Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I understand that sometimes, shit happens. Business is business.
But covering it up by lying and firing me when I did nothing wrong? That’s a good way to get sued. Except I have no money for a lawyer. And there’s probably something in the stupid hiring contract we signed stating we could be fired at any time for no reason. Companies always cover their asses.
I thought I actually worked for a good one.
My heart goes out to all the others who lost their jobs and to the ones who have to stay, knowing they could be next. It’s not a great feeling to pour your heart and soul into something you could be terminated from at any time.
I’m curled up on the couch and covered with a handmade quilt that was a gift from my parents one Christmas. I also have a trashcan beside me to throw used tissues in. The plundered tissue box sits on the coffee table, along with the remote, a stack of books, and several mugs of discarded tea. Two plates have toast scraps on them, and there’s a sleeve of saltines open. Despite my sore throat, it was the only thing I could bring myself to eat on day one of this cold. Boxes of sinus medication and a bottle of cough syrup with three dirty spoons balance near the edge of the table, where there’s free space.
Mom wrinkles her nose. “This place is a mess.”
It’s not. Other than the coffee table, it’s spotless. As per usual.
I get vertical and wrap the blanket around myself like a cloak. Holding the edges up to my face, I cough a wet, rattling cough into it before grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. Twice.
Mom visibly shudders.
How on earth does she see blood, barf, broken bones, and contagious crap on a daily basis? I’ve never been to the hospital my mom works at. I’ve only ever had to go to minor clinics and my family doctor. I always thought her bedside manner would be brusque but efficient, but I’m not so sure about that now.
Why become a doctor if you can’t stand sick people?
When I was little, it was my dad who took time off when I got sick, not my mom. There was maybe one time that she was the one to look after me when I had the flu because my dad had this crazy big case he was working on, and he was in court that week. Even if he’d been hit by a bus or ten buses, there was no way he could bail on that.
My condo is spacious and open. Now that I’m upright, I can see my dad hovering in the doorway.
“What’s Dad doing there?”
Mom sets the big box down on the floor and thrusts her hands on her green-scrub-clad hips. I hate that color. Probably because it screams hospital, and my mom’s scrubs always smelled just like that place. Strongly astringent.
“He has a big case he’s working on. He can’t afford sick time right now.”
Ahh. That probably explains why she suited up to come and see me too. One would think I’d caught a zombie flesh-wasting disease, not a freaking cold. I’ve had it for days. Am I even contagious at this point? I thought it was worse before you even knew you were sick.
Dad wriggles his fingers at me, and I sniffle and wave back, letting it go like I’ve always let it go. At least he came. He could have just let my mom come by herself.
“What’s in the box?” I ask.
“A 3D printer.”
“A what?” Of course I know what they are. I mean, vaguely, but why on earth did she bring me one?
And here I thought that when she called an hour ago to tell me they were on their way over to bring me something, it was chicken soup or an ice cream cake.
Mom nudges the box with her black, non-slip shoe. She’s probably going to get my dad to drop her off at the hospital, which explains the scrubs.
I guess.
“You lost your job, so you have nothing right now. That wedding planning nonsense was your whole source of income. At least you could do this while you’re looking for another job. It needs filament, which I’ve ordered to your house. It should be here tomorrow. They take a little bit of instruction, and it’s a slight learning curve, but I bought a model you can just unbox and basically start printing on. I’m sure they have instructional videos online.”
“Uhhhh…” I sniffle, grab another tissue, and blow my nose before I can continue. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Print things. For sale. It’s the perfect time of year to get your name into some of the craft shows that everyone holds leading up to Christmas. You can make all sorts of things. It’s really very interesting. You could sell them online.”