Newly Unemployed Member of Society
This is it. Everything I’ve worked for over the last two years has led up to this very moment. I stand from my desk, shoved in the center cubical, the space barely enough to push my chair back. The constricting pencil skirt I have on bunches in all the wrong places. My attempt at smoothing out the creases now stretching across the front of me fails miserably. I check my blouse next, making sure it’s tucked in perfectly. Next, I flick my foot beneath my desk, swiping to get ahold of the heels I took off just as soon as I walked in.
If I had my choice, I’d be spending my days in leggings and a hoodie, typing away tomorrow’s headline. But appearances are everything around here. Pencil skirts and heels say business, at least that’s what my roommate keeps telling me. And at twenty-four years old, I can use every boost of mature professionalism I can get. Not to mention, judging by the way the rest of the female staff dress around here, I’d say she’s not wrong.
I step out of my small space, tucking any free strands behind my ears.
“Hey, Cooper!” Frank, our resident current events reporter, shouts over to me. “Who you got on the game tonight?”
I glance over to see he’s not alone. Erin, our entertainment reporter, Sean, one of our editors, and Leon, our field reporter, are all surrounding him.
With a quick glance at my phone to check the time, I step over to the group. “There’s no question. The Falcons are taking game one.”
Frank’s eyes widen, huffing as he shakes his head. “You always bet on the Vegas Falcons, Cooper.”
Not on Las Vegas. “It’s the winning bet, Carson.”
“Los Angeles has the better stats,” he defends.
“L.A. doesn’t have an ace like Vegas does.”
He nods. “I agree with you there, but Beck can’t carry the whole team.”
My heart lurches at the sound of his name. Despite the ache that lingers in the embers of hearing it, innate pride takes over, just as it always has. “My money is still on the Falcons. They’ll take game one.”
His smile widens. “We’ll see about that.”
I check the time again, smiling before I turn away. Pulling at my skirt for the hundredth time, I walk down the line of cubicles.
This is it. The small buzz on my phone captures my attention. I pull it out, glancing down to see a message from my roommate. A picture of her and her girlfriend at Caruso’s Bar with two glasses of Pinot flashes across my screen.
Daniella: Good luck! We’re waiting to celebrate your promotion! Can’t wait for you to get here
I smile. Quickly typing back.
Mackenzie: I don’t have it yet. Stepping in now. See you soon!
I’ve spent the last two years stuck in the realms of local news. Capturing small sporting events that only a handful of viewers read. But our sports reporter is retiring next week, and seeing as I’ve been working under his wing, training for this very moment, I’m the logical choice to take over the professional sports column.
With a breath and another adjustment of my blouse, I knock on the glass door in front of me.
“Come in!”
I turn the handle slowly, stepping inside with every ounce of confidence I can muster up. A bright smile and borderline kiss-ass as I walk in.
“Good evening, Mackenzie,” my boss, George, states from behind his desk. He’s still sitting, barely looking up from his screen as he greets me. I wouldn’t expect much else, though I am questioning just how important it was to wear this whole skirt suit thing that’s annoyingly tight. “Please, have a seat.”
Two more steps and I’ve reached the only extra chair in the room. A large glass window sits perfectly behind him, framing the city lights and making me miss the simplicity of the ocean. The way the moon and stars sparkled in their own brilliant light, not drowned out by a superficial power source.
“Good evening, George,” I reply, slowly sitting in front of him.
He’s still typing, his eyes glued to the screen. The silence is numbing. I stay still, waiting for him to finish his thought. After a few painfully quiet breaths, he folds his hands in front of him, plopping them into his lap as he spins his chair to face me. His beard is grown out, longer than his usual scruff. There’s a controlled messiness to it. Disheveled and full of hours of stress. He takes a breath before he pulls at his wire framed glasses, revealing the tight lines around his eyes.
“Your article on the local little league team’s fall fundraiser was a real heartwarming piece.”
“Thank you.”
“And the girls soccer league the week before. The way you captured their voice while keeping the focus on their devotion to the game was astronomical. You have a way of combining the heart of sports with the competitive edge. I have continued to be impressed by you, Mackenzie Cooper.”
Heat fills my cheeks, my heart a racing mess. “Thank you. I’ve been working really hard.”
“I can see that. Which is why…” Here we go. “It pains me to have to let you go.”
What? “I’m sorry. Let me go?”
“As you know, we’ve received some massive budget cuts over the last few months. We’ve had to take a look at all of our departments, decide which ones are eliciting the most interest and which ones can be delegated or eliminated. Unfortunately, local sports is just too limited to warrant a single reporter.”
