The Stand-In(9)

When she gets to my place, she has a bag of chips, two bottles of wine, and an acid expression. “That asshole,” she says as she brushes by me. “Did you talk to a lawyer?”

“Before I got fired.”

“Did you sign the letter yet?” She kicks her sandals off at the door without me asking. Both of us find wearing outdoor shoes in the house disgusting. “Hold up, did you say before you got fired? Did you see this coming?”

I take the wine from her and stay silent.

“Don’t sign until you give it to the lawyer to look at,” she advises. “You can probably get more severance out of them.”

“Enough to cover the lawyer’s fees?”

She shrugs and heads to the kitchen. “Five bucks ahead is still ahead,” she calls over her shoulder. “Plus it shows Garnet you’re no pushover.”

That’s an Anjali thing to say because her zodiac sign is Leo and her Chinese zodiac is monkey, meaning she’s smart and tricky and belligerent. I’m an Aries and a monkey and I’m supposed to be those things, too, instead of a Pisces rabbit: ducking confrontation and never pushing back.

Anjali doesn’t know the whole of the Todd story. I only told her that he’s a terrible boss. I couldn’t tell her about the way he made me feel because it’s too humiliating to admit I didn’t stop him when I know I should have. I should have reported him to Human Resources. I should have kneed him in the balls. I should have said screw my job and stood up for myself. I should have… I shouldn’t have…

She hands me a glass of wine and pours the chips into one of my mixing bowls. “Sit, eat, and drink,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“Numb?”

Anjali swirls the wine. “To be expected. Would you like some advice or to figure it out yourself?”

She’s being good, asking before piling in, and it’s not her usual approach. I laugh and my throat feels rusty. “How hard was that to do?”

“So fucking hard.” She grins. “I’m getting better. The life coach is helping me be more intentional and think before I act because apparently not everyone wants me butting into their business.”

I don’t want Anjali to help me with a list—I’d prefer to talk—but helping makes her happy so I push over my sheet. “This is what I have so far.”

She pulls her black hair behind her shoulders. “You have two things on this list.”

“Yep.”

“Brush teeth,” she reads. “Find job.”

“I can check off the first one.” I brushed my teeth before she came over, and now the wine tastes terrible. “I should change the second to ‘find money.’ I could win the lottery.”

“Not a viable option.” She sighs. “Let’s talk for a bit before we tackle your nonlist.”

“Fine.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

I don’t have the energy to keep it secret anymore and tell her the story. Anjali’s eyes narrow until they almost close. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“What do you mean?” I’d glossed over the grosser stuff, unwilling to linger on it long enough to even say the words or to bother her with the details.

“You said he was a bad boss,” she says gently. “This is far beyond some insecure micromanager, Gracie.”

“I know.”

She frowns and moves her glass from hand to hand. “Again, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You would have told me to quit.”

“Right, and?”

“I need that job. Needed. I’ve been looking for months and there’s nothing out there. You would have kept asking me about my job search.”

“I’m not that bad,” says Anjali. She grimaces at the look I shoot her. “Sorry, maybe I am. But I’m upset you didn’t want to talk about it with me.”

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. Ever. At all.”

“Problems don’t go away because you ignore them. We could have thought of a plan together.”

“Like what, a sting?” It’s easier to turn this into a joke.

“We’d mic you up in the bathroom before sending you into the boardroom.” She cranes her head left to pretend-whisper into the fake mic in her lapel. “We have eyes on Walrus.”

“Subtle.”

“Thanks.” She sips her wine. “Seriously, tell me next time. It’s better to talk it out.”

“Next time I get sexually harassed by my boss and fired? Definitely I will call you.”

“Good.” Anjali nods, satisfied, but then her expression changes. “That’s not what I meant.”

I start laughing and she hits me with a pillow.

“There won’t be a next time,” she bellows. “That’s the fucking point.”

We calm down and I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about work anymore.”

“Okay. How’s your mom?” Anjali only met her a couple of times back when we were in university but she knows the story. Part of the reason our friendship rekindled is that I saw her social media post on helping an aunt with Alzheimer’s.

“Good.”