Terrible Advice From a Career Temp- Chapter Ten: Let Your Work Speak for Itself

It took only six years for Don't Quit Your Day Job Staffing—universally shortened to Day Job Gigs by everyone except Piper's accountant—to become a quiet fixture in the community.

If somebody needed extra money painting houses over spring break, Day Job Gigs had a crew.

If a restaurant needed three servers for a festival weekend, Piper knew somebody.

If a construction company needed two laborers for four days, she could usually find them.

If snow needed plowing at two in the morning until the storm finally surrendered, Piper's

phone rang.

It wasn't glamorous work.

Piper liked it that way.

She had spent enough of her adulthood believing that respectable careers were supposed to come with titles, promotions, benefits packages, and uncomfortable shoes.

Day Job Gigs came with none of those guarantees.

What it offered instead was work when people needed it.

Sometimes that was enough.

Piper understood that better than most.

She had been the smoothie-shop girl.

The poker dealer.

The event server.

The factory worker.

The temp.

The delivery driver.

The corporate paper pusher.

The holder of certifications that never quite paid for themselves.

The woman with a bachelor's degree and student loans substantial enough to prove it.

For years, her résumé had looked like evidence that she couldn't settle down.

It turned out to be the business plan.

The company remained intentionally small.

Piper's office occupied two rooms above a bakery, which meant every workday smelled faintly of cinnamon and financial irresponsibility.

Most of her work happened remotely anyway.

Her laptop migrated between the office, her RV, and Sofie and Benny's kitchen table.

Piper paid herself enough to live comfortably.

Not extravagantly.

Comfortably.

The distinction mattered to her.

The rest stayed where it belonged.

Emergency reserves.

Insurance.

Taxes.

A payroll cushion large enough that if a contractor failed to pay on time, Piper's workers still did.

She had been the employee checking her bank account at midnight.

She remembered.

Nobody working for Day Job Gigs was going to miss rent because somebody else's invoice was thirty days late if Piper could prevent it.

After Blaise, she had made herself another promise.

Never again would she stay somewhere because leaving was financially impossible.

She'd spent too much of her youth thinking independence meant not needing anyone.

She knew better now.

Independence meant having choices.

That was different.

And considerably healthier.

Sofie and Benny eventually completed the purchase of their rent-to-own house.

Benny had spent years improving it with leftover materials, discounted supplies, and favors traded among construction crews.

The house was now almost unrecognizable.

It was also perpetually loud.

Children thundered through hallways.

Someone was always hungry.

Someone was always missing a shoe.

Dena's laughter regularly carried out through the kitchen windows.

At some point, Piper realized that living inside the house with everyone else might actually kill her.

So she bought the little back lot.

Then she bought a retro RV.

It had a bedroom.

A kitchenette.

A tiny bathroom.

A little desk.

And, most importantly, a door Piper could close.

It was perfect.

Ditto and Flip spent their days wandering between Piper's lot and the main house with the confidence of landlords conducting inspections.

Piper was still allergic to them.

They remained unconcerned.

Her life wasn't conventional.

Neither was anybody else's anymore.

It worked.

That had become Piper's favorite measure of success.

Then Aspis Hawkins ran for office.

Piper found out from Sofie.

Naturally.

Sofie walked into the office one afternoon holding up her phone.

“Your boyfriend's running for district council.”

Piper didn't look up.

“He's not my boyfriend.”

“Your ex-boyfriend.”

“Debatable.”

“Your gas-station man.”

Piper looked up.

“Stop 'N' Go.”

“Whatever.”

Piper took the phone.

There he was.

ASPIS HAWKINS ANNOUNCES CENTRAL CALIFORNIA DISTRICT COUNCIL RUN

Older.

Grayer at the temples.

Still handsome.

Still ambitious.

Still Hawk.

Piper smiled despite herself.

“Good for him.”

Then she handed the phone back.

She assumed that would be the end of her involvement.

It was not.

A few weeks after Hawk announced his candidacy, his wife, Holly, filed for divorce.

Then came the documents.

Then the reporters.

Then Piper's name.

Holly's filing referenced several women who had been part of Hawk's life at various times.

Piper was among them.

The internet did what the internet did best.

It removed dates.

Eliminated context.

Added insinuation.

And became extremely confident.

At first, it remained local.

People made side comments.

Customers looked at Piper a little too long.

Someone came into Day Job Gigs pretending to inquire about landscaping work before asking whether Hawk had “always been like that.”

Piper asked him to leave.

Then the story went national.

That was when Piper stopped going into the office.

For several days, Sofie, Dena and Smol kept Day Job Gigs running while Piper worked from her RV.

Smol had grown up around the business and could handle scheduling almost as well as

Piper could.

This made Piper proud.

It also made her feel approximately ninety years old.

Unknown numbers flooded her phone.

Reporters.

Podcasters.

People pretending not to be reporters or podcasters.

Piper ignored all of them.

Then one afternoon, her phone rang.

