“Let me know if you have any questions.” Emmett returns to his desk and starts working on his laptop. I’m glad, because it would’ve been awkward if he’d hovered and watched me like a test proctor.
I Google the general format for a business memo, then familiarize myself with the contents of the folio and start typing one up. It doesn’t take long before I’m done. After making sure there aren’t any typos or errors, I save the document again. “I’m finished,” I say.
“Already?” He comes over and turns the laptop so he can read what I’ve written. His eyebrows rise. “Not bad at all.”
Oh, thank God.“Thank you.”
He closes the laptop. “There needs to be a background check. It takes twenty-four hours or less, unless we see something concerning. Provided you’re clear, you can start immediately, unless you need to give notice to your current employer. HR can give you more detailed information about benefits, but we have the typical—medical, dental, vision—along with the eldercare I told you about yesterday. We pay bimonthly, and because you’re in admin, your pay will be calculated on an hourly basis. You’ll be expected to put in at least forty hours a week. If you go over, you’ll be paid time and a half. We try not to make the admin staff work too many hours because you don’t get bonuses like our associates. Any questions?”
Forty hours a week is good. That’ll guarantee a steady paycheck. I run the numbers in my head. Unless their hourly rate is a joke, I can probably make it work. “Yeah. How much am I getting paid?” The most important question.
He throws out a number that makes my heart stop for a second. My hand flies to my mouth. He’s offering a freakin’ fortune! More than triple what I make anywhere else! I’venevermade that kind of money before. If I can stick it out here for a year and be really careful, I might even be able to replace my Mazda3!
“All good?” The twinkle in his eye says he knows I’m more than happy.
“Yes!”
“Then let’s have HR do the paperwork.”
* * *
I still can’t believe what happened as I drive home. If this is a dream…
Well, it’s a damn good one.The kind I never want to wake up from.
I park and go up to my unit on the second floor. No elevators in this old building. My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Yang, is just heading into her apartment. She stops when she notices me.
“Hello, Aspen.” Her words are somewhat accented. She immigrated from Korea fifteen years ago, then moved here after her husband died. She looks shorter than she really is because her upper back is bent. She said it’s from a car accident—“American drivers too fast.” Not even surgery could straighten her out.
But that doesn’t seem to slow her down. She’s always busy, cooking, cleaning and chatting with her grownup sons on the phone. She keeps her short, permed hair a dark brown with whatever dye is on sale at Walmart, shops for loose, flower-patterned clothes from discount racks and splurges on comfy shoes, claiming that when you’re her age, you need good footwear.
“Hi, Mrs. Yang!” I say with a bright smile.
“Something good happened to you?” she asks.
“I got a new job!”
“Oh, congratulations! It’s a good job, yes?”
“Very! I’m so excited!”
“Me too!” As her bright eyes sweep over me, the corners of her mouth tilt downward in disapproval. “But you should take care of yourself, too. If you don’t stay healthy, who will take care of your grandfather?”
I smile. When I first met her, I thought she was a busybody, but now I know she says what she does out of good intentions. She says I’m like the daughter she always wanted to have but couldn’t because her womb was only capable of making boys.
“I’m okay,” I tell her. “Just a little tired because I couldn’t sleep well last night.” I came in late from the bar, and I was thinking about the eldercare benefits the entire time—and what that would mean for me and Grandpa.
“No, no. You are losing your weight. Come. I just made some noodles. You can take them with you. They keep.” She gestures for me to come into her place.
Although she doesn’t move with the grace my grandmother had, her concern and sweetness remind me of Grandma and Suyen’s mom. The latter in particular always worried her child was starving herself.
I follow Mrs. Yang into a unit almost identical to mine. Her carpet is pale gray and newer, which is good. Nobody should have to put up with threadbare flooring.
She takes off her shoes and walks inside. I slip off my heels and follow her into the kitchen. She opens a plain white fridge with a small dent in the door and pulls out a sizable Tupperware full of pan-fried noodles and veggies.
“Young women diet too much. They get weak bones,” she says, placing the tub on the counter.
“Right.” I nod, even though she’s wrong about me dieting. I eat whenever I can, but when you’re working so many hours and shifts, it’s hard to eat regularly.
