The Job (17 page)

“Well,
you’d better just think about what you’re—I’m sorry, what?” she asks.

“I’m
offering you a position as assistant store manager,” I tell her. “It’ll be an
increase in responsibility across the board, but you’ll also get a pretty
handsome raise. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Cheryl?”

She
doesn’t answer.

“I’ve
come to realize that, despite how much I feel the need to control every portion
of this store’s operation, every day, I’m not infallible, and I sure as hell
don’t know everything. What I need to do,” I explain, “is start trusting my
staff. You and the others have put so much time and so much energy into this
place, and I know it wouldn’t be as successful as it is without any one of you.
Cheryl, you stand out from the crowd. You have a degree of insight into this
place that gets people to stand up and take notice, and I want you to know that
you are valued here. So, do you think you’d be interested in being my assistant
store manager?”

She
looks down at the ground, then back up at me.

“Yes,”
she says in a quiet, shaky voice.

“Great,”
I tell her. “Now, we’re going to have to help each other out here. This is new
territory for me, and so I ask for your patience. That said, I’d like to go
ahead and make your new position official today.”

“I’m
ready,” she says.

“Great,”
I tell her. “First off, I’m going to need to ask you something.”

“What’s
that?” she asks.

“What
does an assistant store manager do?”

*
                   
*
              
     
*

“You
actually asked her what an assistant store manager does?” my text friend
writes.

“I’m
new to this,” I write back. “I’m sure there are keys involved, but how much of
my daily workload do I delegate? I’m not sure what’s appropriate here.”

I’m
sitting at dinner with Kristin and Jed.

I
do not like Jed.

“Who
are you talking to?” Kristin asks.

“Just
a friend,” I tell her.

“
Oh
,” she says. “You mean
that
friend.”

“How
long have we been sitting here?” Jed asks. “I feel like we’ve been waiting for
our meals for a really long time. What’s taking them so long? The place isn’t
that busy. I don’t see how hard it is to make three simple meals and bring it
out to a table.”

“We
just ordered,” I inform Jed. “It usually takes more than two minutes for a
restaurant to cook something.”

“It
feels like it’s been longer than that, though,” he says. “I don’t know. I’ve
been so stressed lately. I think I’m getting an ulcer.”

“If
anything’s going to give you an ulcer,” Kristin tells him, “it’s going to be
how much you constantly worry about getting an ulcer.”

My
phone beeps and I read the message, “It sounds like you might want to have that
guy come back and show you the ropes. Was he helpful before?”

I
write back, “He was helpful, but it kind of got a little weird last time.”

“Jay,
there’s something we’d like to tell you,” Kristin says. “Actually, it’s the
reason that we asked you out to dinner.”

“I
know,” I tell her. “You’re still waiting for me to give you that discount you
decided you were entitled to as my sister, but we’re just barely starting to
recover from the months of construction in the store, and with this new deal—if
you can even call it that—I’ve got with one of my main suppliers, I really
don’t think I can start offering you designer products for seventy-five percent
off. I could maybe do ten or something, but even that would be—”

“It’s
not that,” she says, “although I do think it’s pretty sad that you can’t even
give your own sister, a woman that you shared the same womb with, a silly
little major discount on some clothes.”

“We’re
not twins,” I tell her. “We didn’t share a womb.”

“We
came out of the same
vag
,” she says. “Whatever.
Anyway—”

My
sister is something special.

My
phone beeps and I shift my attention from Kristin to the screen.

“It
got weird?” he writes. “What do you mean?”

I
write back, “Well, it came to light that I might have a little difficulty
trusting others, so we did a little trust exercise. There were injuries.”

“You’re
not even listening to me, are you?” she asks.

“How
long does it take?” Jed asks nobody. “My stomach’s going to start eating itself
if it hasn’t already. Oh, this is why I hate going out to eat. Nobody ever—”

“Honey,”
Kristin says, “shut up. I’m trying to talk here.”

“Did
you bring any antacids?” he asks. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten to
bring some from home. This stress is going to kill me, I just know it.”

“Jed,”
Kristin says, “shut the fuck up.”

His
mouth is closed, but he’s still looking around in every direction, assumedly
trying to spot the waiter who took our order less than five minutes ago.

“Jay-Jay—”
Kristin starts.

“I
hate that name,” I tell her. “I don’t know why you still call me that. I’ve
been telling you for years that I hate it when you call me that.”

“I’m
pregnant,” she says. “Jed and I are having a baby.”

After
a minute of staring blankly, it occurs to me that she’s waiting for some kind
of reaction.

“Wow,”
I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It’s not much.

I
look over at Jed, who’s wiping his nose on one of the restaurant’s cloth
napkins.

Yeah,
that kid is going to get the shit beaten out of it.

“I
know, right?” Kristin says. “I mean, we’re not like a hundred percent sure, but
I haven’t had a period in like two months, and I’ve been getting really sick in
the mornings, and I’m not even drinking anymore.”

“That’s
fantastic,” I tell her and it’s all I can do to not jump with joy as my phone
beeps.

I
look down, reading, “Trust fall?”

“Yeah,”
I write back. “I got it eventually, but it was a bit of a process.”

“What
are you doing?” Kristin asks.

“What
do you mean?” I ask back.

“I
just told you that I’m pregnant—me, your one and only sister, the most
important person in your world. Are you going to come over here and give me a
hug or not?” she asks.

