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Owen leaned against the banister with his hands in his pockets. “So, you ready for this interview?”
I nodded, mimicking his pose. “I guess so.”
“Sounds like you’re not that enthused about it.”
“It’s a job,” I said with a shrug. “We’ll see how it goes.” I didn’t want to talk about that, though. I tugged on my earlobe, pretending to scratch it in an attempt to appear as casual as possible. “So Ms. Devin’s coming over tonight, huh? What’s that all about?”
A knowing smile spread across Owen’s face. “She’s helping Sarah with some festival prep stuff.” He nodded toward something behind me, and I turned around to see their dining room table covered with jars, faux leaves, and a whole mess of other random objects. “It’s gonna take them a while. I’m sure she’ll still be here when you get back.”
I turned back toward Owen as I reached for the door handle. “Doesn’t affect me one way or another.”
He crossed his arms, studying my face. “’Kay. Well, good luck with this interview. You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”
I held his gaze for a moment, trying to decide whether or not I should defend myself against what he was obviously implying—but doing so would only make it more obvious. My grin probably said enough. “Thanks, cuz. Good luck watching my kid.”
I couldn’t see Finley, but I could hear her having a barking contest with the puppy a couple rooms away. When I tried to tell her goodbye, she didn’t even look up—she was in the middle of a game of tug-of-war with the dog.
It was time to shift into job interview mode. Back at home, I propped my laptop up on the counter and joined the meeting five minutes early, reading about the company online as I waited for the interviewer to join. This company specialized in creating apps for pet owners—one that simplified tracking pet medications and another that helped connect pet owners with local vets.
I wasn’t exactly sure where my skills would come in—until the interview, anyway. A man and a woman, whose names I couldn’t remember thirty seconds after they’d said them, took turns questioning me about my experience and familiarity with their apps. They wanted someone to help them completely overhaul their branding. “We’re looking for a less ‘corporate’ look, and we instead want to go for something playful and whimsical,” the woman said. “That’s where your illustrations could come in.”
“Your work is impressive.” The middle-aged man beside her was swiping through my portfolio on an iPad. “And not just that, it looks like you’re capable of adapting to different styles.”
I cleared my throat. “Well, I've had the opportunity to work with a range of clients, each with a unique vision and their own style preferences. So I always collaborate with them to deliver exactly what they envision.”
The two of them turned to each other, exchanging impressed nods. The rest of the interview continued a lot like this—with them asking me exactly the kinds of questions I’d anticipated, and me telling them precisely what I knew they wanted to hear.
And as far as I could tell, I was nailing this interview—these people liked me. And the longer we spoke, the more I realized I might actually be pretty comfortable working for them. If anything, just for the consistency. I wouldn’t be designing a logo for a photographer one day and slapping together a holiday promo for an online boutique the next.
This job would be challenging—in all the right ways.
“Tell us about your availability, Mason,” the woman said, looking down at the clipboard in her hand. “When would you be able to start?”
Tomorrow? “I would need one week to wrap things up with my freelance clients,” I said, not wanting to sound too eager. “But after that, I’m all yours.”
She smiled and wrote something down. “Good. And as you know, we’re located on the West Coast, so your workday might start a little later than you’re used to.”
“Which means you get to sleep in,” the guy interjected.
“I like the sound of that.” Finley’s schedule would never allow me to sleep in—but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make another joke. And, as anticipated, it made both of them laugh.
“But I also want to be clear—we’re on Pacific time,” the woman said, looking up from her clipboard. “Which means that we will need you to be available between the hours of nine and five, which, if I’m correct, is twelve and eight there in Indiana?”
I opened my mouth to speak, only to slowly bring my lips together again. 8:00. Finley’s bedtime. “Um…” I would miss dinner. I’d miss picking her up from school. I’d miss talking to her during her after-school snack and listening to her read her sight words aloud. Essentially, 3:00 to 8:00 was the only time I spent with Finley on weekdays at all. If I were to take this job, that meant I would miss… everything.
I let out a heavy sigh, trying to come up with a tactful way to back out of this as the realization this job wasn’t right for me sank in. “I guess I was under the impression the hours were a bit more flexible.”
“I’m afraid not,” the woman said. “While the majority of our employees are remote, we need everyone to be, you know, logged in and available for meetings between those set hours. We’re still a team.”
“I’m a single dad,” I said with an awkward laugh. I had hoped that would elicit some sympathy, but the two of them just exchanged uncomfortable glances, neither wanting to be the one to deliver the rejecting words. So I beat them to the punch. “Well, it sounds like I’m just wasting your time now.” And they were wasting mine.
“We do, unfortunately, have other candidates with better availability,” the male interviewer said.
“Yup,” I said, already navigating to the ‘end meeting’ button. “Thank you for the opportunity, anyway.” I waited for them to tell me goodbye, not wanting to appear rude—and then I was out.
I closed my laptop and rested my forehead on my palm, allowing myself a few minutes to sulk over this. It was becoming more and more apparent I was never going to find any kind of “dream” job. Not while living in Woodvale, Indiana, anyway.
Not if I wanted to keep putting Finley first.
