I crawl back in and close the window, then bound down the stairs to have my first home-cooked meal in a really long time.
Even though my gran is a great baker but meals are a struggle. I love them anyway because I’ve grown up with her cooking. After dinner, Thad crashes in the guest room and I go to bed feeling sad. The next morning, Thad’s mom, my aunt Lyla, comes for breakfast. Between bites of eggs, she mentions a temp job at her office for the holidays. I eat my oatmeal and listen intently.
“They greenlit the first phase of a massive residential housing project,” she says, sipping her coffee. “And need a few temps to help the bigwigs from out of town during the holidays to cover all of the assistants who are off for Christmas. It’s thirty dollars an hour, which is sort of outrageous. You should do it, Jules, it will give you a chunk of pocket money and I can get you in the mix since it’s my company doing the staffing.” She takes another bite and finishes her eggs.
“Thirty dollars an hour is good money,” My sweet gran chimes in.
My fork pauses mid-air. “Thirty? An hour?”
Aunt Lyla nods, smiling. “It’s great money, but I’ll advise you to stay clear of the bosses and big wigs. They are all pieces of work. Just do the job, keep your head down, get your check, and get out. This isn’t a career move, this is just for fun money, but if you get snared in their line of fire, you’re going to get pulverized. You're too sweet, Jules.” She is right, mean people will reduce me to ashes.
“Okay, head down. I got it. Gran, will you be okay while I’m at work?” I came all this way to be with her; I don’t want to ditch her for a pretty paycheck and a bunch of assholes.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m usually at the community center volunteering. The ladies and I have lunch on Tuesdays, then there’s yoga on Wednesday. We go out to the movies for the Thursday matinee and then there’s all the kids out of school for the holiday. I teach them to bake cookies.” She smiles, very proud of herself. “And the Christmas market this year is going to be a big one—gotta help organize that.”
“Geez, Gran, you’re crazy busy. Okay. And I’ll be home in time to help cook dinner and we can hang out at night together.” I love the idea of making a little money and spending my free time with Gran.
“It’s only for two weeks, so I think the two of you can manage,” Aunt Lyla adds.
“Sounds like a fun job,” Thad jokes and scrunches his nose.
“Not all of us can work for a big shot Senator,” I tease him and we all laugh.
“Yes, well, I won’t even be able to join you until after Christmas. We’re working up until the last minute on an emergency bill,” Thad sighs. “But it’s a glamorous life.” We laugh more.
A horrible thought crosses my mind. “Do you know the name of the guys working on the project?” Marcel is in town for a meeting and Rhode Island is a very small state; what if this is the project he’s in town for?
“It’s an investment banker and visionary from Singapore … Xu something. The folks who can’t pronounce his name call him David, but it’s like Xu Weifong or Fung.”
Definitely not Dubois, I’m both sad and relieved.
Thad leaves to drive back to Connecticut after breakfast and I get one more hug in before he goes.
“Remember, hold out for a prince,” he tells me with a massive squeeze.
“And I want all the T on Work Guy, do not hold out on me,” I say, hugging back.
“You’ll be the first to know,” he assures me.
For the rest of the day after Aunt Lyla leaves after giving me instructions on what to wear and where to meet her for my first day, Gran and I spend the rest of our day together in the kitchen, making cookies, three different kinds of soup, and homemade sourdough bread like we used to when I was little. For a while, life feels small and safe again.
The next morning, I dress for my first day of work in a long wool skirt, a cozy sweater, and my little light-up Christmas tree pin. I didn’t bring many clothes with me from California but all of my winter wardrobe is still in my closet. California never gets cold enough for it.
Since Gran doesn’t drive and the Senior Center bus has just picked her up, I decide to walk. It’s a chilly, but finally clear day and it’s only about a twenty minute walk to the office.
As soon as I walk in I see a bunch of people waiting in the lobby. The place isn’t decorated for Christmas, even though it's less than ten days away. There is no holiday cheer and everyone seems very grouchy. I pull my jacket closed to cover the pin. Maybe we’re not allowed to celebrate.
A woman I don’t recognize walks in. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Louise Crawly, you’ll be reporting to me. We are here to help support the launch of the Oasis Village and I’ll be handing out assignments soon.”
After a boring speech about rules highlighting everything we can’t do, the assistants are herded into the bullpen with stacks of blueprints shoved into our arms. I make copies, organize plans, and then I see it on one of the blueprints. The library. The historic library is right there on the map, marked for demolition. My stomach twists. That’s Gran’s senior center, It is the heart of the community; my childhood memories are there. This can’t be happening. I decide that when I’m done with work, I’ll go to the city on my walk home. Their offices are on the way back to Gran’s house.
I keep my head down and work hard for the rest of the day and even though ‘there is no talking or fraternizing allowed’ I’ve made a few friends between whispering, giggling, and ourhalf hour lunch. There’s a fun twenty-something guy named Evan and a thirty-six year old woman named Dana. We share quiet jokes over copier jams and wonky spellings on some of the documents. Clearly translated by AI or someone who doesn’t know how to spell, we lose track of time and ourselves as we start laughing too loudly for the sterile place. There is a reference to a ‘peehole’ that we know has to be ‘peephole,’ but it’s too much after several near misses on the translations. It’s already way past the end of the day and quitting time, so maybe we took a few too many liberties with our laughter.
A voice cuts through the noise, low, smooth, and unmistakable. It carries a distinctly French accent that is sharp with irritation.
“Mon Dieu, what the hell is going on in here?”
My heart freezes when Marcel Dubois steps into the bullpen.
