Shelter Me (7 page)

I cleared my throat. "Is something wrong, doctor?"

"No, no, not at all." The doctor shook her head vigorously. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't dance around this. I've been seeing you for a long time, and I'm very happy that you've found the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. But you're young, Marissa. If you want to start a family, then by all means, go off the pill. But if you don't feel you're ready..." She hesitated. "It's just, I see a lot of girls like you. Eternal Grace girls. I was one of them myself, years ago. If you're excited to become a mother then I don't want to say anything that's going to dampen that for you. If you're happy, I'm happy. But I just want to make sure that you know. It's your choice. If you don't feel ready, I'll be happy to keep signing your prescriptions for as long as you like."
 

I let out a long breath.

"Thank you," I said.
 

The doctor clicked her pen. "So, should I write you another year's worth?"

I glanced over my shoulder, as if anyone could be listening.

"Yes, please."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jacob

"I'm thinking about getting a job."

My mom looked up from her plate of spaghetti, slowly. "A job?" she repeated, skeptically.

Dad was already shaking his head.

Instantly, I was in defensive mode. "I can tell them I need a flexible schedule. And even if I have to work when you guys have an appointment, I won't be working all day. I can still come back here to take Molly out and bring in the mail."

"What kind of job would you even get?" My mom twirled some noodles onto her fork. "You know, food service isn't as easy as it sounds. They put up all those 'Help Wanted' signs, but they really want someone with experience. It's a Catch-22."

"So I'll work retail," I said. "I know Brandon didn't have any trouble getting his job at the grocery store. He could probably recommend me."
 

My dad shook his head more vigorously. "I don't want you working in that kind of environment," he said. I waited for some explanation of what on earth that meant, but none came. I decided to let it go.

"The kinds of jobs you'd be able to get, at your age - they're so high-stress and low pay," my mom was saying. "Not the kind of thing you should be spending your time doing."

"Well, you know, Mom, I'm not sure what you expect me to do. I can't just keep sitting around all day."

"I told you. Why don't you enroll in some of those online college classes?"

"They cost money, Mom."

She made a dismissive noise. "How much could they possibly cost?"

"Too much. It's not worth it. I did the research. Nobody takes those degrees seriously."

"Sorry," my dad cut in. "I forgot, you know everything." He was smiling, but that somehow didn't lessen the sting.

I sighed heavily, setting my fork down on the edge of my plate. "I'm touched that you think I'm too good for retail, but I'm pretty sure they won't agree with you. I'm a teenager with a high school diploma and no work experience. What do you think I'm going to do, walk into a law office and get a job as a paralegal? It doesn't really work that way."

"I'm so glad we have a teenage son to educate us about how the world works," my dad said, dryly.

"Gary, stop it." Mom frowned at him, and he returned to his plate, still shaking his head. She turned back to me. "Honey, I know you're feeling frustrated right now, but jumping into the first retail job that comes along isn't going to end well. You need to make a good future for yourself. What about going to a trade school?"

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then re-opened them. "None of this stuff is free, Mom. If you want me to do it, I'm going to need to get a job at some point anyway."

My mom took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, setting down a piece of garlic bread on her napkin. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to take a look at the accounts and see if we can move stuff around. Maybe we can make some room in the budget and figure out how to pay for a few classes. Once you decide what you want to do, just let me know and we'll figure out a way to make it happen."

I gritted my teeth. How many times had I heard some variation of this before? I knew the money wasn't there, and so did she. I didn't resent them for it, because I knew the medical bills were unavoidable, but I just wanted them to face up to the reality that I couldn't afford any more education unless I got a job. It was like they wanted me to stay unemployed, living at home, forever.

It just wasn't fair.

"Mom," I said, when I'd calmed down a little bit. "I know money's tight. It's okay. You shouldn't have to do that. I'll just get something part-time. I promise it won't interfere. I'll save like, ninety percent of every paycheck. Pretty soon I'll have enough to actually do something. I'll keep doing all my chores and everything. I'll only work days. You won't even notice I've been gone."

