Bella
Ithink being ghosted is one of the lamest and cowardly ways to break up with someone. Lack of communication is one thing, but not giving the other person the opportunity for closure is cold. Imagine you’re walking along a path and all of a sudden you’re hit by a brick wall you didn’t even see someone putting up. That’s what it feels like to be ghosted. You wonder all the things you could’ve possibly done wrong and all the things you could’ve done better.
Which is why I’m crying into a bag of cheese doodles on my couch on a random Tuesday night. My girlfriend, well I guess my ex-girlfriend ended things with me by blocking me across social media and ignoring my phone calls. Sure we’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks but still. I’m still not sure entirely what I did wrong or why she couldn’t just talk to me. I swear it feels like some kind of cruel twenty-first century punishment. When I first noticed, my heart started racing so fast my apple watch gave me one of those obnoxious notifications. You know the one, it’s like ‘you’ve been sitting down but your heart rate is too high’. I’ve been getting those a lot lately. Most of the time when I think about Jenny or when I think about how I’ll probably never see her again or hear from her again. Fuck, there it goes again. You know, I really don’t appreciate this feature Apple. It’s like, doesn’t it know I’m heartbroken enough without a literal reminder from my heart?

“What’s going on?” Sara asks, walking into our shared apartment.
“Jenny ghosted me.” I sob.
“I always thought you were too good for her.” She shrugs and plops down on the couch next to me.
“You did?”
“Yeah, anyone who doesn’t like coming to their girlfriend’s apartment is weird. Just because her place was a little bigger doesn’t mean you should have to do all the traveling.” She sighs.
“That’s true.” I nod, it was frustrating that I was always the one going to the city instead of her visiting me at college. It’s not like I was in a dorm room or something, Sara and I shared the apartment during the school year. We each had our own bedroom and shared spaces. Plus it was rare Sara was ever even home.
“Plus, I was like never home. I think I only met her once on your birthday,” Sara adds and picks up my bag of cheese doodles. She takes a handful and shoves them in her mouth.
“That’s true too,” I agree. Jenny was kind of a shit girlfriend when it came down to it.
“So are you ready to go out and find someone new or is today when you need to sob about it?” She isn’t judgmental in her tone, but more so asking about what I need.
“I need to sob about it some more,” I admit. I’m not ready to be with anyone else yet, and I think that’s okay.
“Okay, let me know when you’re ready to get back out there.” Sara jumps up, kisses my forehead, and heads to her room.
Sara is the kind of friend I know I can count on but not one that necessarily hovers. She’ll give me the space I need to feel my feelings but she doesn’t necessarily want to be there while I feel them. I respect it. And I know if I really need her, she is just a knock away.
I decide to eat my Doritos in my room, from the comfort of my bed and in the privacy of where I don’t have to wear pants. Not that I can’t wear pants in the living room, but it is appreciated that I don’t. So I kick off my pants, throw them in the corner of my room, and climb into my bed. I am ready for this day to be over and for these feelings to be over.
* * *
Three mornings later,I feel like a person again. I’ve showered, eaten more than chips, and left my bedroom for class and to see friends. It’s safe to say I am over the ghosting situation and ready to move on. I am not the biggest fan of one night stands so I doubt I’ll want to have the kind of fun Sara wants me to have but I like going out. Sometimes she joins me and my best friends, Morgan and Ellie, for a night out. We all get along well together and we always end up having a good time.
Knocking on Sara’s door, I’m not surprised to find she’s not home. She is out a lot more these days and I know it is because of her job. She is a high paid escort. Not a hooker, she swears she never does anything like that. Just getting paid for a night out and a conversation is enough. It is hard not to be a little judgmental of her job. It is so foreign to me, and seems too good to be true. But time and time again, Sara books clients where they take her out for a nice meal, pay for her company only, and drop her back home with leftovers and a hearty tip. I’d be lying if I said the idea of working there hasn’t crossed my mind.
I hate living off my parents’ money and the small amount of income I have from summer jobs and savings. I can pay the rent and groceries but there’s barely leftover any money for me to get tattoos or do fun things. It is hard enough going to school across the country from where I grew up. But spending most of my time traveling down to the city isn’t helping. Visiting Morgan and Ellie whenever I can and exploring the city I’ll soon live in.
Sara gets home around ten, and I’m sitting at the dining room just finishing up some homework. She puts her leftovers in the fridge and then joins me at the table.
“How was dinner?”
“He was sweet, his wife died a few years ago and he was just lonely. We talked about his job and his family. He asked to see me again which is always a good sign and he was a great tipper.” She smiles. There’s no hint of shame or embarrassment on her face. I admire how she sees the job and I wish I could too. I wonder if it’s because of the way I was raised, or the stigma attached to her job. Either way, I wonder if I could ever open up to it.
“That’s good.” I smile.
“Are you ready to go out yet? Or are you still in mourning?”
“I’m ready.”
“Yay!” She cheers. “We’ll have to plan something for this weekend!”
“Okay.” I smile. I love when Sara picks the place, she always knows these cool and trendy places from the work she does.
“You don’t happen to know anyone else who might want to be an escort, do you? My boss is looking to expand a bit and I know you’re not interested but I thought you might have a friend or two who could use the money.”

