My eyes snap up to his. He’s not laughing at me but testing me. He must know about me already, or else he just guessed. My dance for him last night was more me trying to recall every bit of choreography I’ve ever learned to keep my mind from freaking the hell out.
I just press my lips together.
Moving the saucer to the side, he sets the cup down on it and leans forward, placing his forearms on his desk and clasping his fingers together. “So, what happened?”
Is he expecting me to share every aspect of my life? Things I barely told people I once called friends? Or does he just want the quick answer to get us moving along to other questions that reflect the job?
“My parents died.” Like every time I’ve said it before, my voice is hollow to my own ears. I might accept whathappened to them, but that doesn’t mean I will ever get over it.
He hums. “How long ago?”
“Eight months next Tuesday.” It’s an automatic response. I’m surprised that I know to the day how long ago it was and yet not entirely surprised all at once.
“One day you won’t remember.”
I look at him, confused, as he stares ahead, not showing any emotions. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the topic, like so many before him did.
Friends, police, colleagues, even teachers I’ve known most of my life, they all looked away when I spoke about my parents’ death. Like it was bothering them when they weren’t even affected by it in the same way. Or at all.
“Your brain will stop subconsciously counting the days, reminding you of your loss. You won’t even know it’s happening till someone asks and it takes a moment for you to think on it.”
“Who did you lose?”
“My dad. I was seven.”
I don’t say that I’m sorry or offer any other condolences. Just like he didn’t for me. But we share a moment together. Of acknowledging that life sucks, but you keep moving. You have to.
“So, you dropped out of school to pay the bills and came here.”
More or less. But I don’t say that and just nod instead. It’s easier if he thinks that’s all there is to it. For himandfor me.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
He raises an eyebrow at that.
“You could work anywhere. And yet you applied here.”
I’m sure he expects me to fill in the unspoken question of why, but I bite my tongue. He heard the worst of it, that I’m alone. The rest is something no one needs to know about. That part is just for me to be ashamed of.
The silence between us lasts for a moment longer before he breaks first and gives his caffè his attention.
I worry my bottom lip, concerned that he’ll turn me away. Maybe he’ll think he’s doing me a favor, but it will be a life sentence in ways he can’t possibly understand. I speak quickly to convince him that I’m what he’s looking for, even if I don’t even know what he wants in an employee.
“I might not work the stage, but if you ask any of the girls, my dance performance each night brings them in enough money, even on a slow night. I work hard at what I do, and I’m never late.”
“Except for today.”
I wince at his words. I was hoping he didn’t notice, but of course he did. I bet very little gets past him.
“This is the first time. The mom whose kids I watch got stuck on the subway. I can promise you it won’t happen again. I’ll plan ahead if there’s expected to be more meetings this early in the day going forward.” I want to plead my case that we’ve never had to meet this early before. That I always show up on time when it’s for my shift, but this threw me. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s the truth.
He takes a second, then sets his coffee back down. “Fine, I’ll give you a break for today since it wasn’t planned more than a few hours in advance. In the future, when meetings are planned, I expect you to attend. I’ll also make sure you and the rest get a twenty-four-hour notice, as you weren’t the only late arrival.”
I breathe out slowly and nod, grateful that he isn’t just blaming me for this like Carl and is at least taking some responsibility for the unexpected meeting.
He writes something down and continues to look down as he asks his next question.