It was like talking to a brick wall. They both went back to their dinners, eating placidly while I fumed.

"We'll talk about this later, honey," my mom said, finally.

I got up and went into my room without another word.

***

The next day, I started filling out applications online.

It might have been a childish, petty move. But if my parents weren't going to listen to reason, I had to take matters into my own hands. I had a feeling that the first time I brought home dinner, or paid the electric bill, they'd warm up to the idea fast enough. I just couldn't spend any more time sitting around at home. I was losing my mind.

I spent the entire afternoon going through a barrage of tests, quizzes and forms. Within a few hours of finishing, one of the stores had already emailed me, telling me thank you, but they weren't currently hiring. After having spent half an hour on their ridiculous math quiz, I felt a little bit deflated, but I soldiered on.
 

My phone rang once, in the late afternoon, but it was a robo-call from some scam posting I'd inadvertently responded to. I rolled my eyes at myself, tossing my phone on the bed. Live and learn.

A few minutes later, another call came.

I almost ignored it, but I decided to pick up after a few rings, when I noticed it was a local number.

"Hi, I'd like to speak to Jacob Warren please."

"Speaking," I said, closing my bedroom door.

"Oh." There was a lengthy silence. "Well. You applied for a job."

"I did," I said. "Do you have something available?"

"Yes," he said.

There was another long silence.

"That's great news," I said. "Thanks for getting back to me so quickly."

Silence.

"Hello?" I said. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," he snapped. I heard a series of rustling noises, and then a muffled bang. When he spoke again, his voice had completely changed. "I'm so sorry, I've just been dealing with some
idiots
here. So my temper's kind of on a short fuse. I'm normally a lot nicer than that. Hahahaha." He actually enunciated the sounds, like he was reading off of a script and had never heard an actual human being laugh before.

"Haha," I agreed, halfheartedly. "So, I was looking for something during the day, mostly, although I can be a little bit flexible with nights..." After waiting a few moments for him to interject, it became obvious he wasn't going to. "What's the position?"

"Oh!" He seemed taken aback by the question. Some more papers rustled. "Well, we have a few options. Deli clerk...bakery manager...optometrist..."

"Well," I cut in, "I'm just looking for something entry-level. You know. I don't have an optometry degree." I laughed a little, but he didn't seem to get the joke.

"I can't seem to find your application," he said, after another long pause.
 

I was sorely tempted to ask where he'd gotten my phone number from, if that was the case, but I stopped myself just in time. "Well, like I said, you know, just something that doesn't require any special skills or training. So, you know, nothing in management. Or anything that requires a medical degree."

He didn't laugh at that one either. "Why don't you just come down for an interview? We can deal with all the details then."

"Okay," I said. "What time works for you?"

"How about now?"

I paused. "I can be there in...ten minutes?"

"Well, all right," he said, sounding irritated. Then, he hung up on me.

I had a distinct feeling that I shouldn't bother, but I decided to push through and go to the interview anyway. Maybe he was just in human resources, or something, and I'd never have to talk to him again. Worst case scenario, it would certainly be a good story.

So I hopped on my bike and rode down to the store, trying not to think about how much less time I'd have for riding if I actually did get this job. That didn't matter right now - what I needed was something to take my mind off of Marissa, and earn some money while I was at it. After I got to the store, I realized I had no idea where I was supposed to go, or who I'd even spoken to.
 

I coasted to a stop in the parking lot, then locked my bike to one of the columns out front and considered my options. I'd come all the way here - might as well give it a shot.

I had to wait for a while at the customer service desk before I could even talk to someone, but when I finally did, I couldn't think of anything else to say except:

"I'm here for an interview."

"Oh yeah?" The clerk smacked her gum. "With who?"

"He, uh...he didn't give me a name."

