Grown-ish

I got the job. Community outreach coordinator. It pays actual dollars.

Maya bursts in, still in her work blazer, mascara smeared.

I just spent forty-five minutes explaining to my boss why I categorized a $6 coffee as "client entertainment."

It's 2 AM. The oat milk is gone. The synth from Aaron's apartment can be heard three blocks away. Zoe is trying to log into her student loan portal. She's been locked out six times. grown-ish

I said it was for "internal morale." He wrote me up. Morale is not a line item , he said. I hate it here.

(To herself) Was my birthday my password? No. My dog's name? No. "Password123"? That's too honest.

They clink their bowls. Someone spills. No one cleans it up. They're grown-ish. I got the job

Mom, rent is a construct.

Jordan appears in the doorway, smelling faintly of patchouli and propane.

Zoe looks at the camera like she's on The Office . Freeze frame. Roll credits. Maya bursts in, still in her work blazer, mascara smeared

(Staring at a stack of unopened bills) Define "lead." I'm leading a workshop on decolonizing water bottles next Tuesday.

The Gap Year Illusion

I made a five-year plan. Look—by year three, we could afford a down payment on a one-bedroom condo if we both contribute 40% of our post-tax income and never eat brunch again.

Never eat brunch? That's not a plan. That's a crime against humanity.