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I stand, and using the wall for stability, I limp into the kitchen, where my father doesn’t even look up from the newspaper he’s reading to see if I’m okay from my near-fatal fall. Scowling, I say way too loudly, “I’m fine, thanks! No, I’m okay; I don’t need an ice-pack. God, you’re such a great dad, though. Father of the year strikes again.”
Dad closes his eyes, sighs, then looks heavenward, thanking God for such an awesome daughter, I’m sure. He should be thankful.
I’m the shit.
My limp suddenly gone, I move behind him and wrap my arms around his neck, resting my chin on his balding head. “One day, I’m actually going to die from a stubbed toe, and when I do, you’re going to have to explain to the doctors who run my autopsy why there were so many prior stubbed-toe incidents you never reported. You’ll probably get grilled for it, or even go to jail for neglect.”
My father wheezes out a heavy laugh, and kissing his cheek, I take the letter on the table and open it. Leaving it folded, I make my way to the fridge and pull out a bottle of apple juice.
As I sit at the table, my father asks, “How is Natalia?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s been busy lately. No time to talk, really.”
He frowns. “Find time. Nina calls every day. You call her. Today.”
I unfold the letter and begin to read. The more I read, the more my heart races. My eyes widen, I begin to read faster. As I reach the end of the letter, a smile spreads across my face. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Nat.” I slide over the letter. His eyes skim the contents, face devoid of expression. I add, “She’ll have company soon enough.”
My father reads out loud, “Center of Physical Therapy. New York.”
Throwing up my hands, I whoop and yell out an excited, “Yeah, baby! I’m going to New York!”
He slumps back in his chair and mumbles sadly, “Why you all leave me?”
Reaching across the table, I take his big hands in mine and rein in my excitement. “It’s not like I won’t ever come home, Ta. This is a great opportunity. We talked about this.”
“I know.” Sitting straighter in his chair, he utters confidently, “You will learn, and work, and you will someday win a big award, because you are so smart.”
For a man who doesn’t speak English well, that compliment hits me hard. I blink away tears and mutter softly, “Thanks, Dad.”
The back sliding door opens and my mother walks inside holding a bag full of groceries. As soon as she sees my father and me together, she looks down at my hands covering his, our faces sad, and she drops the bag of groceries with a gasp. “Someone died?!”
Okay, so maybe dramatics come from both sides of the family.
I release my father’s hand, stand, and make my way over to my mother with the letter. I hold it out for her to read. She takes it with shaking hands, expression petrified, before she reads it over. She whispers, “New York.” Then she cries. And laughs. And cries again.
She pulls me into a firm hug and rocks me. “Oh, baby. This is wonderful. This is exciting!” My throat tightens with emotion and I close my eyes, just letting my mom hold me, ‘cause sometimes, the warmth of a mother’s hug is all a person needs. She kisses my temple. “You’re going to do great. Now, call them and accept the position before they give it to someone else.” I open my eyes to look at my miserable father and hesitate. Mom whispers, “He’ll be fine. I promise.”
My mother has always been my biggest fan, a number one fan to all us girls. She is a firm believer of following your dreams, wherever they might be. She kisses my head once more before releasing me, turning me, and slapping my butt to get me on my way. I chuckle, take the letter, and make it back to my room without any toe or knee casualties. I pick up my cell from my desk and dial the number on the let
ter. “Hi, I’d like to speak to a…” I quickly scan the bottom of the letter for a signature. “…James Whittaker.”
A mature voice answers, “What was your name, ma’am?”
“Helena Kovac. He’ll be expecting my call.”
“I’ll just put you on hold a moment and make sure he’s in.”
“No problem.”
I’m put on hold. I close my eyes and nod my head to the song playing, and just as I’m about to belt out the chorus to the power ballad, the line clicks over. A deep but kind voice greets me, “Miss Kovac. James Whittaker here. Please tell me you have some good news for me.”
A wide smile spread across my face. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
He chuckles. “Top student in your class. I should be thanking you for the opportunity. But please, the suspense is killing me.” I like this man already. “Will you accept the position? I know it’s a move for you, but we’ll be happy to help with moving costs and such, as well as temporary housing.”
That’s definitely good to know. “I want this position, Mr. Whittaker. My sister actually lives in New York, so I don’t think housing will be necessary.”
The smile in his voice makes me smile harder. “Please, call me James. And this is great. I’m so glad to have you on-board. As soon as you email through your acceptance of the job offer, we can get moving.” He pauses a moment before asking cautiously, “How soon can you start?”