She looked at the screen.

ASPIS HAWKINS

She stared at it.

Some things never stopped being strange.

Piper answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

His voice was older.

But still unmistakably Hawk.

Warm.

Smooth.

Familiar enough that something inside Piper softened before she could stop it.

“Hi.”

“I'm sorry.”

“That's a promising start.”

Hawk laughed quietly.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I never wanted you dragged into this.”

“I'm getting that impression.”

“There is a podcast I trust. The host knows the timeline. He'll let you speak without chopping everything into pieces.”

Piper leaned back.

“You want me to defend you.”

“No.”

That surprised her.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Hawk.”

“Anything you want.”

He paused.

“Tell them I was an asshole if that's what you think.”

Piper smiled faintly.

“I've thought it before.”

“I know.”

Then his voice softened.

“I never owned you, Piper. I never could. I'm not going to tell you what your story is just because mine is falling apart.”

Piper became quiet.

There he was.

The man she'd spent years wishing Hawk would become.

And, as usual, he'd arrived at an inconvenient time.

“I'll do one interview.”

“Thank you.”

“One.”

“One.”

“And if they ask whether you cried into a napkin at that restaurant, I'm telling the truth.”

Hawk groaned.

“Can we please let one historical event die?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

The interview happened two days later.

Piper wore a blouse Dena selected and sat in the office above the bakery.

The host didn't waste time.

“Were you Aspis Hawkins's mistress?”

“No.”

“Did you have a romantic relationship?”

“Years ago. Before his marriage.”

“And afterward?”

“We stayed in contact at different points. We cared about each other. Sometimes we tried to figure out what that meant.”

“Did you love him?”

Piper hadn't expected that one.

She could have dodged it.

Instead, she smiled.

“Yes.”

The host waited.

“I did.”

“Then why didn't you stay together?”

That answer was easier.

“Because loving somebody and being able to live with them are two completely different

skills.”

The host laughed.

Piper did too.

Then she continued.

“Hawk and I were very good at finding each other during dramatic moments.”

“Not ordinary ones?”

“Exactly.”

Piper thought about San Diego.

Hawaii.

San Antonio.

Sofie's wedding.

All those entrances and exits.

All those years.

“We could probably have run away together at several points and made a spectacular mess of things.”

The host smiled.

“Why didn't you?”

“Because eventually you have to buy groceries.”

That got another laugh.

But Piper meant it.

“The everyday parts never fit. I like being near my family. I like a small business. I like knowing the people I work with. Hawk likes motion. Growth. Big projects. New challenges. He always needs another hill to climb.”

“And you don't?”

Piper considered it.

“I think I finally figured out that I don't need my life to look impressive from far away.”

That silenced the room for a moment.

Piper looked toward the window.

Below, somebody walked out of the bakery carrying a box of pastries.

“My life is small enough that I know who I'm helping. That's what I wanted. It just took me a long time to realize it.”

The host nodded.

Then came the final question.

“If you could go back, knowing everything you know now, would you choose Hawk?”

Piper smiled.

There it was.

The question she'd once asked herself a hundred different ways.

She no longer needed time to answer it.

“No.”

The host looked surprised.

“Why?”

“Because I'd have to become somebody else to live his life.”

She paused.

“And he'd have to become somebody else to live mine.”

“What if he were single?”

Piper laughed softly.

“Still no.”

That answer didn't hurt.

That was how she knew it was true.

“Hawk was the one who got away,” she said. “I think everybody assumes that means you spend your life wishing you'd caught them.”

“Doesn't it?”

“No.”

Piper shook her head.

“Sometimes the one who got away is just the person who teaches you that something can be real without being permanent.”

The host remained quiet.

Piper continued.

“I don't regret loving him. I don't regret leaving him either.”

“And his wife?”

Piper's expression softened.

“I hope they figure out whatever is healthiest for them and their kids. Whether that's reconciliation or being very good divorced parents isn't really my business.”

That was all she had to say.

For once, it was enough.

The interview helped.

It didn't magically repair Hawk's campaign.

Piper wasn't sure anything could have.

But the story became less salacious once dates and facts entered it.

Hawk still lost the election.

Not narrowly.

Piper sent him a message:

Sorry.

He responded:

I'm running again.

Piper laughed.

Of course he was.

In the quieter months afterward, Hawk and Holly began sorting through what remained of their marriage privately.

Whether they reconciled or simply learned to raise their children together peacefully, Piper didn't ask.

That part belonged to them.

Hawk called once more to thank her.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I know.”

“You could've made a lot more money off it.”

“I know.”

“You're annoyingly ethical.”

“I've been called worse.”

“I've called you worse.”

Piper paused.

Hawk immediately added:

“I was drunk.”

“You called me mid.”

“It was fifteen years ago.”

“I'll be angry when I'm eighty.”

Hawk laughed.

There it was again.

That old ease.

Still alive.

Just no longer asking to become anything else.

