Before I Ever Met You

Shit. I eye the clock on the wall. I should have left five minutes ago to catch the bus on time.

I grab Ty’s hand and scoop up my mother’s LV, putting it on my shoulder. “Come on, come say bye to me with Grandma.”

We leave the room and head down the hall to the kitchen. While I’m getting back on my feet and living with my parents for the time being, I’ve scored the downstairs suite in the house, which used to be guest room. Ty is upstairs in my old room, which I think he likes because it gives him more privacy than the couch he used to sleep on in our old trailer.

My mother is filling up a glass of water from the sink when we walk in.

“Well you look nice,” she says to me but her eyes don’t reflect the smile. It’s been a bit of a learning curve this last bit, trying to get to know each other all over again. Then there’s the fact that I think she’s waiting for me to lose my mind at any moment. I guess I don’t blame her. I’ve been through a lot and, frankly, I’m not sure how I’m managing it so well.

I attempt to do a quick curtsey in jest but then realize my pencil skirt doesn’t bend that way. “Thank you. Let’s just see if I can get through the day without spilling something on my blouse.”

She grins at Ty. “You excited for your first riding lesson today?”

He stares at her, suddenly shy, and wraps his arms around my leg.

“He’s excited,” I tell her, prying his arms off me. “He just doesn’t know it yet. I told him that you might teach him about the magic.”

“Magic?” she asks, and then reads the pleading look on my face. “Oh, of course. Horse magic. Here,” she says, snapping up the keys to her SUV from the counter and coming over to place them in my hand. “Take my car. You’ve missed the bus already. I don’t know why you thought you should take it to begin with. You know transit is a nightmare going from here to downtown.”

Because I already feel like a freeloader, I think to myself, but manage to give her a grateful smile, taking the keys.

Meanwhile she scoops up Ty into her arms and he looks so uncomfortable I almost laugh. I can only hope he survives the day. He starts his new school next week; we moved just as the schools were going on spring break, so until then my mom has her hands full.

“All right, I’m going,” I tell them, kissing Ty on the head and giving my mom an awkward wave.

“Good luck,” she says. “But you won’t need it. You know everyone at Mad Men is pretty amazing.”

Actually I don’t know it, but I’m about to find out.

The drive from this area of Southlands, which is across from the airport, all the way to downtown Vancouver shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes most days, but of course today there’s bumper to bumper traffic on Oak Street and I don’t know the city well enough anymore to try any shortcuts. By the time I pull up to Mad Men Studios, and then circle the block a few times trying to find the right parking garage, I’m already ten minutes late.

Just fucking great. It takes everything in me not to have a panic attack right there in the garage, and through some hasty breathing exercises I make my way down the street to the building. At least it’s not raining, though the grey clouds seem threatening.

The Mad Men Studios I remember growing up, back when it was Phillips Films before my father partnered with Mr. McAlister, was this damp warehouse in East Vancouver, a dangerous part of town even back then. I know they’ve moved buildings once or twice since then, but I’m totally not prepared to see this.

Mad Men Studios seems to take up the entire block, housed inside a red brick building with iron details. Everything about it screams fresh, hip, and new, fitting right in with the surroundings in Yaletown, the yuppie part of downtown. The rent here has to be astronomical, which is another indicator of how well my father must be doing.

I know it sounds totally nuts to not know these things about your own father and his business, but since I was eighteen I’ve pretty much been cut off from this world. The only reason I know a little bit about the company is because I researched it once I realized he was giving me a job.

I hate that part, the fact that I’ve been granted this job with no interview, like I’m a charity case. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do whatever I can to provide a better life for myself and Ty, it’s just my pride is stubborn—dangerously stubborn at times—and I would much rather earn it than be given it. But beggars can’t be choosers, and a month ago I was begging to start my life over again.

And I’m sure most people in my position wouldn’t sweat it if they were ten minutes late on their first day. After all, what’s my father going to do, fire me? But if anything that fact makes me want to prove myself even more. The last thing I want is for the rest of the employees to think I’ve been given anything.

I walk through the glass doors and into the reception area, quickly taking in the room. Movie posters adorn the brick walls in thick gold frames, while black couches and chairs sit atop a white sheepskin rug.

The space is empty except for the receptionist who is in the middle of a call, talking into a wireless headset. She’s young, Asian, and teeny-tiny with square-frame glasses, talking in a clipped voice. I can’t tell if she’s utterly bored or just trying not to expend any excess energy.

Finally, she glances up at me and her expression changes. She comes alive. “You must be Jackie.”

I smile, relieved to find her friendly. “I am. I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible and I missed the bus and . . .”

She shrugs. “Eh, doesn’t make a difference to me. I’m not your boss. And I doubt Will would care either. In fact . . .” she leans back in her chair and peers through an archway that leads into the rest of the office, a mild murmur and clattering of keyboards wafting out, “I don’t even think he’s here yet. So you’re good.” She looks me over. “You might want to button up your top though.”

I glance down and see the top buttons of my blouse have already busted open. My face goes red as I quickly do it up. “Shit. This is what I get for buying this at Forever 21.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-one myself and half their clothes are too slutty for me. Those buttons never had a chance. Buttoning them up goes against their destiny. Here.” She pulls something out of her desk drawer and holds it out of me. It’s a safety pin. “Remember, in case of emergency, break the glass and ask for Tiffany. Whatever you need, I’ve got.”

I give her a grateful smile as I pin my shirt back together. I don’t trust the slut buttons. “I can see why my father hired you.”