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Angel

Since the moment I got home from my meeting with Mitchell, I’ve been staring at my computer, trying to figure out what kind of image makes hydrogenated oil appealing. Sure, the foods associated with trans fats are delicious, but it’s pretty clear they’re unhealthy, and making it appear like a sensible choice is part of my brief.

I’m already regretting my decision to pursue this field. I should have at least built up my freelance portfolio and worked on designing book covers and website graphics. Anything that gave me the freedom to accept or reject jobs as necessary.

The pay may be double what I made at the restaurant, even with tips, but I’m at a loss as to how to provide what my contract demands of me without being part of a bald-faced lie. And considering this campaign is mostly being sent to other food manufacturers, not the general public, I’m confused why the graphics are even that important.

I’m so out of my element, and now I’ve wasted thirty hours of my life stressing over it, with little to show for it. So stressed, for the first time in years, I cry. Why did I even think this was a good idea? I’m not cut out for this.

A knock at my door startles me. Genie goes bolting for the entryway, barking to let her displeasure known, until she sniffs the door and goes silent. I grab my phone, poised to call 911, when I notice a text from Damian fifteen minutes ago saying he was on his way. I completely forgot he was coming.

What choice do I have but to answer the door? I look down at my pyjama shorts and camisole, no bra, and I can’t see my hair, but who knows what the condition of that is since I’ve been grabbing handfuls of it all day. I wipe away my lingering tears with the back of my arm and rush to the door, but not before Damian knocks again and calls my name.

I yank the door open, but I’m bent down to prevent Genie from jumping all over him. When I’m confident she’ll behave, I stand, meet his eyes, and the smile he was wearing for a split second disappears.

He steps into my entryway, closing the door behind him and setting the paper bag full of whatever he brought on the floor. “Angel, what’s wrong?” He places a hand on each of my arms, holding me at a distance before pulling me in for a hug. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shake my head, trying to set his mind at ease. This is beyond stupid. “I’m so embarrassed right now. Our plans slipped my mind. I haven’t even gotten dressed.”

He looks hurt by my confession, but seems to get over it when he notices my outfit. “I think what you’re wearing is perfect.” He smirks, but his serious face returns. “Is everything okay?”

“Just being a baby. I’m not cut out for this whole grown-up job thing. It’s harder than it looks.”

“You’re in tears over your new job?” His body tenses around me. “What’s the problem?”

I nod for him to follow me into the kitchen. Beyond crying for two solid hours, I’ve only eaten a banana the entire day.

“Um, Angel?”

I spin around, covering myself with my arms, though it’s a little late for modesty.

“Genie helped herself to our dinner.”

I’ve become so immune to Genie’s incessant snorting, I didn’t even realize she was chowing down on our food. Any other day, I’d laugh, but today it sparks a new wave of tears. So here I am, standing in my foyer with a successful adult, while I have a meltdown over hydrogenated oil that I was hoping to eat, and that I can’t design a graphic for. “Genie, that was bad!”

My dog shows no remorse for her actions. She sits at Damian’s feet, sporting her self-satisfied smile.

“It’s okay. I’ll go grab something else. Do you want to go out instead?”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks again, which is getting annoying, and shake my head. “I can’t. This is all overwhelming, and I still have so much to do. Plus, I’m on my period, so everything seems worse than it is.” That was not a necessary point to share, but I was on a roll and it spilled out before I could stop it.

Rather than be repulsed, Damian chuckles. “I’ll go get something else and grab some chocolate. Then you can tell me about the work issues.”

If I were to craft the perfect response to the information I just blurted out, Damian’s reply would be it. Food, chocolate, and a listening ear? Yes, please.

“That would be perfect. While you run out, I’m going to get dressed.”

“That’s a shame.” He pulls me in toward him. “I didn’t get a proper hello.” The moment his lips land on mine, I’m stupefied. Everything else from the day melts away, and all I can feel is how his mouth teases mine. His left hand is wrapped around me, resting on the small of my back, while the other is trying and failing to rake through my hair.

The realization his hand is stuck in my curls breaks the magic of our kiss because I start laughing. “Rookie. You can’t run your hand through curly hair when it’s dry.” I stand still as he untangles his fingers from my locks. “It’s like a female praying mantis. You better be careful.”

Damian chuckles at my lame joke. “That’s better.” He kisses the tip of my nose in a gesture that feels so affectionate, I can’t do more than blush. “I like hearing your laugh.” He bends down to rustle Genie’s head. “You keep her happy while I’m gone, okay?”

When Damian stands to leave, I ask him to wait a second. I rummage through my purse hanging inside my closet and hand him my keys and some cash.

“Angel, I can’t take this.”

“It’s fine. I owe you now since my dog ate the dinner you already paid for. And you can let yourself back in.”

He studies the key ring for a moment, paying particular attention to the faded Niagara Falls key chain. “You trust me with your keys?”

“Uh… I already let you in my apartment, so I’m not sure what more you can do with the keys. I trust you.”

A subtle droop of his shoulders makes me wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me—some reason why I shouldn’t trust him.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No. Uh… no. I was just thinking if there’s anything I can walk to. City traffic.”

His awkward laugh creates even more tension in my body, but I’m emotional, exhausted, and hungry, so I let it go for now and plan to address it when he returns with sustenance.

He leaves, so I rush to my ensuite where I glimpse myself in the mirror for the first time, and it’s not a pretty sight. My cheeks are blotchy, my eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and my hair looks like it’s housing wildlife. I shake off my embarrassment and strip down to have a quick shower, but skip washing my hair because I don’t have that kind of time to commit. Once I’m refreshed, I throw on a bra—not underwire, but still better than nothing—and a worn T-shirt from a concert I went to the weekend I turned nineteen. My last choice is between jeans or leggings, and in that scenario, leggings always win. Anyone who says they aren’t pants can bite me.

“Angel? Can I come in?”

I rush toward the door to wrangle Genie and give Damian permission to enter, though I thought giving him my keys meant permission was implied. This time, I take the bags from his hands and walk them over to the kitchen counter while he removes his shoes and greets Genie again. She clearly suffers from short-term memory loss.

“I just grabbed Greek food from the place on the corner. I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect. Their spanakopita is to die for.” I watch as he saunters into the kitchen, but something seems off. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Me? No, I’m just worried about you.” He stands on the opposite side of the kitchen peninsula and begins removing takeaway boxes from the paper bags. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I’m not convinced that’s the problem, but I forge ahead with my explanation. “The company I’m working for is called Harbour Campaigns, and my first gig with them is for a type of cooking oil. They want me to create a sort of press release with some twisted logic implying it’s something it’s not, and I just can’t. But then the thought of telling them I can’t is overwhelming, so I was regretting my decision to pursue this. I should just go back to waitressing.”

His silence concerns me more than any words could.