What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

Like clockwork, the sun steps aside in the city of Seattle, letting rain fall ferociously from the clouds above. 

Sitting in her BMW, Geneviève fumbles her car keys as she attempts to exit her vehicle. 

"Good lord above!" she shrieks. "I am having one hell of a day." 

Reaching between her feet and tapping near the pedals, she attempts to blindly locate her keys. After about twenty-two seconds of searching, her thumb loops itself inside the circle of the keychain. 

"Ha! Success! That's right! Go, me!" she congratulates herself. 

After collecting herself to as much of an extent as she can muster, she sighs more than audibly. "I cannot believe what I'm about to do," she says under her breath as pulls herself together in the parking lot of a local coffee shop.

No one is in the car with her. She's just talking out loud to herself, as per usual. She texts her friend, Anabelle, to let her know she's running late. 

The duo has plans for a girls' night at seven the same evening, but before Geneviève can pour a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and relax on her cloud-like sofa, she has some business to attend to at the moment.

Got caught up folding laundry, she says as an excuse. Geneviève hates lying to her friends, but in certain situations, it's the lesser of two evils. See you closer to 8. Hope that's alright, she types, hitting send after attaching a heart to the end.

Geneviève can only hope that it softens the blow of my belated arrival. Anabelle's biggest pet peeve is when someone isn't on time, but if she knew what Geneviève was up to, she would understand.

Tossing her phone into the black leather handbag propped up against the passenger seat, Geneviève double-checks that the little black book she need is securely tucked inside of her bag. 

Then, she pulls her keys out of the ignition. With one hand holding the strap of her handbag, Geneviève opens the door of her top-down red convertible and steps onto the concrete sidewalk.

For someone many would consider rich, Geneviève is about to make a very poor decision. As she walks towards the front doors of the coffee shop, she thinks about her morals and how her heart is driving her to make this decision even though her head is telling her to stop before it's too late. 

In life, there are situations that test you in ways that speak to who you are as a person. As much as Geneviève doesn't want to do this, I couldn't live with myself if I opted out.

So, here she is. Walking into the coffee shop, Geneviève simultaneously scours the seating area in search of a medium-length black-haired man with a brunette mustache. 

After waiting in line to order her go-to drink- which is a cappuccino made with oat milk, if you're curious - she looks around in search of the man. Still unsure as to the whereabouts of the person she's there to meet, Geneviève takes a seat in one of two chairs near the entrance. 

Surely she'll spot him as he walks inside… Right? 

About seven minutes pass by - all of which she spent daydreaming - a finger taps Geneviève on the shoulder, snapping her back into reality.

"Geneviève?" a voice asks.

"Yes," she replies. "That's me. C'est moi."

The man stares down at her, and she gestures to the available chair next to hers. The man sits down as Geneviève reaches into her handbag, pulling an pitch-black Moleskine Cahier Journal from the inner pocket.

As she hand it over to him, he says, "Don't leave until I catch a glimpse of the contents within. I need to be sure that this is the information you promised."

"Of course," Geneviève complies, listening to his demand, her left leg bouncing up and down more rapidly than ever. The events documented within the little black journal will ruin her life, but they'll save Anabelle from harm's way.

"Alright, it's all here. We'll contact you in due time with next steps. You may go now," he says to Geneviève, to which she responds by jumping up in a panic. 

Geneviève had never wanted to leave a situation more in her entire life. She thinks about her coffee cup as an afterthought, her headspace filled to its brim with anxious thinking to take it with her. Instead, she leaves it in the dust along with her ego.

Through clenched teeth and watery eyes, Geneviève asks the barista if she may use the restroom. He nods, pointing down a narrow hallway with his left index finger as guidance. Geneviève walks into one of the seven open stalls, all the while holding back her tears.

"I'm terrified, but what's done is done. Now, I wait," she says, yet again to no one other than herself.

As she reaches for the toilet paper, a paper bag falls from the underside of the dispenser.

"Uhh... What in tarnation is that?" she responds.

Reaching down for the crumpled-up bag that resembles every middle school lunch her mom packed for her, Geneviève's mind races. Peeking inside, she catches a glimpse of a plethora of twenty-dollar bills.

"Oh no... Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no... Oh no!" she sighs, this time barely audibly. "What have I gotten myself into?!"

Her phone rings and she answers to the sound of a man's voice.

But not just any man.

The man.

You know, the one from earlier.

"Welcome aboard," he says, followed by nothing more than the click of the phone as he ends the call.

"Um, what have I gotten myself into?" Geneviève asks herself. And now, she waits.

☽