“Because you lot won’t let me,” he flashed back. “You need me.”
“Not as much as you think.”
The air crackled between them. Poor Sam. He’d given up so much for his family. Of course he felt responsible. And unappreciated. It sucked. But was Fiadh... right?
“Toni could still help out,” I said.
Four heads swiveled toward me.
“What?”
I swallowed. “Toni could still help Fiadh in the bakery. It would be like an internship. Toni would get training, and Fiadh would have more time for... Well, to do other stuff. If she wanted. If that works for everyone.”
“Works for me!” Toni said cheerfully. I wanted to hug her.
“It’s all right by me.” Fiadh looked at her brother. “Sam?”
“An unpaid internship,” he said. “I’m not hiring cash-in-hand and having the garda coming around.”
“You can pay me in bread,” Toni said.
I smiled, relieved. Maybe she would learn something, working here for Fiadh.
And maybe Sam would, too.
—
I applied for a job shelving books at the library.
“Man does not live by bread alone,” I told Toni and Reeti.
“Or pay rent, either,” Toni said, and Reeti rolled her eyes.
Joking aside, I didn’t have much hope I would actually get called for an interview. Most positions were filled in September. But Alan said there was always some turnover at the beginning of a new term.
We were hanging out in the common room—Alan and me, Erinma and Claire—writing or pretending to write and angsting about the status of our portfolios, when Maeve walked in.
We reacted to her entrance like dogs at an animal shelter.Look at me! Pet me! I’m scared.Even Erinma, who just had a poem accepted in theSouthword Literary Journal, and Claire, who pretended not to care.
Our little workshop tribe switched instructors this semester. None of them would face her judgment again, at least not in seminar. But the slick confidence I’d admired in my classmates turned out to be mostly an act. That wasn’t the reason I liked them so much now, but it did make me feel less alone. After four months together, we were gentler with one another, more aware of bruises and scars.
Maeve’s gaze fell on me. “You used my name as a job reference.”
“Um. Yeah?”
I mean, yes. Obviously. Unless or until I could convince another member of the faculty to be my supervisor, Maeve was the one who knew me best. And I couldn’t count on Glenda for a recommendation. Not after leaving her in the lurch over the holidays.
Maeve’s gaze swept the room, cataloging, dismissing. “Come into my office.”
Alan gave me a sympathetic look. I hitched my bag on my shoulder and grabbed my sweater. Erinma flashed me a thumbs-up as we walked by.
“So,” Maeve said, seating herself at her desk. “Do you think it’s wise to start a new job when you should be working on your portfolio?”
I swallowed. Work on our dissertations formally began this semester, and everyone but me had a supervisor who adored them, or at least thought their proposals had potential. “It’s only ten hours a week,” I said. “Less than I was doing for Glenda.”
“I’m aware of what you did for Glenda.”
That sounded ominously ambiguous. I straightened my spine. “I need the money. And I thought the job experience would look good on my CV.”
