Page 61 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Your application?

Nervously, I handed Mr. Barton my application. When he didn’t merely glance over it as the receptionist had before handing it back, I felt hopeful. He actually read over what was on the forms, giving consideration to what I had to offer. However, when his eyes lifted from the paper and he held it out to me, my stomach sank.

Very impressive. You’re absolutely qualified. If you want to come back when you have your citizenship, I’d be glad to consider you then, Enzo.

I didn’t take the application from his hand. Instead, I swallowed hard, forcing myself to suppress my feelings; my pride.

Please, I’d said. Any job.

He started to speak.

I need a purpose. Please.

The receptionist coughed and I suddenly felt as though I might actually cry in front of them. I’d made an absolute fool of myself. With all of the pride I could muster, I reached out to take the application from Mr. Barton. When he pulled it away from me, I was concerned that, perhaps, he was keeping it so he could give my name to the authorities. However, he turned to the receptionist and held it out to her instead.

Forward that to Harry. By lunchtime, please, Belinda.

The receptionist shrugged and took my application from him and I had to wonder if “Harry” was the security guard they were going to call to throw me out on the sidewalk. As soon as the receptionist set about her task, Mr. Barton motioned for me to follow him. With nothing better to do, I followed him to a corner of the expansive lobby. I could have run, seen myself out before they got someone else to do it, but I was desperate. So, I did as he requested.

In the corner of the lobby, between two potted Ficus trees, Mr. Barton turned to me.

It won’t be much, he said, but do you have anything against custodial work?

I exhaled heavily, afraid that I’d burst into tears. This man was going to offer me a job.

No. No. Not at all. Anything. I’ll do any job. I’ve done custodial work before.

Mr. Barton smiled warmly at me, and I realized that I liked this man immediately.

I saw that on your application. Well, if you’d like, I’ll see that the supervisor—Harry Martin—reaches out to you tomorrow. You can probably start on Monday, Enzo.

My stomach was flipping, but no longer from nerves.

When you get your citizenship, I’m sure there will be something open in interpretation or translation services. Sound good?

Yes. Absolutely. Thank you, Mr. Barton.

He held out his hand and I immediately took it, shaking it a little more excitedly than was necessary. Mr. Barton merely chuckled at my exuberance. He patted my shoulder and indicated that he needed to return to his office.

Make sure to be ready for Harry’s call, Enzo. Mr. Barton reminded me as he walked away.

I will!

I’ll see you on Monday.

I’ll be here!

The receptionist wasn’t any friendlier to me as I left, even though Mr. Barton had offered me a job, but she wasn’t any ruder. She merely let me go about my business. When I started work the following Monday, I’d find out that Mr. Barton was the CEO of Source Language, Inc., and my arguing with the receptionist had disrupted the phone call he had been on. He’d merely come out to the lobby to see who had given his receptionist such a hard time.

He found me. And instead of kicking me out for my disruption, he’d given me a job.

Mr. Barton would quickly become one of my favorite people in America.

Since there was a whole day left before Peter would return home from work, I took the bus to the stop closest to La Croûte and bought macarons. Then I went to the grocery store and picked up a few items for dinner. A special meal with a delicious dessert was in order to celebrate my day. So, when Peter came home—I’d received a call from Harry and been given specifics of what to expect with my new job—I’d made cassoulet, modified to work with the ingredients I could find that were comparable to traditional ingredients.

Over the decadent bean stew that I’d packed with chicken thighs, local Minnesota sausages, and cubed pork belly, I told Peter my good news. At first, he was excited at my having found a job. When I told him what the job entailed, he seemed to deflate. Custodian work. I knew it wasn’t a job that someone with a university degree should have been excited about, but I was elated. Peter’s poorly disguised disappointment did nothing to ruin my mood, though it made me cross with him briefly.

However, as we dug into the box of Earl Grey and blackberry macarons I’d purchased from La Croûte, his mood improved. He began to see the bright side of my having secured employment. My obvious excitement and happiness made him happy and excited for me. So, I was no longer cross with him for his slight. Besides, I knew he was only disappointed that I’d had to take any job offered due to my circumstances. My value and worth were being exploited. That was true.