Chapter 2

Hailey

I rush through the door of Steaming Mugs, the bell above jingling a frantic tune. I’m late, as usual. Dana’s already here, seated at a table near the window, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern.

Dana Stewart is my best friend. We were assigned as roommates our first year at the University of British Columbia, and we just clicked. She now has my dream job working for a marketing company because she finished university while I dropped out. But I’m not going to dwell on that now.

“Sorry,” I pant, sliding into the seat across from her. “Time got away from me.”

Dana raises an eyebrow, her crimson lips parting for the question I’ve been dreading. “Why couldn’t we meet at our regular spot?” The Steaming Mugs we usually frequent is cozy and familiar, but this alternate location is farther away.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, avoiding her gaze. “Well, I was working there…as a barista.” My fingers fiddle with the edge of the menu. “I got fired.”

Her eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” I mumble, tracing the floral pattern on the ceramic mug already waiting for me—hot chocolate, as always.

We drink our beverages and take in the same-but-different location. I can feel Dana studying me, trying to read between the lines I’m drawing in the condensation on my water glass. “So, how’s everything else?” she asks. “How’s Franklin?”

“Franklin’s great,” I lie smoothly, the words slipping out like practiced lines from a script. “Probably home right now, watching whatever game is on.” I don’t let on about the doubts swirling in my head, the ones that keep me up at night while he snores beside me, oblivious to our financial problems.

“Sorry about the job, though. What happened exactly?” she asks, sipping her coffee.

“I wasn’t fast enough. Kept getting orders wrong.” My laugh is hollow. “Fast-paced work isn’t really my jam.”

As Dana nods sympathetically, the weight of untold truths sits heavy on my chest. But I can’t burden her with all that—not yet. For now, I let the warmth of the mug seep into my hands, hoping it might thaw the cold knot of anxiety within me.

“Any word on your parents?” she asks, steering the conversation to safer waters, or so she thinks.

“Nothing since they checked in a few months ago,” I say. “They’re touring somewhere, though I can’t remember exactly where.” The admission tastes like guilt on my tongue. I should know where my own parents are, and I wrote down when they thought they’d be where. But they don’t have a cell phone for me to call them, and they prefer living off the grid.

“You seem…off,” Dana says after a moment. “Is everything okay with the rent and stuff, now that you lost your job?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m going to make rent this month.” The words come out in a rush, a relief to confess. “Unemployment won’t cover it.”

“Can’t Franklin help out?” Her brow furrows.

Franklin Richards. My live-in boyfriend of nearly two years now. When we met, I was still in school, and he drew me in, showering me with flowers and gifts. He was the first guy who’d ever seemed to love me, and we were together when my grandmother passed. He was my rock as I dealt with the loss of the one person who had always been there for me.

To repay him, I gave him some money so he could start his dream. But within two months, his dream became his nightmare, and he’s never recovered. I’m trying hard to support him and believe in him, but it’s been hard with him not looking for work. “He’s applying all over town,” I lie.

“You still have the money in your European vacation account for our trip year, right? You don’t have to dip into that…”

Dana and I both want to go exploring, and we planned to give ourselves a gap year after we finished university before we became adults. But I got more involved with Franklin and left school, and then my grandmother passed away, so we pushed back our departure date.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I used my savings for last month’s rent.”

“When were you going to tell me you can’t go to Europe?” Dana’s face floods with hurt, and I can’t blame her, but I’m not giving up yet.

“I figured once Franklin found another job, I could make it back.” I reach for her. “Going to Paris and London and exploring for a year is still my plan.”

“What kind of work is Franklin looking for?”

I fiddle with the frayed edge of a napkin, avoiding her eyes. “Franklin hasn’t really found solid footing since the food truck went under. He applies for work all the time but never gets calls.”

“What is he applying for?” she asks again. “I mean, you’ve had several jobs this year.”

“He’s looking for something he can do long term.”

“And? The food truck went under nearly eight months ago,” she presses. “Maybe he needs to settle for paying his part of the bills. Vancouver is expensive.”

“He knows that,” I again lie smoothly.

