Elevator Pitch

by Evelyn Leigh

I deny the request and send him fifty dollars instead. He obviously needs it, and I’m impressed at his audacity. I added a note: Take Layla somewhere that doesn’t serve eggs. I roar a laugh that would’ve surely earned me some stares back in St. Louis or West Chester. However, this is New York, and nobody gives a fuck. The city of minding your own damn business. I should’ve moved here sooner. A notification flashes on my screen: my driver, Deena, is approaching in a blue SUV. My Uber driver isn’t very social, which is fine by me. I settle in, block Keith’s contact, and screenshot the Venmo requests. The girls will have a good laugh about that. I’ve still got a few more minutes before getting back to my place, so of course, I’m using that time to overthink. My therapist wants me to journal more, so I’m making bullet points to summarize the eventful date in my notes app. I was so considerate of Keith until it was painful, and I was called a ‘bitch’ anyway. I wasn’t even rude when I spoke up. I can’t win. I’m a people pleaser in recovery. We prioritize everyone else’s happiness, even strangers who don’t mean anything to us. It’s just in our nature. Externally, I’m too fucking nice. Internally, I’m a badass like the women in my family. I struggle with displaying both sides in a way that is healthy for me.