“Actually.” I pause. “I think I’m interested.”
“Really?” Her eyes almost pop out of her head.
“Well, no money in exchange for sex right? It’s all about the connection?”
“Of course. I’ve never slept with any client. A kiss on the cheek, but they need to ask first,” she explains.
“Okay, then yeah. I think I’m interested. I could really use the money.”
“Look, I’ll give you her number, but please don’t call if you’re not serious about it. Maybe take another day and sit on it. I don’t want you rushing into anything you’re unsure of.” She hands me a card with just a phone number on it.
“I just think I need a change and some money so why not do both at the same time?” I ask.
“I understand it, you just need to know the judgement that may come with it from your friends and family. My dad still isn’t speaking to me because of what I do for a living.” She sighs.
“This might be something I don’t necessarily tell everyone,” I ponder.
“That might be for the best.” She nods. “Well, I have some homework to do, but hit me up if you have any questions.”
I nod, looking at the card she handed me. The phone number is local, 212, but I doubt it is in the phone book. Not that people even have phone books anymore. I am impressed with myself for asking for the number but for wanting to call even more. I mean this is something I could do, right? I am a social enough of a person to be able to go on dates with people and talk to them, hear about their lives. It is just getting over the stigma attached to the job, but maybe that will come with time. I take a deep breath and decide this is what I need to do. Dialing the number, not knowing it is about to change everything.

Dylan
I’m sitting at my desk, like I do every Monday morning, when Lucy pops her head in. She is my best friend in and out of work. Someone I can count on to make these meetings less dreadful and more exciting if I had anything to do with them. Her long blonde hair cascades down her back, showing me she actually had time this morning, and I glance at the coffee in her hands.
“Is that for me?” I gasp. I’d already had a shot of expresso on the way in, but I would never turn down a coffee.
“Yes, I had time this morning since Noel is with his father.” I wrinkle my nose at the mention of Lucy’s ex-husband. It is just the fact that I always knew she could do better than him and then he was the one to cheat on her. The irony was not at all lost on it.
“You look great, Mr. Lefts might say something if he hasn’t already.” Our boss is known for saying inappropriate work comments. Usually about how much or little we work or how, for me, I should be married by now. I am pushing forty something and without a ring on my finger,ever. It is something that hardly crosses my mind but it bothers my boss for some reason. A comment he brings up whenever he can.
“Oh he has, he saw me walking in.” She rolls her eyes and takes a seat across from me.
“We have the romance presentation in a few hours, but I feel good about it, do you?” I ask, hoping she got a chance to look it over last night. I had made some changes after she left last night.
“I checked it this morning and everything looks perfect. I just updated the last slide and I think we’re all set.” I think about the last slide, but draw a blank. I pull it up in an instance, and she’s added a section about citing all the sources we’ve used. It’s unnecessary but smart. She is always adding things I’d never think of.
“Enjoy your coffee.” She waves and heads next door to her office. Despite the glass door, the rest of our offices are boxes with a floor to ceiling window and thick walls surrounding it. I like the privacy it provides when I am working, honestly.
I get back to working on the next few proposals I need to look over. Lucy and I basically run To Be Read Publishing ourselves, with the little help from the boss our board hired. I think they were worried Lucy and I would ask for more money considering all they did, so they hired a yes man to be “in charge” of us. I only say it like this because it is clear he is more of a window dressing than a boss. He is only around for the important meetings and the gala events more than doing any of the work Lucy and I do. If Lucy and I ever quit, it will go down in flames in a heartbeat. But besides his annoying comments about my single life or Lucy’s beauty, he isn’t terrible. Just unnecessary.
“Dylan? There’s a call for you on line two.” My assistant, Reba, smiles, poking her head in. She is older than I am, with graying hair and a hunched back from sitting at a desk most of her adult life, but she is also the kindest woman I’ve ever met.
“Thank you, Reba.” I smile and pick up the phone.
“Hello? Dylan Marsh’s office, how may I help you?”
“Hi, it’s Michelle Rosen, I’m hoping you might have an update on my manuscript today? You said to give a call if I haven’t heard from you by the tenth,” she explains softly. This poor girl. I am about to have to let her down gently, I hate these kinds of phone calls. I wish there was someone else we could hire to handle all the rejections.
“Hi, Michelle, I remember you.” I pause. “I’m very sorry we haven’t given you a call back.”
“My book was rejected wasn’t it?” She’s smart. I remember her book clearly, it wasn’t that it was bad, it was just that there was abettermoremarketablebook we had to take on.
“It was. I’m very sorry.”
She starts sobbing immediately, and I feel my heart clench. It is truly the worst part of my job, I swear.