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“Nonsense.” She walked over to the table that held the pastries and brought them to her son’s desk. She then poured three cups of coffee and arranged them near the platter, so that we could all partake.
I sighed. It looked like she was going to feed me whether I wanted her to or not. She sat down in one chair, indicating that I should sit in the other. Mr. Brockton took his place behind the desk and reached for a cup. Like the devil himself, he took a pastry, biting into it with satisfaction. Mariah grabbed one along with a napkin to catch the crumbs. I had no choice but to follow suit.
The little breakfast treat was good. I was fast coming to rely on them to tide me over. They were a sweet, warm start to my day, and I had to admit that I was happy to be eating. It didn’t escape my notice how Mariah orchestrated the whole thing. By joining me at the desk, she gave me permission to fuel my belly. It was almost as if she had experience encouraging reluctant people to take care of themselves.
“I get these from the corner bakery,” she shared.
“They’re very good,” I said, glancing apologetically at my boss. It wasn’t his fault that I was homeless. I shouldn’t be so cruel when all he was trying to do was help.
He gave me a placid stare, one that would have been more at home in a poker game than a family breakfast. He was obviously very good at his job. I could only imagine that the ability to mask his feelings worked well in the boardroom. He was probably no stranger to tense negotiations.
“I think it’s important to support our local economy,” Mariah continued.
I could see she was working her way up to whatever she wanted to ask me. Well, I wasn’t going to give her any help. We all knew that the real reason for this meeting was to discuss my situation. I didn’t want to have that conversation then or at any point in the future. Maybe if I kept my mouth shut, they would let me off with just a friendly chat.
“Our company is international, but our headquarters are here in Boston,” Mariah said. “We should be involved.”
“That makes sense,” I allowed.
“I made sure my husband—my ex-husband,” she corrected herself, “supported the local little league teams.”
“That’s sweet.”
“They have T-shirts with our logo on the back, and after each championship game, we give them lunch and trophies,” Mr. Brockton said.
I licked sugar from my lips, listening carefully. They were trying to tell me that I wasn’t the only one they were helping out. It was important to them to be a force for good in the neighborhood where they operated. They wanted to cash in on the health of the community, to generate a supportive environment for the company. I got it. When the change of subject came up, I was ready.
“I also work for a nonprofit that helps women get settled when they’re leaving abusive relationships,” Mariah said.
“I’m not in an abusive relationship,” I replied quickly. “I’m not in any relationship.”
“I know,” she answered, just as quickly. “But my point is that we have deals with several rental units to help women establish residency and get back on their feet.”
Tensing, I could see where this was going. I didn’t want a handout. It was basically Mr. Brockton’s offer of a free apartment restructured. Instead of accepting charity from the company, I would be routed through Mr. Brockton’s mom’s nonprofit. I didn’t want to lean on anyone for help, but I couldn’t figure out how to refuse.
“I’ll be fine,” I tried.
“Nonsense,” Mariah scoffed. “The apartments are there to be used. At the moment, there are three or four available. What kind of employer would we be if we let you sleep in your car?”
“It’s my business,” I held my ground.
“Relax.” Mariah softened her voice, reaching over to put a hand over mine. “We just care about you, that’s all. This is no reflection on your abilities.”
I opened my mouth to respond but shut it immediately. She saw right through my bravado and got to the heart of the matter. I wanted to rescue myself. It wasn’t all about pride; I just knew I could do it, and I wanted a chance to prove myself. If I waited until that first or second paycheck and was able to get my own apartment, I would feel on top of the world. I would have a renewed sense of accomplishment at being able to turn my own fortune around. Mariah gently reminded me that no one in the room thought any less of me for being poor. They weren’t judging. I was the only one with an agenda.
“Here’s my card,” she said, handing me a tiny rectangle of white paper. “If you contact me at that number, it will all go through the nonprofit. There will be no connection to your employer.”
I accepted the card, feeling stunned. I looked over at Mr. Brockton to see what he thought, but he was busy examining some report on his desk. I was alone at the mercy of the sweetest bulldozer that ever lived.
“Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet. “Is there anything else?”
“What does my schedule look like for the day?” Mr. Brockton asked, finally meeting my eyes.
“You have a video conference at ten-thirty, lunch with the VP of sales, and a two o’clock meeting with your Japanese distributor,” I reported.
He nodded curtly, dismissing me. But before I could leave, Mariah stood up. “It’s been lovely chatting with you, but I have to go.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” Mr. Brockton said, swinging his attention from me to his mother.
