Her mother nodded. “Be careful! Good luck!”
Ora nodded and waved, shutting the door behind her. She didn’t offer a hug—her mother didn’t either, as per usual.
Outside, she exhaled, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen just a notch. It was always the same game. And she could never win. She knew better than to tell her mother any news. She popped every balloon, leaving just a deflated mass where even the tiniest bit of hope had been. Ora was used to reinflating herself after most any interaction, patching over the slow leaks. After every moment. Every softened jab.
That was her mother’s gift—discouragement disguised as concern.
You’re okay. I love you. You’re okay. Words she mouthed inwardly, automatic now, barely even heard—like a survival song she’d composed just to get to the next moment.
She rubbed her forehead, hard, as if she could press the thoughts away and slid into the car just as the first raindrops began to fall—fat, heavy ones that hit the windshield like they meant it.
The sky cracked open a few moments later and Ora flipped on the wipers. The blades swung back and forth, clearing the glass with smooth, mechanical arcs.
She imagined her thoughts clearing the same way.
Her mother’s penchant for control. Swipe.
You’re okay. I love you. You’re okay.
Josh’s perfect promotion. Swipe.
Good for him. It’s fine. You’re okay.
Digs at her job. Swipe.
I don’t like it either, but gimme a damn break.
The road blurred, then cleared, then blurred again.
She thought about Josh and the way his name took up so much space, even in a room he wasn’t in. As the firstborn, he was the benchmark. The golden standard. Ora was allowed to succeed, sure at mundane things. Things her mother approved of. Just not in a way that threatened the hierarchy.
She didn’t blame Josh, not really. He wasn’t a bad guy. He played his role just like she played hers. Maybe it was easier for him not to see the shadows she stood in. It was how the world was. Theirs, anyway.
But, now that she had lied to her mother, perhaps she should actually send Sally her résumé. Turn a lie into the truth.
At the next red light, she opened an email, attached the file and sent. There. Done.
Before the light even turned green her phone dinged.
Sally: 🎉🎉🎉
Ora breathed a laugh, and spent the rest of the drive home pondering menus for the dinner Sally would soon insist upon, as that was part of the deal. Let there be wine!
“This one was supposed to be on sale!”
The customer, who had been perfectly pleasant up until about ten seconds ago, knitted her eyebrows together.
Ora winced and braced for impact. “It is on sale with a digital coupon,” she explained as patiently as she could. “Looks like you got the digital coupon, but you can’t combine paper coupons with digital ones.”
“No one told me that!”
“It’s written right here,” Ora said, pointing to the fine print on the crumpled paper. “And it’s on the app’s offer details.”
The customer scoffed. “I don’t want it then. You can just leave it off.”
“OK. I’m sorry.” And she really was. She knew all too well the gut-wrenching math of deciding which groceries were worth it.
“Whatever,” the customer muttered, angrily continuing her self-scanning.
That was the fifth customer today who made Ora want to rip off her apron and sprint for the exit. And the hundredth time she’d reminded herself that tonight was dinner night. Her first cooking night. Pasta primavera, garlic bread, a crisp white wine Sally promised to bring, and a decadent tiramisu mousse for dessert. Simple, but satisfying. She hadn’t felt genuinely excited about anything in a long time, but this… this little dinner/job-hunt evening Sally had set up had sparked something.
By the end of her shift, the steps to her car were buoyant. Even the usual reel of existential dread that always seeped in during her commute was slightly dulled. Her brain, however, still queued it up like a continuous screening of Here’s Why You Totally Suck: The Director’s Cut.
What’s any of this gonna change? , her brain said on a loop. Nothing means anything anyway. And nothing ever works out like you want it to. Here, let me bring up several specific examples where you failed miserably throughout your life, just so you’re emotionally prepared when you do it again. And… action!
Nope! Not today.
Ora forcefully shut down the Endlessly Unforgivable Errors arc of the self induced movie viewing, replacing it with her carefully plotted dinner prep timeline.
Start the water to boil. Cut up the veggies. Preheat the oven… repeating each step all the way home like a mantra.
When she made it to her door, Chloe greeted her with meows the moment the key clicked in the lock.
“Hi, baby!” Ora cooed, scooping her up. “Did you have a good day? Do you want a treat? Let’s get you a fancy treat.” Carrying her into the kitchen, she plunked her onto the clean counter and sprinkled some treats down. Chloe purred her approval. Ora had tidied up the night before, and the semi-clean apartment was a strange kind of welcoming.
“Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all,” she mumbled, impressed with herself.
After a quick shower and a change into yoga pants and a tank top, the doorbell rang.
“Hey, girl!” Sally said cheerfully as Ora took the grocery bags from her. “Oh! The place looks great!”
“Thanks,” Ora said, unpacking the bags, her eyes landing on two large bottles of chilled wine. “What did I do to deserve such luxury?”
Sally grinned. “I figured if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Oh, and heads up—I’m crashing on your couch tonight.”
Ora laughed, putting a pot of water on the stove. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Cheers to that,” Sally said, pouring wine into glasses the size of cereal bowls.