"Oh. Okay, I know who you talked to." She picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers, then waited quite a few rings for someone to answer. When they finally did, all she said was: "Get up here, you've got an interview. Yeah, an interview." She pressed the mouthpiece against her shoulder. "What time did you say it was for?" she asked me.

"Um - right now?" I hazarded.

"He says he was supposed to be here right now....I don't know...look, I can't do the interview myself, so you better come talk to him, okay?"

She hung up, finally, rolling her eyes.

"I swear," she said. "Sorry about that, he'll be with you in a minute."

"Great," I said, with what I hoped was a convincing smile.

After a while, I saw someone approaching the desk very quickly and meaningfully. He had a strange, unsteady gait, and he looked at the ground the whole time he was walking up.

Finally, when he was standing just a few inches in front of me, he abruptly met my eyes.

"So," he said. "You came in."

"Uh, yes," I said. "Is now a bad time?"

"It's always a bad time," he said, solemnly. Then he smiled. "Ha! I'm just kidding. Laugh when I make a joke. Come on, this'll be fun. Follow me."

Against all my best judgments, I did.

He led me into a small, cramped room with several dying plants, used coffee mugs, and piles of papers several inches high across every otherwise-unoccupied surface. The whole place inexplicably stunk of cat. He swept a pile of paperwork aside to clear an ancient brown office chair for me, and then took a seat on the other side of...what I
assumed
was a desk, under all that clutter.

Then, he started talking.

"Look, okay, this is your first job interview ever? I'm sure you're nervous, but there's no reason to be. I'm the best interviewer you'll ever have."

He smiled, and I smiled back, unsure if he thought he was joking.

"I see here you did well in your classes, so that's a good sign, of course. That shows you've got attention to detail and a willingness to work hard. Or at least fake it. Right?" He stared at me, then suddenly smiled again. "I'm kidding! Come on, laugh when I make a joke. You're making this more awkward than it has to be."

I forced a laugh, suppressing the desire to look over my shoulder and try to figure out if I was on a hidden camera show. "I'm sorry," I said.
 

"Don't apologize! It's fine. You're doing great. I was only half kidding, sometimes around here it's all about looking busy even if you're not. Me, I'm lucky, since I got to be a manager I can just hide out in here and pretend to do paperwork, but really I'm just watching Netflix. Don't let me catch you watching Netflix, though! I'd have to punish you!"

I managed a weak chuckle. His eyes looked like they were about to bug out of his head, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this uncomfortable.

"Just kidding, just kidding! I would never tell on you. Look, here's the thing, John."

I cleared my throat. "Jacob," I said.

He blinked. "My name's
Andrew
," he said.

"No, no, I know," I said, although come to think of it, I wasn't sure he'd told me. "
My
name is Jacob."

"What?" he snapped. "Yes! Of course. I know that's your name. Can we get back to the interview, please?"

"Please, let's," I grumbled, shoving my hands in my pockets.
 

"Tell me, do you smoke?"

"No," I said.

"Drink?"

"No," I said.

"Never?" He leaned across the desk. "Not even a little nip, now and then? You aren't one of those church kids, are you? Look, okay, I got nothing against religion, but you have to admit those people freak you out a little bit. You seem normal, so you must see it. Right? Right? Come on. Don't leave me hanging."

I couldn't restrain a sigh. "Is this going to be about a job, at some point?"

"This
is
all about the job!" he burst out. "How can you not see that? Everything is relevant."

"All right, well, I already told you I don't drink. And yes, I go to church. I don't think it would be legal to refuse to hire me for that reason, so I can't figure out why you'd ask in the first place, but yes, I go to church."

He was silent for a minute, folding his fingers together and resting his elbows on the desk. "Okay," he said. "Here's the thing. Some managers might be taken aback by the way you're talking to me right now, but I know some of the world's greatest leaders have been world-class a-holes. You know what I mean? Clinton, Mussolini, Zuckerberg. Sometimes being successful means stepping on people's necks, right? I know that probably goes against your religion or whatever, but it's just an undisputed fact."