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A morning of messy clothes, an unimpressed cat, and questionable life choices set the stage for the chaos to come. Some people wake up to conquer the world - Sarah wakes up trying not to trip over Mr. Socks.
A morning of messy clothes, an unimpressed cat, and questionable life choices set the stage for the chaos to come. Some people wake up to conquer the world - Sarah wakes up trying not to trip over Mr. Socks.
Sarah's alarm blared, dragging her out of sleep. Her eyes fluttered open to the sight of a half-empty wine bottle and an open bag of gummy worms on her coffee table. Next to it, a screwdriver.
She blinked at it.
Screwdriver?
Oh, right. She was trying to fix the wonky cabinet door in the kitchen last night. Did she succeed? Unclear. Did she drink wine and forget about it halfway through? Extremely likely.
She groaned, rolling over on her bohemian-upholstered couch, which, at some point last night, had apparently become her bed. The floral fabric was soft but didn’t quite make up for the fact that she had fallen asleep fully dressed, a throw pillow wedged under her back at an awkward angle, the couch springs stabbing into her spine like a personal vendetta. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry like her mother’s baking, and Netflix was still playing an episode of Love is Blind she had definitely seen before.
"Morning of a modern independent woman," she muttered, rubbing her face.
With an effort that felt equivalent to climbing Everest, she sat up and surveyed the scene of last night's minor disaster. The apartment itself wasn’t a lost cause—far from it. Sure, it could use a deep clean, but even in its current state, it had charm. Sunlight streamed in through sheer curtains, illuminating dust particles floating lazily in the air. The monstera plant in the corner had developed an impressive sprawl, its leaves creeping toward the nearby bookshelf as if trying to stake a claim. Vintage frames hung haphazardly above the couch, some slightly askew. The pearl-shell floor lamp in the corner—an absolute treasure she found at a flea market—had a thick layer of dust and, she now realized, a missing bulb. She should fix that. Then her eyes landed on the Persian rug.
Her beautiful, expensive, one-of-a-kind Persian rug.
With peanut butter on it.
Her heart stopped. "Oh no. Oh, no, no, no."
Who eats peanut butter in the living room? Well, her, obviously, but that’s beside the point. She hunted for this rug. Spent weeks searching online, went to three different thrift stores, and negotiated with a very grumpy old man to get it for a steal. And now? Peanut butter.
She grabbed her phone from the repurposed wooden trunk that served as her coffee table and glanced at the time.
“Shit.”
She was running late. Again.
As she shuffled to the kitchen, she nearly tripped over Mr. Socks, her black-and-white cat, who was weaving between her legs, purring loudly. “Morning, Mr. Socks,” she mumbled, reaching for the bag of dry food. “I know, I know, I ran out of tuna. I’ll pick some up on my way home, promise.” The cat blinked at her, clearly unimpressed but still accepting the meal.
The botanical posters of vegetables and herbs on the kitchen walls, carefully selected for their aesthetic, bore evidence of Sarah’s half-hearted attempts at cooking. A few dried splatters of tomato sauce decorated the basil illustration. Overhead, a couple of plants dangled in macrame holders, giving the space a cozy, lived-in feel, if one ignored the pile of dishes in the sink.
Sarah yawned, petting Mr. Socks.
Breakfast? No time. Coffee? No time.
Groaning, she headed to her bedroom, where she rummaged through her clothes with the enthusiasm of someone doing community service. The best she could come up with was yesterday’s blue-grey plaid skirt (it’s fine, just slightly wrinkled) and a clean-enough shirt.
Sarah took one last glance at the disaster zone she called home, muttering, “I’ll deal with it later.”
On her way to the office, Sarah ducked into The Coffee Studio on Clark Street, her go-to spot for a morning pick-me-up. The café's warm, minimalist interior, with its exposed brick walls and soft lighting, offered a cozy refuge from the morning chill. She ordered her usual latte and a breakfast sandwich, already bracing herself for the inevitable comment from her boss, Mr. Kashmore, about how her sandwich "smells unprofessional." Let him complain. The man hasn't had a personality since the Bush administration.
