Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Eight

Eliza

I’ve become intimately acquaintedwith shitball days. They seem to like me. A lot.

Today ranked right up there in my top three.

To say that clearing out my old desk at Kline-Simmons was awkward would be an understatement. My skin still prickles at the embarrassment of stuffing my belongings into one singular bankers box as the entire office stood by, whispering and staring. But I handled it as best as I could.

Chin up. Shoulders back. Always.

I didn’t break down and cry in front of my former cubicle when that’s all I wanted to do.

Now balled up on my soft, tattered couch in my shitty apartment, I nibble on a sandwich that tastes like basement cardboard boxes. I’m still trying to figure out how things went so horribly wrong. My stubborn mind roams back to last Friday.

Walking down the Strip by Liam’s side.

His elusive smile beaming down on me like the crescent moon.

The subtle hints of nutmeg and musk in his cologne pulling me closer to him when I knew I should keep my distance.

Being with him gave me the luxury of only thinking about the present. For one night, I wasn’t worrying about my past. For a few hours, I wasn’t worried about who or what could pop up on my doorstep next week.

A folded sheet of paper slips out of the library book in my lap. It’s the caricature drawing of Liam and me that the street artist made that night when we were wandering around the Strip. I know I should rip it up and throw it in the garbage. Yet, for ridiculous reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. Because this silly cartoon drawing is the only evidence I have that I didn’t entirely dream up that night that meant so much to me.

That one night with Liam was a glimmer of light in a world where I’ve become so used to hiding in the dark.

And then, he fired you, Eliza.

I thought he was enjoying my company as much as I was enjoying his but it turned out to be nothing but an illusion. Liam Kline is just a rich man who loves to power-trip.

It’s all grossly unfair.

The worst part is that I have no idea why my boss suddenly kicked me to the curb. When I demanded an explanation as to why he was firing me, Liam just huffed under his breath and marched off, leaving me hot and bothered, hurt and confused on the sidewalk outside the Kissy Kissy Bang Bang chapel.

I’ll admit it—I haven’t always been an exemplary employee. I’ve pushed my boss’s buttons for my own amusement. And the way I handled the Varner file, in particular, wasn’t my most professional moment. But I thought that Liam and I had gotten past those transgressions. In fact, we seemed to be getting along that evening. Hell—a part of me thought we’d end the night in bed together.

Then—boom! Fired!

I think I’m justified in loathing the man. But more than anything, I just feel hurt. And angry.

I toss my head back against the couch. “I should sue him,” I growl up at my ceiling. “I should lawyer the fuck up and sue him for unjust termination. For pain and suffering.”

Yeah, right.

I’m as broke as a joke. I barely have two pennies to rub together. Not to mention the fact that I’m deliberately living under the radar at the moment.

I feel so trapped.

I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Is this really the life I’m choosing to live? All the secrets and lying. The lingering stench of mildew. The sound of people getting it on upstairs.

But seriously, for an elderly couple in their eighties, Mr. Gordon and Granny Bellino both have the stamina and libido of spring breaking frat boys.

And they’re both ridiculously hard of hearing. They must plop their hearing aids out when they get down and dirty, because that’s the only time they get loud. The old woman is so sweet and grandmotherly the rest of the time. I don’t think they have the faintest clue how noisy they get during sex.

It’s really uncomfortable to make eye contact with Mr. Gordon when I hand over my rent money each month. Not that I’ll have rent money to hand over this month.

Thanks again for firing me, Liam Kline.

Living in the basement of the dilapidated home of some feisty retirees was never what I aspired to. Not all that long ago, I had goals. Big dreams. And now they’re gone.

But it’s a small price to pay for putting family first…

Forcing my stale sandwich down my throat, I grab my phone off the unlevel thrift store coffee table and video call my sister. It’s hard being away and I worry about her all the time, but that girl always knows how to cheer me up, and tonight I’m in dire need of a pleasant distraction.

It’s getting late, and I can tell she’s tired when she answers, but Dana would never admit it. I ask her about Mom and Dad and Baby Clementine, and how everything is going back home.

My sister grins and says that the baby is doing great. But when it comes to everything else, her outlook is bleak. I slouch into my smelly couch to listen.

“Some investigator dudes were questioning Dad again,” she tells me. “When I ask them about it, they clam up and tell me not to worry. It’s annoying as shit. But I overheard them talking last night,” Dana lowers her voice. “The prosecutor sent subpoenas to some of Dad’s former work colleagues.”

I groan. “Do you have any details?”

“Nope, that’s all I know, sis.”

“But what about—?”

“Nada. I know nothing else, Liza.” She clutches her shabby comforter to her chest and I can see the fear in her eyes. That’s why I let her change the subject. “What are you doing home by yourself anyway? You’re in Sin Valley, Liza. You should be out ‘sinning’.” She forces a giggle.

“I don’t have any friends,” I mutter ruefully.

“You don’t need friends to go out and have a good time,” she says sagely.

Nostalgia sweeps through me when my gaze tracks over Dana’s background—the tiny bedroom we used to share with the pale pink walls in need of a fresh coat of paint and the floral curtains that have seen the inside of a washing machine way too many times.

Home. I miss home.

“Yeah, well…”

“Eliza—you’re young, you’re hot, you’re in perfect health. I know some people who’d kill to be in your shoes.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t take that for granted,” she advises. When I hesitate, she says, “Get out there. Have some fun. Go to a strip club and grab a male stripper’s dick ’n’ balls.”

I throw my head back and laugh for the first time all day, and the much-needed endorphins zip through my body.

Growing up, Dana was always the adventurous one. The one who wanted to wander far and wide while I found comfort closer to home. Unfortunately, her frail body was rarely ever willing to cooperate with her daredevil spirit.

“Live. Your. Life, Eliza.” She coughs. “Remember, you’re not just living for yourself. You’re living for me, too.” I feel a jolt of guilt when she says that.

“Maybe some other night…” I hesitate to tell her this next part. I don’t want her to worry about me. But I’ve got nobody else to talk to. “I don’t have money to spare. I lost my job.”

“What?!” she blurts out before more coughs explode from her narrow chest. “Why?”

The tears are lined up along the rims of my eyes, ready to come falling down. I close my lids against them. “I don’t know. Misunderstanding with my boss.”

I give her a brief version of the events of the past few weeks, leaving out the sexy bits because, obviously, those were just in my imagination.

My sister sounds indignant and ready to kick some ass on my behalf. “I don’t even need to hear his side of the story to know that he’s an idiot,” she says of Mr. Kline.

“He’s an idiot,” I echo.

“And probably a jackass.”

“Definitely a jackass.”

“And a butthead, too.”

I laugh. “Butthead? Yup, that label fits.” Just talking to her and I can breathe easier. “I feel better already.”

“That’s what sisters are for,” Dana tells me, her crooked smile warming me to the tips of my toes. “I love you so much, sis.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

Another violent coughing fit shakes her little body. It’s so unfair. I’d do anything to help make her better.

My voice cracks when I see her like that. “I just wish I could come home…”

“I’m so sorry, Liza,” my sister whispers. “I’m so sorry you're going through all this because of me.”

“Listen to me,” I say, pouring all my conviction into my voice. “I don't want you apologizing. Do you hear me? You are my little sister and I would do anything for you. Anything.”

Dana blinks back tears of her own. “You can't tell me you don't regret what happened.”

“I don’t,” I insist. “I’d do it all over again…” I stare up at my lonely ceiling and a single tear glides down my cheek. “But still...sometimes...sometimes I could use a hug.”