7 | Capeesh?

[ZEMIRA]

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice, Brandon. I don’t know how else to thank you.”

Almost three months ago, they fired me. And since that day, my life has been literally hell. I don’t know whom to blame for this terrible streak of bad luck that doesn’t seem to have an expiration date for me. I don’t know what to do.

For starters, I haven’t been able to land a single decent job in the entire city. Forget about the local sector. I was even ready to travel for three hours (one way, through the metro) to this four-star hotel that showed an interest in my resume. But before my hopes could see the sunshine through the dark clouds that had been hovering over my head since the day I lost my home, like a personal reminder of hell, they hired someone else while I kept waiting for their call.

This kept happening for the next three months, and I’ll be honest with you. I’ve grown hopeless and depressed.

As usual, mom has been insanely supportive. She says: it’s just a terrible phase, it’ll pass. But I don’t know about that. Sitting in a rented room and not able to do anything to afford it, I’ve been going crazy until our last source of earning—mom’s flower shop at the corner of the street—was shut down because of some legal issues. If our finances hadn’t been this tawdry, I would have challenged the ridiculous claim in court. But right now, we cannot even afford a proper meal once a day. Hiring a lawyer felt nothing less than a gaudy dream.

Alas, they left me with the only choice that I never wanted to go for.

Ask for help.

I cannot even explain how much courage it took for me to pick up the phone and scroll down the phonebook.

And of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, only one name flashed: Brandon.

A childhood friend.

My best friend.

After he went to New York to expand his own startup business, we’ve been in contact through voice and video calls only. When I told him everything that happened, he literally dropped everything, booked our flights and invited us over to stay at his place for as long as we wanted.

Tears literally burst through my eyes.

“Shit,” he makes a funny, concerned face before dipping his head to reach my eye level. “Are you seriously crying? You do realise I’ve got zero clue how to console a crying woman, right?” His deep voice held humour, as usual. He wiped the tears with his thumbs, adding softly. “God save me from this woman’s ugly sobs. Don’t think my heart can take it. Have mercy.”

“Of course not!” Shoving the leftover moisture with the back of my hand, and trying not to laugh too hard at his stupid sense of humour, I hugged him tightly. I don’t know why, but my emotions are a little haywire right now. The sense of relief flowing throughout my body is warm and reassuring. After a very long time, I feel like I’m not suffocating anymore. “It’s just the pollution, I think.”

I feel even better when he hugs me back. I sense his lips weaving up into a smile against my forehead. “Yeah, it’s a problem in New York. But I’m positive you’ll get used to it,” he hums before quickly adding. “And Z, you don’t have to be so formal. What do you think best friends are for?”

“For offering half of their home so the other could have a roof above their head?” I pitch in innocently, although the silly grin stretching across my lips is hard to hide.

He pulls himself back and looks me in the eye. “Exactly!” he says as a matter of fact before letting his lips tip-up. His golden-brown eyes swelled with sincerity and understanding.

“Now go, help your mom unpack. Oh, and text me the list of things you’d need for your stay here. As pathetic as it sounds, it’s true that I lived here alone. So, we’d have to put a little more effort into making it suitable for the two of you.” I have no clue why he’ll say something like that. Did he think we were complaining? But I let him continue with his harmless weirdness for a moment. I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s as stubborn as me, and no matter what I’d say to make him think otherwise, he’d continue to worry.

“I’ll be out for a while—a meeting with an old client, don’t ask, long story—but be back before dinner,” with a dramatic, heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his dark hair.

He raised a finger and pointed at me accusingly.

“Because you’re one stubborn woman, I’ll repeat myself for longer effects.” He holds me by the shoulders and shakes me as if that would bring all my attention to whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “You don’t have to be formal. Make yourself at home. And as long as you keep your filthy hands off the stock of my ice cream, the peace would progress. Capeesh?”

This time, even he couldn’t hold off the laugh threatening to spill off his lips.

I chuckle, before nodding my head sincerely. “You’re an idiot.”

—

Later that evening, I got a call from Oliver, the head chef from my previous workplace and also a wonderful friend.

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” he complained.

I try not to wince too hard. “I’m not gone forever, Ollie. When everything falls back in place, I’ll be back,” I say to him, but deep down I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You better,” I hear him sigh. “Anyway, there’s another reason I called.”

Curiosity gets the best out of me as I step out of the living room and onto the balcony. As if that would sharpen my hearing abilities. “What is it?”

“You’re in New York, right? So…there’s this guy I know from my college who now owns a decent restaurant there. It’s not that high profile, let me be honest, but recently he made some heavy investments. I think he’s up to something…. big. Anyway, he called me yesterday. Turns out, he is looking for good management staff. I thought you’d be interested, so I referred you right off the bat. I hope that was, OK?”

“Oh, my God, Oliver, that’s good news,” did I say good? It’s fucking awesome. “I don’t know how to thank you. This is one of the best news I’ve heard in a week.”

“Having a rough time, huh?”

"You have no idea.”

“Well, it’s a good thing then you’ve got yourself an interview tomorrow. Sharp at 10. Wear something nice. And impress the fuck out of them.”

“Oliver, this is…you’re the best!”

“I wish someone would tell that to my girlfriend. She’s positive I’m good for nothing.”

“When we meet next time, I’ll make sure to sing your praises until she gets down on one knee and pops the damn question you’ve been dying to ask for the last five months.”

He laughs at my motivation level, a slight awkwardness edging to his voice. “Nah, leave the knee thing to me. But yeah, praises would be nice.”

“I bet.”

“All the best, Zemira. This might be the start of something new.”

I hope in my heart that it is.