And, because life enjoys kicking her while she’s down, it was raining. She had no umbrella. Of course, she had no umbrella. She pulled her raincoat tighter around herself, praying it would hold up.
What else, universe? What else is going to go wrong today?
If only she knew what was coming.
At 35, Sarah Sinclair had been employed at a modest accounting firm for seven years. When she first accepted the job, it seemed like a golden opportunity: the salary was slightly above market rate, and, surprisingly, no accounting certifications were required. Now, however, she realized it was a trap. While her peers pursued passions and climbed corporate ladders, Sarah found herself drowning in meaningless tasks, her own dream of interior designer career put on indefinite hold.
The office was exactly as soul-crushing as Sarah left it yesterday. The fluorescent lights buzzed like they knew something scandalous about her, the air smelled like burnt coffee and despair, and the sound of printers churning out endless pages of meaningless reports was the closest thing to music anyone got there.
She dumped her bag onto her desk with a sigh, only to hear a familiar voice chirp from the next cubicle.
“Nice skirt. Looks familiar,” Lilly commented, not even looking up from her screen.
Sarah stared at her, trying to gauge whether her coworker was being playful or if she was just that perceptive. “Adventurous night?”
“I wish,” Sarah muttered, plopping into her chair and jabbing at the power button on her computer.
Lilly snorted and went back to whatever spreadsheet hell she was dealing with, while Sarah began the mind-numbing process of sorting through emails and queuing up the day’s reports for printing. She was halfway through a thrilling invoice discrepancy when her phone buzzed.
Kelsie: OMG OMG OMG YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS. CALL ME NOW.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. Her younger sister’s definition of “earth-shattering news” has historically ranged from “I found a great sale on boots” to “I just saw a man who may or may not have been Ryan Gosling from 50 feet away.” Sarah made a mental note to call Kelsie on her break when the phone buzzed again.
Kelsie: I JUST GOT ASSIGNED TO GO TO BERLIN! FOR A TRAVEL FESTIVAL!
Sarah blinked.
Then she blinked again.
Then she reread the message three more times because what?
Was she still slightly drunk? Was this a fever dream? Sarah quickly looked up the travel festival on Google, and sure enough, it was one of the Europe’s largest events in the hospitality industry. All the biggest hotel chains were represented, with activities like keynote speeches, networking mixers, and even a champagne brunch hosted by a celebrity chef. Kelsie, who had just been promoted to assistant manager in the marketing department of a small but rapidly growing boutique hotel chain, was now traveling abroad for a high-profile event? Sarah blinked at the screen, a mix of disbelief and admiration swirling within her.
She slumped back in her chair as reality settled in.
Kelsie had just started working at Maison Lumière a few months ago. A fresh-faced marketing grad, fully expecting to be stuck fetching coffee and compiling research for at least the next six months. But no. Thanks to some ridiculous, unforeseeable office disaster (a burst pipe that flooded half the department, taking out two senior marketers and a manager’s laptop), the opportunity of a lifetime had landed directly in Kelsie’s lap.
Sarah exhales sharply through her nose.
"Of course. The little one gets everything she wants without even asking for it… how typical."
She shook her head and took a long sip of her disgusting office coffee.
Still, she texted back: That sounds amazing! So happy for you, sis. Want to meet up for a quick celebratory drink tonight?
Kelsie responded immediately: YES!
The rest of Sarah’s workday dragged uneventfully. On the way home, she stopped at a corner shop for carpet stain remover (peanut butter, I swear to God…) and canned tuna for Mr. Socks, when her phone buzzed again.
Kelsie: Change of plans— I’ll just come to your place instead.
She wasn’t even asking… Sarah stared at the screen. Well, great. Now I have to clean AND potentially cook… What the hell, Kels.
At home, she went into survival mode—scooping laundry off the couch and strategically shoving it into the bedroom, wiping down the coffee table, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, and giving her neglected floor lamp a half-hearted dusting. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough.
Then the door buzzed.
Sarah opened it, expecting Kelsie’s usual over-the-top enthusiasm. Instead, she was met with a puffy face, red eyes, and mascara-streaked cheeks.