The interview had generated a modest payment.

Piper used it to open the retirement account she'd been postponing for years.

When she told Hawk, he laughed.

“So that's what our great romance became?”

“Compound interest.”

“Brutal.”

“I think it's beautiful.”

“What are you getting, seven percent?”

“Hopefully.”

“Romance is alive.”

Piper smiled.

“What are you doing next?”

“Probably running again someday.”

“I figured.”

“You?”

Piper looked around her office.

“Probably working.”

“Figured.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then Hawk said:

“You happy?”

Piper thought about it.

Not excited.

Not distracted.

Not surviving.

Happy.

“Yeah.”

She smiled.

“I actually am.”

“Good.”

“You?”

A pause.

“Getting there.”

Piper understood.

“Good.”

They said goodbye.

Neither promised to call.

Neither needed to.

Day Job Gigs continued growing.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Piper finally bought herself a proper desk.

Then a chair that didn't creak ominously whenever she leaned backward.

It was the nicest office chair she'd ever owned.

For approximately two weeks, she forced everyone who visited to sit in it.

Smol began helping after school.

She understood invoices.

Scheduling.

Basic payroll.

And, more importantly, which clients needed to be reminded three times before they did anything.

She proudly referred to herself as Piper's “go-to.”

Sofie joined the payroll part-time.

Dena did too.

The little office above the bakery became less like a company headquarters and more like an extension of the family kitchen.

There was laughter.

Arguments.

Coffee.

A whiteboard nobody erased correctly.

And a drawer full of bakery coupons.

Piper loved it.

One warm evening, she sat outside her RV.

The sun was beginning to disappear.

Ditto lay stretched across one step.

Flip occupied the other.

Neither had left enough room for Piper's feet.

From the house came the distant sounds of family life.

Someone laughing.

Someone yelling about a missing charger.

A child protesting bedtime.

Benny using a power tool at an hour when he probably shouldn't have been using a power tool.

Piper smiled.

Her phone rested beside her.

No messages she needed to answer.

No man she was waiting to hear from.

No job application awaiting a decision.

No imagined future requiring someone else's permission.

She looked toward the little strip of property she'd bought.

Then toward Sofie and Benny's house.

Then at her ridiculous RV.

This was it.

Not the life she'd imagined at eighteen.

Thank God.

At eighteen, Piper had thought adulthood was a destination.

College.

Career.

Marriage.

House.

Success.

She had spent years believing everyone else had received directions she somehow missed.

Now she understood.

There were no directions.

Sofie had found one path.

Benny another.

Hawk had built highways.

Blaise had apparently spent years waiting for somebody else to drive.

And Piper?

Piper had built a temp agency.

She laughed at the absurdity of it.

Her entire career was based on the idea that nothing had to be permanent to matter.

Maybe that was why it suited her.

Jobs ended.

Companies failed.

Relationships changed.

People moved.

Plans collapsed.

You adjusted.

You learned something.

Then you found the next thing that worked.

Piper had once believed Hawk was the great unfinished story of her life.

He wasn't.

He was a good chapter.

A complicated one.

Sometimes a ridiculous one.

But a good one.

She was grateful she'd known him.

Grateful she'd loved him.

Grateful she'd let him go.

Because the life sitting around her hadn't been waiting at the end of somebody else's road.

She had built it herself.

Not alone.

Never alone.

Her mother had co-signed the first loan.

Sofie had answered phones.

Benny had sent contractors.

Smol now helped with invoices.

Hundreds of workers and business owners had trusted her enough to keep calling.

Piper had finally learned the difference between independence and isolation.

Independence wasn't doing everything yourself.

It was building a life in which love didn't require surrendering your choices.

The back door of the house opened.

“Piper!” Sofie shouted.

“What?”

“Mom wants to know if you're eating with us!”

Piper looked toward the sunset.

“What are we having?”

“Benny made chili!”

Piper grimaced.

“The spicy one?”

“Yes!”

“Tell her I'm thinking about it!”

“You're coming!”

“I have my own house!”

“It's an RV!”

“IT HAS PLUMBING!”

Sofie disappeared inside.

Piper looked at the cats.

Neither offered support.

“Traitors.”

She stood.

Then she stopped for a moment.

The evening was warm.

Her business was steady.

Her bills were paid.

Her retirement account technically existed.

Her family was twenty yards away.

Her cats were still making her sneeze.

Her life was small enough to manage and large enough to matter.

For the first time, Piper wasn't reaching toward something just beyond her grasp.

She wasn't waiting to be chosen.

She wasn't waiting to be rescued.

She wasn't even waiting to find out what happened next.

Something would.

It always did.

Piper smiled and headed toward the house.

Tomorrow, there would be calls.

Someone would need work.

Someone would need workers.

Something would inevitably go wrong.

She'd figure it out.

She always did.

Behind her, the little RV glowed beneath the deepening sky.

Ahead of her, the kitchen door stood open.

And Piper went home.