When I asked Thyri her permission to run a background check, it was a test to see if she was hiding anything or came with bullshit. Her ‘yes’ wasn’t immediate, but I understood the reason behind her hesitance. However, the background check was happening whether she agreed to it or not. Her willingness gave her a one up in my book. I didn’t allow people in my space without knowing who they were, who they were connected to, and who they came from.
I took no one at face value and didn’t make moves on vibes or anyone’s words alone. You had to show more than tell. And here I was, two days after our initial meeting, going through the files my aunt sent to my email. At fifty-six years old, my Aunty Juanita was the Sullivan family’s go to when we needed information. She was a beast on the computer and could get in anywhere we needed her.
I had two files containing all things Thyri Anderson. Aunt Juanita had run a standard background check first that included her criminal, employment, and credit history. Everything was clean. She didn’t have so much as a speeding ticket on record. A real law-abiding citizen.
And then we dug deeper, searching the people closest to her, immediate family and associates included. I confirmed that she did have a teenage son and a father who was in a rehabilitation center. A mother and sister who lived out of state and an ex-husband who still contributed from behind the wall. At least that was what the first of the month transfers into her account labeled monthly bills stated. Of course, I looked into his charges then did a street analysis on him. Nothing came back that I was concerned about. I didn’t want to scare her off, so the extent of the background check that included her family, I’d keep to myself.
Having carefully thumbed through the files, I was ready to move forward, so I opened up a new draft to send her an email.
Good afternoon, Thyri,
I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to reach out to let you know that your background check came back clean. If you’re still interested in the position, feel free to give me a call at your convenience. My cell number is 917-364-4140.
I read the email over after hitting send and wished I’d gone over it beforehand. That whole ‘I hope this message finds you well’ shit sounded so corny. The cost of being professional.
My phone rang minutes later on my desk with an incoming call from an unsaved number. I rarely gave out my personal number. Figuring it was Thyri, I answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Enzo. It’s Thyri.”Her voice was upbeat.
“Wassup, Thyri? How’s your day going?”I asked casually.
There was a brief pause. I could hear movement in the background, followed by a clinking noise.
“Give me one second,”she said before the phone went silent. After a few seconds, her voice came through again.“Sorry about that. I was fighting for my life trying to hang this garland. I got your email. Thanks for the update. As far as the position, I’m ready when you are.”
“Cool. I know you mentioned only being available on alternate weekends. With today being Saturday, would you be available to come by the house for a few hours? You can see EJ in his element and see how we run our day to day.”
“Sure. My son left me for the weekend, and I checked on my father, so I’m free.”
“Sounds good. I’m gonna shoot the address to you via text, and I’ll see you in a few.”
“Perfect. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
“You’re welcome.”
She hung up first, and I sent the address over. Shutting my computer down, I walked out of my office and down the hall to Enzo’s room. We’d just finished having a breakfast of champions and morning conversation. Pushing his room door open, I found him trying to pull the sheets off his bed.
“What happened, dawg?” I asked the question but kinda knew the answer from the small pair of Hanes boxers on the floor next to the bed.
“I pee, Daddy. I sorry.”
I smiled. “You good, man. Accidents happen. But I can’t have you wit’ your Johnson all out. Come get in the tub, and Daddy will change the sheets, aight?”
“Okayy,” he dragged out with his head down.
“Head up, EJ. Daddy not mad. Come here.” He walked over to me, covering himself with his small hands. “Hold your head up.” He lifted his head. “Were you holding your pee?”
“I hold it.”
“Don’t do that no more, aight? When you gotta go, go. Big boys don’t pee on they self.”
“Okay.”
“Aight. Come on.”
