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“Yeah, no, I’m not gonna do any of that,” he says. He plops back down on the white sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table, messing up the carefully stacked coffee table books. “I’m gonna hire people to do that stuff,” he adds, crossing his arms behind his head.
I roll my eyes at him. Must be nice.
“Then hire me.” The words come out before I even think about what I’m saying. But honestly, Elijah and I are basically partners, definitely colleagues, and I don’t know, maybe even friends at this point. Why wouldn’t I ask him to hire me? And, frankly, why wouldn’t he give me a job when I graduate?
Before I can start on a monologue of reasons to defend my request, he says, “Sure. Why not.” Without a moment’s hesitation.
“Really? You’d hire me? But I don’t have any experience.”
“Clearly none of the other interns do and yet you’ve got us putting on one helluva hackathon.” He smiles at me and my heart decides this is a great time to pick up speed. I take a quick glance down at the company-provided Apple Watch I’m wearing to ensure my bpm isn’t showing on the screen.
“You’re smart. You’re a hard worker. You don’t take any bullshit. People respect you. I like being around you. Why wouldn’t I hire you? You’re exactly the type of person that should work at these big companies,” he says. And for a minute, I believe him. I believe that he believes in me, and that things like junior college and middle class and no connections don’t matter. And for maybe the first time, I see something in Elijah too. I see someone who’s been bred his whole life to take charge. To make decisions without fear, without worrying about the pedigree of someone listed on a page.
“Thanks. That’s nice. I don’t get a lot of chances like that, so I’m gonna hold you to it.” I say it teasingly, but I file this conversation away in my head. I absolutely will find a way to hold Elijah to this job offer, no matter how premature it is. “And...” I hesitate but decide to be brave. “I like being around you too.” I won’t let him get away with admitting that without countering with my own confession.
“Yeah, well, I have a feeling I’m gonna be the lucky one in all of this. Or, um, I mean, Haneul Corp will be.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, it’s nicer than I expected. This whole thing we’re doing together.”
“I agree. It has been nice. I mean, the job and all this,” I say, sweeping my arm in an arc to capture everything that is fantastic about this brownstone, trying not to betray that I’ve found time spent with Elijah has been nicest of all.
I need to be careful. Because it’s already becoming very clear to me that I not only need Elijah this summer...but I want him around too.
“Anyways, I have an idea,” I say. I tuck any thoughts about feelings for Elijah in the back of my head to overthink about later, along with the hundreds of other things from this day alone. For now, my mind keeps coming back to the library.
“Do I wanna know?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You do. Because, Mr. Team Logistics, it’s a doozy, and it’s gonna be on you to make it happen.”
He believes in me enough to hire me? Well, I believe in him enough to secure us the New York Public Library for the hackathon.
12
elijah
I look up from my phone and scan the room. Everyone has their heads down, either staring at their computers or talking quietly with someone else. There’s a buzz in the air.
The group is excited to be working on the hackathon.
What I don’t get is...what are they actually working on? My to-do list today is completely blank. Eight hours is torture when there’s nothing to do. I wonder if I can sneak out and find a PC café to play someLeague of Legends.
But why is everyone so much busier than I am? What do motivated and ambitious people fill their time with?
If I was home in Korea, I’d probably go shopping, or have a personal stylist come and present some options to me for review and selection. Or maybe I’d hit up a museum and have photos taken of me there? Or meet an important someone with an important name and an important bank account at a trendy café?
That life feels so far away. And so...unimportant come to think of it.
“Does anyone need any help?”
The words leave my mouth before I can consider what I’m offering.
They also feel like a foreign language, as if my lips have never been formed into this phrase before. Have I ever offered my help in nineteen years?
The memory of standing on a kitchen chair next to my mother floods my mind. I can’t be more than five years old. She’s making something...mandu maybe? I’m too little to see above the kitchen island so she pulled the chair over for me to climb up on.
“Since you wanted to help me, Elijah, let me show you what to do. You use the egg mixture to wet the ends of the wrappers, pressing them together. It works like glue, holding everything inside so the filling doesn’t spill out,” she explains. Her delicate hands show me once before letting me and my clumsy little fingers try it.
“What are you doing in here? Where is the cook?”
I can’t help but tremble at the sound of my father’s loud, commanding voice. I drop the bowl. It shatters, scattering shards and the eggs all over the floor. I’m too afraid to look up and see my dad’s fury on his face. I swallow my tears.
