Kerry Says

There are reasons why it’s better to go down kicking and screaming than to be simply swept away. But at that hour of morning she was hard pressed to remember any of them. At that time of day it seemed inconceivable Sophie could muster up the effort necessary to defend herself from this verbal onslaught.

No. It was much easier just to sit there glassy-eyed and take it.

And in this manner she was fired, again. Ending her stint at the fourth accountancy firm she’d been dismissed from this year.

The first time she’d been tearful, the second put out. By round three a sense of déjà vu left her feeling only mild amusement. And by number four her general attitude would be best described as resigned.

In all cases she’d have been happy to scream “I quit”, but had remained silent until her total lack of enthusiasm and work ethic said it for her.

With her newly old boss still leaning over his desk, accusatory finger still pointed, saliva still glistening at the corners of his mouth, she stood, exited the room, grabbed her purse and Fichus plant of the desk and saw herself out.

It was just after nine o’clock in the morning and she was unemployed again. The feeling was like that of an old pair of shoes. Perhaps a little uncomfortable now but so familiar you don’t mind it.

That she had been sacked didn’t bother her. She didn’t care much for accounting or accountants. In fact she was pretty sure she was done with the field altogether.

That she was broke didn’t bother her either. In fact, to her mind she wasn’t broke…. yet. She had some outstanding salary to collect and some vacation pay. She was going to be broke, no doubt, and soon.

But not today.

Today she could still take herself over to the fancy coffee shop, where they sprinkled cinnamon on absolutely everything, to buy a little treat to cheer herself up. She was rather fond of cinnamon.

It wasn’t until after she was sitting at a window table with her plant at her feet and her hands around an enormous steaming cup that she realized the one thing that did bother her about the whole situation.

She had an “I told you so” coming to her. It was likely to be more than one, she had become quite the spectacular failure in the working department, but there was one to come from a most unpleasant source. A screeching, gloating, judgmental source.

Sophie took a long slow sip and wondered how long she could go without Heather finding out about it. Not long she decided.

Her sister would know the minute they saw each other. There were no secrets from Heather, (Hawk-Eye their father had dubbed her). The girl had an uncanny knack of sizing you up in a heartbeat, then broadcasting your innermost secrets in stereo. Sophie remembered:

Walking out of the bathroom one day shortly after her 12^th birthday; “OH MY GOD! You’ve got your PERIOD!”

At 16 running up the stairs brown bag in hand; “OH MY GOD! You’re on the PILL!”

At 23 sitting down to dinner dry-eyed and tight lipped: “OH MY GOD! He DUMPED YOU!”

Thinking on it, she couldn’t recall any event in her life that hadn’t been conveyed to her family in this way. Older and wiser, Heather had been the narrator of Sophie’s life for over a quarter century.

Not that Sophie wouldn’t have like to get a word in edgewise every once in a while to set some things straight. (It is truly amazing the way your family can know every single thing about and understand absolutely nothing.) But trying to stop Heather was like trying to slow a freight train down by blowing on it.

No, Sophie had learned. It was so much easier to just sit there glassy-eyed and take it. Being Heather’s little sister was the only job she'd never managed to lose, and as much as it pained her to admit it, she wouldn't quit this one either.

Draining the last of her cuppa even as her bladder protested, she fished her cell phone out of her bag and dialed a number.

“’lo?”

“Hi Hez, it’s me”

“OH MY GOD! They SACKED you!”