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“What health issue does your mother have if I may ask?” It’s polite enough, but he asks it void of any emotion, which catches me off guard more than anything else.
It takes me a while to react to the question, but when I do, I reply solemnly, “Stage four breast cancer.”
“Oh,” he leans back in his chair, and for the first time, I catch some emotion in his expression. “Is she in hospice care?”
I manage a small smile, “She’s going through her last row of chemo. Then she will come home. My aunt and my sister help me take care of her.”
Mr. Bardin — I know his name is Logan, but I can’t possibly think of him on first name terms — nods his head. He appears to soften the tiniest bit, which melts my heart and makes my smile deepen. He looks much more handsome when he’s not angry.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies solemnly.
“Thank you, Mr. Bardin,” I reply.
All the while, I have the biggest smile on my face. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes again. And I can’t help but giggle because I’m so nervous, all the while trying to take deep breaths to calm down.
“Everything okay?” he asks, looking weirded out and worried.
“Apologies,” I say, a hand over my mouth as I finish my fit. “I’m just nervous.”
I expect a lecture, but in the end, all I get is a shrug. “You don’t have to be. You got the job.”
“What?” I ask with wide puppy eyes turned to him.
He smiles, a tiny, brief smile, but a smile, nonetheless. It illuminates his face so brightly I could easily be drawn to it like a moth to fire.
“I trust my sister. She wouldn’t send me someone incompetent to take care of her niece,” he says. “Can you start today? I already have plenty of tasks for you.”
I watch as he takes some notes and stands, walking around the desk towards me. I stand too, forcing myself not to jump up and down with excitement. He hands me a slip of paper and I read it, my eyes quickly scrolling over his writing — his phone number, the route to a dentist office downtown and a fancy address inside a gated community calledThe Lake Villas.
“Do you know where Notre Dame Academy is?” he asks, still holding onto the paper.
“One of the best private schools in town, of course,” I say. “Is it where your daughter goes to kindergarten?”
“Of course,” he’s clearly mocking me, but I find it adorable. “She has a dentist’s appointment at eleven. You need to pick her up at school, stay with her at the dentist office, then take her home. Then you can just put her to bed for a nap. Do you understand?”
He says it slowly as if I’m hard of hearing, and my immediate reaction is to giggle again, but I hold back.
“Of course,” I tease.
“I know you said you have a car, but I can get you one if you need it,” He looks at me enquiringly.
“Oh, no, I have my own!” It’s likely that my humble 15-year-old Volvo will get curious stares over in his fancy neighborhood, but it’s very functional otherwise. Plus, I pride myself on being independent.
He nods. “Well, you can go.”
Without thinking, I leap out of the chair and give him a huge, tight hug. His arms stay down by his sides, but it doesn’t curb my enthusiasm.
Afterwards, he looks at me with confusion, trying to understand what just happened.
“Thank you,” I say, my smile not dimming despite his reaction.
“Let’s not make this a habit, shall we?” Mr. Bardin says, shaking his head. “I’ll call the school to tell them you are going to pick up my daughter. You’ll just need to show your driver’s license and sign that you are picking her up. My daughter’s name is Anna.”
“Okay, Mr. Bardin.”
I leave without being told, feeling a slight pang of remorse that I got the job so easily, while all these other candidates didn’t even get an interview with him.
I leave the building, twelve floors just for a real estate agency, and skip to my car. I’m glowing with excitement, knowing that I’m now employed by one of the wealthiest men in New York.