“You’re cutting local sports?”
“No. We’re delegating the section. Between our sports journalist and our local entertainment, I believe we can cover the section. I’m sorry, Mackenzie. You’re the newest on staff.”
“But Richard is retiring…”
His brow scrunches, his hands on the desk as he scoots himself in. “He is. And that position has already been filled by a member who has been here for many years and already put in his dues.”
“His dues? I’m sorry, but no one on staff is more qualified to cover sports than—”
“Mackenzie,” he cuts me off. “Please understand that you are a phenomenal journalist. I have already taken the liberty of writing you a wonderful review that any paper in this city would take with open arms.” He pulls out the letter, keeping it within his grasp. “I suggest you think about what you’re going to say next.”
My gut spins, a fire coursing its way through my veins. Inhale. One heavy breath pulled deep into my lungs. I hold it there. One. Two. Three. “Can I ask who got the job?”
He pauses, and I know within that small hesitation that whoever it is didn’t get it based on seniority or talent. “Christian. He’s been with us for ten years, he works hard, and he’s covered sports for the last year. When it comes to cuts I don’t want to make, he has the seniority to stay.”
You mean he has a penis to write the sports column. It takes everything in me not to say the words out loud. A part of me wonders why not. Why can’t I say my piece? Why can’t I state the obvious? I’m far more qualified to cover the section. And I’d hardly call the two games Christian covered while I had the flu covering sports for the last year.
“I’m sorry, Mackenzie. You’re a valued member of our team.” He pushes the letter forward. “It won’t be the same around here without you.”
I don’t say anything else as I leave his office. My letter still within his grasp. Call it pride, principle, a mistake, but I don’t want his pity. I don’t want his help in finding something else. Hell, I don’t know that I even want to write anymore.
Ignoring every look as I leave his office, I head straight to my desk, kicking off my stupid heels and slipping into the pair of tennis shoes I keep beneath my desk. Next, I gather the few items that actually belong to me. It’s not much. The picture of me and my brother, a small award for a piece I covered my first year here, and my notebook. I guess I never really set roots here. The sentiment claws at my chest. But I don’t linger. Instead, I book it from the suffocating space.
The cool night air hits my skin. I keep going, walking swiftly past various strangers. The city is bustling with faces I’ve never seen. No matter how many times I walk these very streets, no matter how long I spend trying to plant roots, no one ever crosses my path twice. Or maybe I’ve never taken the time to notice.
I don’t feel the moment my pace quickens, or when my mind begins to take off, but before I know it, I’m running. I’m flying down the street, dodging one blurry face after another. There’s a familiar ache, a need to escape everything, to run so fast that the world around me fades away.
I keep going, ignoring the yells to watch out, the few curse words that get thrown my way. None of it matters.
I don’t stop until I get to the bar, my heart pounding, my breath a raging mess. Sweat builds along my forehead, my hair a disaster I can only begin to imagine. I ignore every bit, stepping through the front door and eying the crowd. It’s packed. Far more than it usually is.
I catch a glimpse of the TV screens above the bar. The baseball game is just beginning. And it hits me. Like a wave crashing the shore. It’s the playoffs. The crowd is gathering to watch. I push through, glancing up at the screen to check it’s still the first inning. I don’t linger too much longer. Instead, I shift my gaze back to the crowd, scanning the small tables to the right until I land on my roommate.
“She’s here!” Daniella shouts across the bar, her glass of wine raised high into the air. If it wasn’t already buzzing with excitement, I’m sure a lot of heads would be turning. “Chicago’s next sports journalist has entered the building!”
I step forward, never more thankful for the game to be on and every soul within ten feet completely consumed by it. I reach for the glass she has held out, taking three large gulps before wiping at my mouth.
“Shit,” she exhales.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t get the promotion?”
“I didn’t get the promotion. I did get fired though.”
“No.”
Two more gulps down the hatch. The glass is empty. Before I can even motion for a refill, she’s sliding her glass my way. “Yep. Budget cuts. I’m lowest on the totem pole.”
“That’s bullshit! You’re the most knowledgeable sports journalist they have.”
I laugh, knowing she has no clue who actually works in that office, but the fact she has my back brings a bit of light in the treacherous dark. “Thanks.”
“Alright, I’ve got champagne!” Penny, Daniella’s girlfriend, announces as she approaches with three glasses in her hands. Daniella shoots her a look, subtly shaking her head. “What? Are we not celebrating?”
