Serendipity
Copyright © 2013 Stacey Bentley
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the book review.
Cover design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Interior design by Angela McLaurin of Fictional Formats
I pull open the door to my two-bedroom apartment that lines the street of South Michigan Avenue. Racing up the two flights of stairs, I hold on to railing, trying to keep my balance in five inch heels. Walking and running never seem to be an issue for me but throw me in front of a flight of stairs and I’m screwed! Giddy with excitement, I fumble for my keys when the door opens. My mom greets me with a wide smile on her face, the same as she does every day. I toss my keys and purse onto the couch and jump up and down, squealing with delight.
“I think I got it, Mom!”
Her eyes widen and a smile spreads across her face. “You
think
you got it or you did get it?”
“Well, a decision hasn’t been made yet, but Mr. Keiser told me to ‘prepare’, whatever that means?” I roll my eyes and sit on the couch, unbuttoning my blazer.
She sits down next to me in her white terry-cloth robe. Wrapping her arms around me, she pulls me in for a hug. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could ruin this moment right now.
I’ve been working at Keiser International for almost six years now. I started out as a receptionist right out of high school. My plans had been to graduate and run off to attend college, but unfortunately life had different plans for me.
Shortly before graduation, I was in my room filling out college applications when my mom sat me down to tell me that the money her and my dad had saved up for my college fund was gone. My father died when I was eleven in a car accident leaving my mom with very little. She did her best to raise me but I know that couldn’t have been an easy task raising a teenager with the little money she had.
We had to sell the only home I had ever known and move to a one-bedroom apartment. My mom gave me the bedroom and she slept on the sofa bed in the living room. It wasn’t an ideal situation but my mom made do with the very little she received when she sold the house and the savings she had.
She made sure I never went without, and that’s why she lives with me now. My mom was always there for me and I wasn’t about to turn my back on her. She’s my best friend and my rock. I couldn’t be mad that she did what she had to do to raise me. She did her best and I think she did a great job. She works as a waitress in a posh restaurant downtown, within walking distance of the apartment. The tips are great but she couldn’t make it on her own. I hated to watch my mom struggle so when I was able, I rented us a larger apartment, one where she would have her own room and a real bed to sleep in.
I have moved up pretty quickly at Keiser International. I was a receptionist in the front of the building for three years but I didn’t mind it. I met some great people. I’m currently the Executive Assistant to Mr. Keiser—the President and CEO—and while I couldn’t be happier with my position, I still want more.
Two months ago, there was an internal notice that a position was opening up for a PR Representative. I may not have the schooling and degree to qualify for the job but know I could do it with my eyes closed, so I applied. There’s no harm in trying. I’m a people person and always have been—I think that’s why I’ve gotten as far as I have.
In high school I was on the cheer team, went to pep rallies, dances, and football games. I was your typical “All-American girl,” but that quickly changed once graduation approached. While all of my friends were spreading their wings and forging onto new lives, I was hitting the pavements looking for work.
I still see my friends from school but not as much as I’d like. My social life is pretty non-existent. Most of them have careers of their own and some even have families but that’s the furthest thing on my radar.
“Sweetheart that is fabulous news!! I’ll say some prayers that you get the job. I know that you’ve wanted this for a long time. When do you find out?” she asks beaming.
“I don’t know. I guess I just have to sit back and wait. In the job description it said that they needed someone soon, and that was nearly two months ago so I’m guessing any day now.” I hold up my crossed fingers.
“The second you find out you better call me!” she points her finger in a way that only a mother can.
I breathe out a sigh, “Of course I will, mother. Who else would I share my fabulous news with?” I wink and leap up from the couch.
“Do you work tonight?” I call over my shoulder as I walk into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and pluck out a bottle of water.
“Yes, at five. I was just finishing getting ready when I heard you trampling up the stairs.” She smiles and walks into her bedroom. I can hear her humming a familiar tune while she gets dressed. It’s a tune that she’s been humming ever since I was a baby, and I’d recognize it anywhere. She says it’s an old song called “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” My mom has a beautiful voice; so angelic, soft, and calming.
After my dad passed, she got me a locket with the name of the song engraved on one side of the small gold circle, and a picture of my dad holding me when I was first born on the other side. I wore the locket every day until a few years ago when I started to accessorize my work attire.
I set the bottle down on the small iron table in the kitchen and walk into my room—or my “sanctuary” as I call it. I designed my room and did all the work myself. I used to sit for hours on the weekends watching DIY shows and it paid off. I painted my room a color that I like to call ‘Storm Gray’ because it looks like a blue sky covered in gray clouds, just before it’s about to storm. I love watching storms pass by, the sound of rain hitting the roof, relaxes me. There’s nothing like a good storm to wash away a stressful day at the office.
The headboard was the easiest thing to make. It took a couple of trips to the hardware and fabric stores, but after a week I had something that
I
made. I also made a similar one for my mom. I even went all out and bought an expensive sheet set and comforter. My favorite part of any day is being able to slide into my luxurious bed and look around, reflecting on how my life took an unexpected turn. It was a blessing in disguise. I miss my dad, but what my mom and I share is amazing. Sure I would have loved to go to school, but my company has been good to me and I make good money for someone my age.
Some would call me high-maintenance but that couldn’t be further from the truth—I don’t think. I like nice things and that’s that. I only have one life to live and it’s my life so why shouldn’t I treat myself well? I make really good money and my mom pays for the utilities so once the rent is paid each month, I put very little in savings and use the rest to buy myself a new outfit or shoes. I don’t see the point in saving money when tomorrow is never promised.
I walk over to my closet and stare at the abundance of neatly arranged fabrics. I color coordinate my clothes to make it easier for my morning rush. On a shelf above the clothes are boxes and boxes of shoes. I have a serious problem when it comes to buying shoes. I have to have a pair for just about every outfit I put together and it’s rare I wear the same outfit twice.
My mom always asks how I can manage to walk in heels so high, but it’s easy when that’s all you’ve known for so many years. The way that the heels accentuate my legs—and tone them with each stride—make me feel sexy and confident. Not that I need it—I’m sexy in my own right. But I do find myself lacking on the sex part.
Living with my mom kind of cramps my style, so when I do meet up with someone it has to be at their house. I have three rules that I live by, and I don’t plan on changing them anytime soon.
Rule #1: Only pursue men above thirty (I like my men older and it insures that they know how to show a woman a good time. Well, most of the time).
Rule #2: Only go home with a man that
isn’t
expecting more. This is key, being on the same page is a must. There’s nothing worse than a clingy guy that after one night of great sex and having them think you’re ‘the one’.
Rule #3: Never stay the night. Staying the night with someone seems far too intimate. I make sure that the guy I’m with knows this as well.
My mom always complains that her friends are becoming grandmothers. I know she wants grandkids but it’s not going to happen. I like my life, I love my job and don’t want to slow down or even quit to become a mom. Plus, babies are whiney, stinky, and they cling onto you like leeches.
No thank you!
I unbutton my blouse and toss it aside in the hamper. I hear a faint knock at my door as I slide out of my pants.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“I’m leaving, honey. Have a good night and lock up when I leave...” Mom calls through the closed door. This is the same routine we have just about every day. Never mind that I’m twenty-four and this is
my
apartment, she still tells me the same thing.
I don’t let her finish because I know what she’s about to say next. We have this game where we try to say the words first. Usually she wins because I let her but now and again I like to try to catch her off-guard.
“I love you, Mom,” I smirk to myself. I hear her giggle through the door before she returns the endearment.
