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“It wasn’t an interview, just meeting with the chief administrator to see what sort of need they have for translators.”
“And?”
“Well, there’s a sizable Spanish-speaking population here, but those that don’t speak English usually have someone to translate for them. A child typically.”
“But are children the best option to translate medical treatment options to their parents?”
“I don’t think so.” I scan the menu. “It comes down to whether or not the hospital can justify the salary for the position.”
“Do you have to stay in the medical field? I’m sure there’s lots of companies that could use translators.” My mom reads the menu to give herself something to do. She’s anxious to have me back here, but trying not to push too hard since I’ve resisted the idea in the past.
“I like the medical field.” Clinics were trusted places for women to receive the services and support Sam’s education initiative was offering, and I liked to help the doctors and nurses there more than I liked trying to help the women learn to build and manage their meager finances so they could support their families. In Spanish-speaking countries that turned into helping translate between the doctors and the patients.
“I know. I’m just saying you have a versatile skill.” Mom sips her water to stop herself from pressing me further.
We order and chat a little more about what I think of the hospital until our food arrives.
“You and Anthony working on another project this summer?” I ask as I take a bite of my salad.
Since they first met on her remodeling job nearly a decade ago, Mom and Anthony have kept the tradition of doing a project together each summer. With their own house done I think it’s a way for Mom to try out what she’s learned from those home improvement shows that she loves so much. And since Anthony’s business is mostly high-end renovation work, these lower-income summer flips are a nice way to help improve neighborhoods that have been neglected for a while.
Her eyes light up at my question, and as we eat, she tells me about their latest venture. It’s in a neighborhood with lots of young families, so they’re putting in one of those playsets that have swings, slides, and a little clubhouse-type structure. She’s so excited about it that it almost sounds like the playset is a bigger deal than remodeling the house. I guess that’s because she and Anthony are designing it together instead of doing one of those prefab things.
“Speaking of kids, I just remembered Emmy wants some things to play dress up with. I’m pretty sure I left a box of stuff Dad bought me over the years at your house. Can I stop by later to grab it?” I ask.
“Of course. You know the code. But Wes is staying there until he finds a place to live so maybe go during the day when he’s out.”
I feel myself go stiff at the mention of his name, but in truth that’s not the only thing that has me riled. I’ve never said anything about Wes to Mom, so it’s more than a little strange that she’s bringing it up.
“What are you talking about?” I force my tone to sound light.
“Sawyer.” She levels me with the kind of stare only moms can give. “You’ve managed to avoid being home at the same time as Wes since the day he moved out. I wish you didn’t feel like you have to, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to force you to see him if you’re not ready.”
“Why would I be avoiding him?” I sip my water so I don’t chew my lip, a nervous tic she’ll spot.
She gives me another knowing stare.
“Our schedules haven’t lined up.” I shrug as I put the glass down.
“For eight years?” She arches an eyebrow.
“I guess hospitals aren’t any more accommodating than football teams,” I say around a bite.
“Is that why you’re holding out for a hospital job? So you can use that to avoid coming around when Wes is there?”
“I’m notusingthe hospital job for anything. I like working there.”
“You’re saying Wes had nothing to do with you staying away all these years?”
“I stayed away because it was nice to be in a place where people knew me, not my famous dad or my famous stepbrother.” Mom flinches. Though true, those words weren’t meant to hurt her, so much as, to deflect her line of questions.
“You didn’t even keep in touch. The two of you were so close.” She tries another angle.
“He chauffeured me everywhere, that doesn’t make us close. He has his life and I have mine. They don’t really intersect.” I take another bite.
“You’re family. Of course they intersect.”
“We’re family by marriage. And it’s not like we have this childhood history between us. We lived in the same house for less than a year. That doesn’t suddenly make us best friends.”