Dana reaches across the table, her hand warm over mine. “I’m sorry, Hailey. That’s really tough.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice. My dreams of eating baguette by the Seine—replaced by the stark reality of overdue bills and a future eviction notice—flutter through my mind.

I take a shaky breath, trying to compose myself. “Franklin wanted to cut costs wherever possible…” I trace the rim of my mug with my fingertip as I tell her what she already knows. “He bought this old truck that seemed like a bargain at first.” I force a half-smile. “But it was more duct tape than metal by the end, always breaking down.”

“Sounds like a money pit,” Dana comments.

“It was,” I admit. “The food costs didn’t help either. We started serving breakfast and lunch, but then egg prices tripled from eleven cents each to thirty-three. All within one month. You can only hike up the price of a breakfast sandwich so much before people stop coming. And the parts…” I sigh, letting my eyes drift to the window. “Every other day, something else would snap or fizz out. Replacing them cost a fortune, and poof—my grandmother’s life insurance money was gone.”

“All in less than two months.” I hear the edge in her voice, the unspoken accusation.

“Spent,” I reply, feeling the weight of every penny. “We took a chance on the food truck, and now, it’s gone.” My heart throbs painfully. Franklin’s dream of being his own boss, serving up comfort food on city streets, is over.

“What did he do with the money when he sold the truck?” she asks.

“We almost had to pay the scrap yard to take it. We were unlucky.”

Dana leans forward, her gaze intense. “Be honest with me. Do you think Franklin used you? Did he take your money without considering you at all?”

My throat tightens, and for a moment, I can barely swallow. I know what she wants me to say, what part of me screams is true, but love is a stubborn thing. “I can’t think that way,” I murmur, almost to myself. “I love him, Dana. And when we get married—because we will—he’ll make it right. What’s mine is his, isn’t it?”

Dana’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t push further, just squeezes my hand once more before withdrawing into her own thoughts. We sit in silence, surrounded by espresso machines whistling and a low hum of conversation.

After a minute, she turns back toward me, and I take a deep breath, bracing myself for her next volley of well-intentioned concern. “He should cover the rent, especially now that you’re out of work,” she says. “It’s your turn to take a break while he earns money. Maybe go back to school. There are lots of jobs that don’t require a university degree.”

“Franklin does pay rent.” I hear myself lie again, betraying no hint of the truth that it’s been months since he’s contributed anything more than empty promises. The falsehood tastes bitter on my tongue, yet I convince myself it’s just another little white lie to keep the peace.

“Well, I hope he’s at least fantastic in bed.”

“I can’t remember,” I joke.

“What?”

I take a deep breath. I might as well be honest. “These days he goes over to his friends’ in the evenings to play video games, and I’m asleep when he gets home.”

“I’m sorry. It will all work itself out,” she promises.

I hope she’s right.

She doesn’t need to know I’m the one juggling bills and dodging calls from bill collectors. That’s my burden to bear, not hers.

The clock above us ticks away the minutes until it’s time to wrap up our liquid breakfast of confessions and half-truths. We part with a hug, the kind that’s meant to transfer strength, but all I feel is the weight of everything left unsaid.

Dana returns to her apartment, where she works from home, and I walk back the way I came, looking for help-wanted signs in windows. I stop at the IGA and apply to be a grocery checker.

I brace myself as I push through the door of our apartment. My hope is for silence, but the familiar sound of a cheering crowd on the TV greets me. Franklin is sprawled on the couch, his attention riveted to the screen. I watch him for a moment.

“Hey,” I say softly, trying to hide the worry in my voice. He grunts in acknowledgment, never taking his eyes away from the game.

“How’s the job hunt going?” I ask as I hang my coat and take off my rain boots.

“Nothing new out there,” he mumbles.

He’s reclining there, in nothing but his underwear, the very picture of relaxation, and I find myself making excuses for him in my mind. His last job nearly ground him down with its demands, and then he poured himself into the food truck venture. It wasn’t just money he spent. It was hope, effort, and dreams too.