“Did the trip get canceled?” Sarah blurted, before noticing the duffle bag at Kelsie’s feet.
Kelsie shook her head, sniffling. “Justin broke up with me.”
Sarah blinked. “What. The. Actual. Hell.”
Kelsie and Justin had been together for three years. Sarah had never understood the appeal—Justin was your classic former football player with bad grades and an even worse attitude. Sarah always felt like Kelsie liked the idea of being Justin’s girlfriend more than the actual relationship. Well, because the actual relationship sucked! He never took Kelsie seriously, always treating her like a cute accessory to his glamorous finance-bro life. Them moving in together also felt like a convenient thing for him because he got to walk to work from the new place, and Kelsie had to take two trains to get to her office. Sarah thought they’d never last, but here we were, three years.
And he dumped her?
“How?” Sarah demanded.
Kelsie sniffled. “I told him about the trip, expecting him to be happy for me. Instead, he started waving his arms and yelling that I would miss Marcus’s wedding and that I was going to inevitably hook up with someone while I’m away…”
Sarah scoffed. “That’s… quite the assumption.”
“Right?! I mean, I have flaws…”
“Many flaws!” - Sarah chimed in.
“Yes, many flaws…”- Kelsie agreed, exasperated.
“So many-many flaws!..” - Sarah grinned.
“Are you done?” - Kelsie asked, now genuinely annoyed.
“I am done” - said Sarah, still smiling.
“But cheating has never been one of them!” Kelsie protested.
“That is true,” Sarah admitted, her face turning serious for a moment.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. Something wasn’t sitting right. But she kept that thought to herself.
Instead, she grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and popped it open. “The couch is all yours for as long as you need it.”
Kelsie let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief.
They spent the night drinking, dissecting Justin’s nonsense, and laughing about the absurdity of it all. But Kelsie kept circling back. “I don’t get it,” she kept saying. “The jealousy came out of nowhere.”
She didn’t have time to figure it out, though. She also didn’t have time to apartment hunt—her flight to Germany was tomorrow.
Sarah eventually went to bed, tossing her laundry onto the floor. Honestly, she might as well just rewash it at this point.
At least she was actually sleeping in her bed instead of on the couch, numbing her brain with ‘Love Is Blind.’
Morning brought more chaos.
Sarah had barely gotten out of bed when Kelsie came barreling in.
“Sarah! Do you have a spare razor?”
Sarah groaned. “What?”
“And deodorant! Pretty please!”
Sarah stared at her sister, incredulous. “I’m sure they sell those things in Berlin. You know, stores.”
Kelsie crossed her arms. “But I didn’t have time to get the company travel credit card, and I don’t have enough money!”
Sarah rubbed her temples. “So… what’s your plan?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” Kelsie wailed. “My boyfriend kicked me out, I barely slept on your terrible couch—”
(That couch was definitely bought for its looks, and not for comfort.)
“—and now I have to pack and fly across the ocean to a country I’ve never been to, to network, and meet people, and do god knows what else - I’ve never been to a travel festival!”
Sarah let out a slow exhale. “Oh… right.”
Kelsie sniffled.
“Okay. Listen.” Sarah straightened. “The breakup is fresh and highly suspicious, but let’s focus. You landed an insane opportunity to prove yourself at a new job — one meant for someone way above your pay grade. You cannot let Little-shit-Justin and his shenanigans mess this up for you.”
Kelsie blinked.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Sarah continued. “You will get some coffee in you, go to the office, and get that credit card. On your way back, you will buy deodorant and all the other nonsense you forgot. Then you’ll come back and finish packing. I will go to the airport with you after work.”
Kelsie pouted. “Easy for you to say! You’ve traveled before. You’ve even been to Germany before! Wait, didn’t you spend a semester at college there?!”
That was true. Sarah had spent glorious seven months in Berlin nine years ago. These days, though, travel was a laughable luxury between her own bills and the money she gave to their mom.
Sarah just raised an eyebrow. “I think you meant to say thank you.”
Kelsie sighed. “Thank you.”
Sarah smirked. “That’s more like it.”
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