Yes, he'd been laid off, completely unexpectedly.
Yes, they'd immediately reined in excess expenditures while she applied for a multitude of jobs, six on Wednesday, four more on Friday. As many as she could find, but there were only so many in less than a week.
Still, she had to have Chinese for dinner that Sunday night. Not take-out either because her favorite dish of salt and pepper prawns didn’t hold up too well when transported home in a carton. And no cheap-o fake-o joint even if it was close to home, with its just okay pot stickers, spring rolls, and chow Mein for the kids. It had to be their new favorite—that place in Alameda they’d gone to on his birthday, where they’d been the only non-Asians. Less than ten days ago, just before the fallout. It seemed like ages.
Catching her reflection in the side mirror as they sped through the Webster tunnel she noticed that with her hair pinned back and her lips painted she bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Wallis Simpson.
“Well why not,” she thought lifting her chin. “Wouldn’t Wallis assume a confidently serene disposition no matter the forecast?”
They couldn’t just cower in the house, they had to rally. Appearances matter almost as much as faith, all the more so when circumstances conspire against you. They had to go on, best face forward and all that, because anything was possible—bad, good, maybe it’d work out even better than before.
The point being, it was so much easier to be positive if she got her prawns.