“Everyone deserves a break after working so hard,” I whisper, though a small, insidious voice questions why I don’t seem to deserve the same. I shake the thought away and head to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat, leaving Franklin to his game.

With a cheese sandwich in hand, I wander back to Franklin. The scent of pot hits me the moment I step into the living room, heavy and unmistakable. My eyes narrow as I look over at him, lounging like a lord on his makeshift throne of cushions.

“Franklin, you know we’re not supposed to smoke inside.” My voice is firmer than I feel, but I know what our rental agreement says.

He laughs, a short burst. “They’ll never find out,” he says with dismissive certainty.

For a moment, I envy his carefree attitude. I chew on my lip. “I lost my job.”

Franklin finally tears his eyes from the TV, looking at me like I’m a minor character in his show. “Again? What kind of severance are you getting?”

“Nothing.” The word feels like a stone in my throat. “They fired me because…I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Shocker,” he replies, the snide tone cutting through the smoky air and straight into my chest.

For a second, I’m speechless, wounded by his lack of empathy. But then the fear of what comes next propels me forward. “Rent is due in two weeks, Franklin. We need to figure something out.”

He shifts, the couch creaking under him. He doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if he’s even heard.

“I mean, you could get any job, just until things pick up.” My voice wobbles with unshed tears. I see so much potential in him if only he’d set aside his pride. But he clings to an image of himself as a big shot running a company, expense account and minions at his disposal—a dream far removed from our harsh reality.

“Right,” he says flatly. “Because that’s what I went to school for.”

My heart sinks. Arguing about this is useless. I nod silently, knowing the conversation is over before it truly began. I glance around our small apartment—our life encapsulated by these four walls—and I feel utterly trapped. “Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. I retreat to the tiny bedroom we share, leaving Franklin to his televised sports and the fantasy he refuses to wake up from.

My phone rings, and I can see it’s a bill collector by the toll-free number. I walk back to him in the living room. “They’re starting to call again.”

“Who?”

“Could be any one of the people we owe money to—the store where we bought the couch you’re sitting on, BC Hydro for the electric, your car—”

“You better not miss my car payment.”

I look at him. How did we get here? “I have forty dollars in my checking account. Last month, I emptied my savings. Unemployment is only going to pay me two hundred dollars a week. I applied to work at the IGA today. I’m trying to find work.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

The words hang between us, charged and heavy. “You could get a job,” I repeat. It’s an act of desperation, goading Franklin into action, but the moment it leaves my lips, I know it’s a mistake.

He rises abruptly, his body taut with anger. “Me? Get a job?” His voice is incredulous, a crescendo of disbelief. “I won’t go work in some hourly job and put that on my resume. I’m a mid-level manager. I’ve owned my own business. I’m not going to degrade myself for just any job.”

My heart thuds painfully against my ribcage. “But I can’t —”

“Can’t what? Can’t pay the rent? That’s your problem.” He steps into his worn joggers with a swift, jerky motion and slips into a T-shirt. “Figure it out. Borrow from your parents or someone else. Just don’t expect anything from me.”

Tears well in my eyes as I shake my head. “Franklin, you know I don’t talk to them. I have no one to borrow from. We’ve spent all my savings, and my grandmother’s life insurance.”

“Then that’s on you!” he snaps, his face contorted with frustration. Without another word, he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

Alone, the tears break free, streaming down my cheeks. I collapse onto the couch, burying my face in the cushions that still hold the faint scent of Franklin’s cologne. It’s a cold comfort.

Gradually, my sobbing subsides, leaving me empty and exhausted. I reach for the remote control and flick through the channels until I stumble upon the familiar opening credits of the first Jason Bourne movie. There’s an odd solace in watching a hero who knows exactly what to do, who moves with purpose and certainty. If only life came with a script, clear antagonists, and choreographed fights where the good guy always wins in the end.

I watch all three movies in the trilogy and then another, eating instant ramen for dinner—still no Franklin and no solution to our problem.

As the action unfolds on screen, my eyelids grow heavy, despite the day’s events and the uncertainty of tomorrow. Eventually, sleep takes over, offering a temporary reprieve from reality.