Ora accepted hers gratefully and took a swig. “Okay, I’m gonna get started on the veggies. You’re welcome to stay and watch, but no helping. This is my time.”
“I won’t lift a finger unless there’s a fork in it,” Sally promised, flopping into the seat at the kitchen table with a grin. “So…. I applied for sixteen jobs for you.”
“Sixteen?!” Ora paused mid-grab for her cutting board. “Holy shit.”
“Don’t get too excited. I heard back from half. Four were rejections, two were scammy as hell. But! Two solid leads, and they want to schedule interviews for next week.”
Sally took out her phone and read the job descriptions aloud as Ora chopped zucchini and red peppers with precision. The first was a front desk role at a trendy startup—great pay, good benefits… but the culture sounded like a nonstop hustle. Ora shook her head.
“I can’t do ‘startup culture.’ I don’t think I can say ‘I thrive in fast-paced environments’ with a straight face.”
“That’s fair,” Sally shrugged.
The second was an office admin position at a non-profit literacy group. Slower pace, reasonable pay, low drama. “They’re looking for a dependable, organized professional with strong interpersonal skills.”
“I’m the exact opposite of each of those things. And I’m wearing socks with cats on them,” Ora replied, tossing the veg into the pan to sauté.
“So? We just need to get you in the door. And you can wear whatever you want from the waist down—it’s a virtual interview,” Sally said. “What time works for you? They’ve got Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon.”
“Wednesday. I have the day off,” Ora said. “And the latest time they’ve got. It takes a while to make me look employable.”
“3:30 Wednesday?” Sally asked, waiting for the back of Ora’s head to nod. “Okay, it’s set!”
Ora turned slowly, wide-eyed. “Wait. I just realized… I haven’t interviewed for a job in over a decade.”
“Aw. You’re gonna do fine.”
“Unless I panic and completely forget my name.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all the same BS.”
“Exactly. What if they ask ‘Why do you want to work here?’ and I black out and come to halfway through crying about having to change the receipt paper in my register?”
Sally smiled patiently. “They’d hire you for being authentic.”
“Oh no…” Ora’s chin sank into her chest.
“Come on,” Sally coaxed. “Just treat this one like a practice round then. Get one under your belt and it’ll keep getting easier until everyone’s begging to hire you.”
“Yeah… maybe,” Ora mumbled, unconvinced.
“Unless you just want to stay at your current job forever,” Sally added with a smirk.
Ora’s head snapped up. “You’re right. I got this.”
By the time dinner hit the table, much later than originally planned, they were halfway into their second bottle. The pasta glistened, the garlic bread was golden and obnoxiously buttery, and the mousse looked like it had been crafted by chocolate angels.
“Where’d you get the recipe for this?!” Sally moaned. “It’s divine.”
Ora smiled at the compliment. “It’s kind of a mashup. I took the best parts of a few different recipes and added my own twist.”
“Seriously? I can’t even follow one recipe without screwing it up.” Sally tore off a piece of garlic bread and mopped her plate. “Maybe you should be a chef!”
“I think a lunch rush would destroy me. I’d have a full-blown breakdown before noon.”
“Okay, chef’s out… retail’s out…”
Ora held up her wine glass. “I’m not drunk enough to talk about retail work.”
“Right, right. Bakery? People come in, grab a pastry, and leave.”
“Don’t they start at, like, 4 a.m.?”
“Right. Super early. Also not your thing.” Sally squinted, wine-fogged, mentally reworking her list. “How about… a dietitian? You like food. Meal planning. Nutrition…”
“A dietitian?” Ora said flatly. “That would be like… school. Science. Homework.”
“Oh yeah.” Sally backed off. “Scratch that.”
Ora’s smile wavered. Sally had done everything right—college, career, even a retirement account. A real adult. Meanwhile, Ora had barely finished community college before everything derailed and her parents lost their family home. Ora went full-time at her job just to keep the lights on in their new place.
Wow, has it really been 20 years since then?
“Dessert?” she asked, clearing the plates to shake off the thought.
“Hell yes,” Sally grinned. “I need to feed my wine buzz with chocolate. Why is it every time I get tipsy, I crave sugar? Is that a thing?”
“Chocolate doesn’t need an excuse,” Ora replied. “Just a spoon.”
They sank into the couch for some good old-fashioned YouTube spiraling with their dessert—watching cooking fails, GMM, and a weirdly emotional video of a raccoon washing cotton candy until it vanished in the water.
Ora cried actual tears.
Sally tried to comfort her by saying, “Maybe the raccoon learned something.”
Eventually, Sally fell asleep sitting up, arms crossed and chin to chest like a passed-out bouncer. Ora draped a blanket over her and flopped onto the rug with a pillow from the couch.
Chloe climbed on top of her like this had been her plan all along. Ora grinned and stroked her head, the wine buzz humming through her bones. She licked her lips, tasted a stray bit of mousse, and giggled to herself.
So, office admin, huh? she thought, eyelids drifting shut. Maybe it wouldn’t be as boring as it sounded.