“Yeah,” I cut in, catching a surprised look from my roommate. “We are celebrating, Penny.”
“You got the promotion?”
I look between the two of them. “No. But we can still celebrate.” I reach for a glass, holding it into the air. “To the end of one chapter.”
Daniella grabs a glass, raising it to meet mine. “And to the beginning of another.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Penny adds, “but to new beginnings!”
I smile, glasses clinking before I take a sip.
“Oh my gosh, she’s there!” Daniella shouts, clinging to Penny’s arm, eyes glued to the TV screen above the bar.
I shift my gaze, flashing my eyes to the screen. There, just behind home plate, is Danika Gray. A supermodel gone actress, dark hair perfectly cascading down her sides. She’s wearing a Vegas Falcons jersey, complete with a matching baseball cap.
The camera shot changes, quickly flicking over to Camden. He’s on the mound, kicking the dirt and placing every grain exactly as he wants it, just like he always does. I’m smiling, not even fully aware of how it got there. He reaches for the bill of his hat, straightening it over his eyes, the ball wrapped within his fingers as he does. A flicker of muscle flashes down his forearm. He drops his hand, shaking out his arm. One, two, three shakes, one deep breath in, and one step onto the mound. He leans, the camera zoomed in, his eyes locked on his catcher.
“They will make the most beautiful babies,” Penny huffs beside me.
And just like that, my heart is in my ass. I snap my eyes back to the drink in my hands.
“Oh my gosh, it would practically be criminal how good looking their kids would be,” Daniella adds.
“We don’t even know if they’re dating,” I blurt out.
“Okay,” Daniella begins. “I mean, they haven’t actually confirmed their relationship, but she’s at the game. In Falcon gear. When have you ever seen Danika Gray show an interest in baseball? She doesn’t even live in Vegas.”
“Oh yeah,” Penny adds. “They’re so together.”
I look back at the screen, just as Camden strikes out the batter. The camera flashes back to Danika, who’s screaming with a vibrant, perfectly white, smile.
Moving to Chicago two years ago was an escape I desperately needed. My shattered heart lay within the grains of sand back home, within the remnants of every street corner. I wanted nothing more than to forget every memory, to bury them and lose the coordinates. It’s why no one here knows that the MLB’s all star pitcher is the first boy to own my heart. No one knows I loved him for three whole years, felt the utter embrace of the way he loved me back. It’s why Daniella has no idea I spent the last three years trying to get over him, praying that forgetting, running, would heal my fragile heart.
But looking at that damn screen, watching him pitch in Game 1 of his division series, has my heart right back where it was all of those years ago, like the passing of time hasn’t made a damn of a difference.
“Well, damn. He showed up tonight,” Daniella says as Cam strikes out the side.
“He’s fueled by love,” Penny coos, batting her eyes at Daniella.
My gut tightens, my breath snuffed. The buzz of my phone on the table has me jumping. A picture of my brother and the world’s cutest niece flashes across my screen. “I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing my phone and thankful for the distraction. “I’m going to take this outside.”
They nod as I step away, quickly pushing my way through the crowd and desperate for air. I push through the door, the immediate rush of night air cold across my skin.
“Hey, Jare,” I answer.
“Mack! Tell me you’re the next hotshot sports journalist for the Chicago Chronicle?”
I take a breath, letting some of that crisp evening air trickle down my lungs. “No. Actually, I’m Chicago’s newly unemployed member of society.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Budget cuts,” I answer, shrugging as if he can actually see me. “You watching the game?” I ask, changing the subject before the sympathy begins.
“Yeah. Camden’s on tonight.”
“He is. He, uhm…Danika’s there.”
He’s quiet, a breath clear through the phone. “Yeah, I saw that. They’re uh…”
“How’s the wedding planning going?” I ask, changing the subject just as fast as it began.
“Truth? It’s insane, Mack. Giana’s super busy. We’re finalizing our RSVPs and she’s tackling the seating chart. We’ve been coasting for months and suddenly it feels like everything is hitting at once.”
“You’re less than two months away. All the small details are coming together.”
“You’re telling me. I just wish you were here, Mack. I miss you.”
I fall back to the wall behind me, my head resting as I look up at the stars, lost within the lights of the city. What I wouldn’t give to be breathing in the fresh ocean air.
“I miss you too, Jare.”
“Hey, Mack?”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you come home? I’m sure Giana would love your help with all the wedding details. Nyla would lose her mind to get to spend time with her favorite aunt. And I’d get to hang with my sister. The dynamic duo back at it, again. What do you say?”