“Right,”
I murmur and get out of my seat.

“Excuse
me,” Jed says, hailing a passing waiter. “We’re still waiting for our entrees.”

“I’m
very sorry, sir,” the waiter says. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“You
know,
it’s
best not to end sentences in prepositions,”
Jed says.

As
I’m almost around the table and now close to the waiter, I lean toward him and
promise him twenty bucks if nobody spits in my food.

The
waiter smiles and walks away.

I
bend down and give Kristin a hug.

“Have
you been in to see the doctor yet?” I ask.

“Oh,
I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” Jed answers. “I know pretty much
everything there is to know about natal care and birthing.”

That’s
easily one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever heard.

“I
didn’t know you went to medical school,” I tell him, standing back up,
releasing the hug.

“I
didn’t,” he says.

“Paramedic
training?” I ask. “Mid-
wifing
—or would that be
mid-husbandry? That doesn’t sound right.”

“No,”
Jed says.

“Have
you had kids?” I ask.

“No,”
he answers, “but I do have five brothers and sisters.”

“Jed,
we’ve talked about this,” Kristin says. “I’m going to the doctor.”

“I
don’t see why,” he responds, playing with the tuft of hair beneath his bottom
lip. “All you have to do is make sure you’re getting enough vitamins and try
not to overexert yourself.”

“I
think Kristin’s right,” I chime in, “I’m sure you’ll be a big help, but she
needs a doctor to help her through the process.”

“She
really doesn’t,” he says. “Medical practice is just a big racket anyway. My mom
never went to the doctor and she lived a good, long, healthy life.”

“Jed,
your mother was always sick,” Kristin says. “I don’t even know how tall she was
because she was always bedridden with something or another.”

“Prepositions,”
Jed corrects.

“Whatever,”
Kristin says. “If it’s a boy, we’re thinking of naming him Percival.”

Neither
Jed nor my sister appreciate the loud, albeit quick burst of laughter that
escapes my lungs.

“I’m
sorry,” I say, trying to force my smile down. “Why Percival?”

“It
was my grandfather’s name,” Jed says. “It’s a great name with a rich history.”

“I
don’t know,” I tell him. “That just seems like something you name your kids if
you’re living in the eighteen hundreds. I don’t know that many
Percivals
walking around today.”

“That’s
the problem with you people,” he starts, although what he means by “you
people,” I can only guess at, “you’re always thinking that if something’s not
already popular, there’s no value to it. I think a name should be picked
because it’s a good name, not because everyone else’s kid has that name—and
where in the hell is our meal? I must have asked that waiter to check on it
about half an hour ago.”

“Three
minutes,” I correct. “What are you going to name the kid if it’s a girl?”

“That’s
one of the things I wanted to tell you,” Kristin says. “I know that you and I
have had our ups and downs or whatever, but I really think that we’re getting
past all that. I wanted to name her Jay-Jay, after you.”

And
now it’s awkward.

I’ve
already told her, earlier in this conversation, that I hate the moniker
Jay-Jay, but this is a rather sweet act.

“Why
Jay-Jay?” I ask. “I mean, I’m very flattered, but if you wanted to name her
after me, why not just go with Jessica.”

“Well,”
Kristin groans, motioning her head toward Jed.

“It
just seems too old-world to me,” he says. “I mean, I hear the name Jessica and
I think of some woman in the renaissance posing nude for Da Vinci.”

“Did
Da Vinci paint a lot of nudes?” I ask.

“It
just doesn’t have that modern feel to it,” Jed says.

“Whereas
Percival is hot off the presses,” I snicker.

Jed
glares at me, but fortunately, my phone just beeped, so I don’t have to look at
him.

The
message reads, “Some friends and I are having a party this weekend, and I was
wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

Hot
blood, cold sweat.

“Are
you all right?” Jed asks. “You look rather peaked. I hope it’s not that flu
that’s going around town.”

“What
flu?” I ask, trying to get my mind off the bombshell on my phone.

“There’s
always a flu,” Kristin answers, rolling her eyes.

“You
should get yourself checked out,” Jed says.

“Prepositions,”
Kristin mumbles. She said it quietly, but the look on her face is one of
absolute victory.

“Would
you excuse me for a minute?” I ask.

“Sure,”
Kristin answers. “Want me to go with you?”

“No,”
I tell her. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

As
I’m walking away, I can hear Jed somewhere behind, telling me to wash my hands.

A
party? I don’t even know this man and already he’s asking me if I want to go to
a party with him?

I
guess it’s not all that outlandish. We have been talking for a while, and we do
seem to get along really well.

Opening
the door to the bathroom, I walk over to the sink and splash some water over my
face.

I’ve
been out of the game too long.

The
guy didn’t ask me to marry him or bear his children. He just asked if I wanted
to go to a party and I’m on the verge of a panic attack about it.

My
phone beeps again.

I
dry my hands and look at the message.

It
says, “I hope that’s not too forward, but my friend, the one that gave me your
number, he’s the one that’s throwing the party. I thought it might be a nice,
low-
pressu
”

I
wait a minute for the rest of the thought.

The
phone beeps and the message continues, “
re
way for you
and I to get to know one another a little better.”

“I
don’t know,” I write back and look up into the mirror to see my mascara running
from washing my face. I add, “I’m not sure that I’m really ready to start
something serious with anyone right now.”