Chelsea
———
I sat down on top of my bed, holding up my phone and staring right into it, my heart still beating from excitement. I glanced at the message for the hundredth time, my toes still curled in disbelief, and my cheeks sore from cheesing.
Yvette : Elizabeth has decided to bring you along on the trip to New York.
Don't get too excited, you're probably there to carry our suitcases around.
Your BUSINESS class flight has been scheduled for 9am tomorrow, try your best not to miss the plane.
Oh and, don't embarrass yourself, this is not one of your coffee runs.
'Coffee runs' the mere thought of it made my blood boil. Landing a job at Grand Luxe Co. was a dream come true—just not in the position I had dreamed of. I got hired as the second assistant to Madam Elizabeth Dubois, the CEO of the most exquisite event management corporation in Toronto, but somehow all I was ever needed for was mail management, call ins, and those damn coffee runs.
I was still lost in thoughts when the cranky latch of the rusty metal door pulled me out.
"Ahhhh! Guess what," I shot out of my bed, running towards Sloane who had barely made it inside the room. I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing tightly, and jumping in circles.
"What is it now? Yvette again?" She answered reluctantly, pushing me to the side, and dropping her bag and files on the center table. "Please tell me you spilled the coffee on her face this time."
I sank back into my bed helping myself to the paper bag of pretzels she came back with.
"No... unfortunately, but that's not it, there's better news. Bigger news!"
I sat cross-legged on my mattress, bouncing slightly with excitement, and munching on my pretzel as I waved my phone in front of her face. "I'm going to New York babe, I'm going to the gala!" I screamed, unable to contain my grin. "With Elizabeth and Yvette for the New York fashion gala. Three whole weeks. Can you believe it?"
Sloane, still struggling to take off her coat, froze in place and raised her eyebrow in shock. "Elizabeth? as in Madame Dubois du Grand luxe? And Yvette the Sauce Queen?"
I nodded furiously, barely able to sit still. "Yes babe! That Elizabeth, and that Yvette," I added, rolling my eyes. "This is my chance to prove myself. This is huge! A business trip in freaking New York! I'll be right there in the board meetings, handling real clients, real events—"
"Real pick ups, real coffee runs," she teased, with a smirk on her face.
I threw a pillow at her. "I'm serious! This is my shot. I have to nail this, I can't fuck this up."
"You won't Chels, I believe in you."
Her words settled on me, momentarily putting me to ease. Sloane always had a way to calm me down with her words. We'd been best friends since high school, and now that we're adults, our bond has strengthened into sisterhood over the years. Living together in our little apartment as roommates was just icing on the cake.
The room was small, there was barely enough space for the both of us, but it was home. The wall was bare, except for some polaroids Sloane taped up near the window—pictures from our girls nights out, job hunts, and blurry pictures that made my heart warm. There was a tiny wooden table wedged between our beds, cluttered with coffee mugs and open magazines. It was not too much, but it was what made it home.
For a moment, there was silence in the room. This trip was really the confidence boost I needed to prove to my parents that I hadn't made a mistake in my career choice.
I was ready to finally handle some real work, and prove to Elizabeth that I can work on the same wavelength as Yvette. It was also a crowning moment for me, a proof that my dreams and all the sacrifices were valid.
I opened my mouth to take another bite of pretzel, but my phone buzzed, cutting through the stillness, and stopping my hands mid-motion. I picked up the phone, and my stomach clenches the moment I see the text with his name on it.
Xavier: So you're seriously leaving? Just like that?
My brows arched as my fingers hovered over the screen, my chest tightened.
"Let me guess. Xavier?" Sloane asked, noticing the shift in my mood and my sudden frown.
"He's sad that I'm leaving abruptly," I sighed, dropping my phone on the table. "He thinks I'll find 'someone better' in New York. Like I'm going for a vacation, or staying there forever."
She scoffed, grabbing a handful of pretzels. "Oh please. He should know how much this means to you. You told him the trip is just three weeks, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"Uhn uhm… No buts," She interrupted, pointing a pretzel at me like a teacher disciplining a student. "Follow your dreams, Chels. And Xavier, as long as he believes in you, with time he'll come around."
I hesitated, still staring at the phone like it held the answers to my problems, but she nudged my foot with hers. "Chelsea,"
I looked up.
"You've worked so hard for this," Her voice softened. "Don't let him guilt-trip you. Go to New York, and prove to those assholes that you're capable of more than just coffee runs."
I exhaled slowly, nodding. She was right. She always was. I am going to conquer New York, and make them put some respect on my name.
Just as I stood up to pack my bags, a sharp, acrid smell snaked through the air, cutting through the cozy warmth of our tiny apartment. At first, I ignored it, too lost in my arrangements but then, I began to notice faint smoke seeping on from the kitchen...
Oh shit!
It was a burning smell.
My eyes widened in horror as the realization hit me like a freight train. "The shawarma!" I shrieked, scrambling off my bed so fast that my foot caught the edge of the blanket, causing me to stumble, nearly face-planting into the floor. I regained my balance—barely—and ran off to the kitchen.
Sloane shot out of her bed, and ran behind me. "Clumsy Chelsea. What have you done now?"
I stormed into the kitchen which was already foggy with smoke. The grill was a crime scene—my once glorious shawarma was now burnt and smoldered like a husk. I grabbed a dish towel, fanning the smoke away, holding my left elbow above my face, and coughing as I did.
"Don't just stand there! Help me!"
Sloane stood in the doorway, arms crossed, thoroughly unimpressed. "Chelsea, why didn't you just set a timer."
I groaned, waving the towel like my life depended on it. "I swear I was going to! But then I got excited about New York, and you came and—"
"Well," she sighed dramatically, making her way back into the room. "At least we still have pretzels."
"Just don't set New York on fire."