by Joy Penny
“Mrs. Tanaka likes us to start in the kitchen,” said Brielle, feeling like an instructor. Maybe she should look into teaching after all. A few more days of fruitless job searching and she would probably burst. Part of her felt like going back to school for some expensive and probably useless graduate degree just so she could spend a few more years cowering beneath her blankets, and another part of her didn’t think working as a cleaner for the rest of her life would be so bad. It had been comforting, the routine, in the two weeks since she’d last seen Archer. If only her mom would let her stay on without sitting her down for another lecture at least once a week.
Nora stopped cold in the kitchen entryway. “It’s spotless in here.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Tanaka, sliding past to get to the cupboard where she kept cans of her cats’ food. “I cleaned it this morning before you girls came.”
Staring after Mrs. Tanaka, Nora raised an eyebrow. “Then should we move on—”
Brielle shook her head vigorously and shot her a look. “You make our jobs easier, Mrs. Tanaka.”
“Best to be extra thorough.” She popped one can open and plopped its contents into a cute paw-print-adorned porcelain bowl and scraped it out thoroughly before disappearing down the hallway toward her recycling bin with the empty can in tow.
“Why are we cleaning if it’s already been cleaned?” hissed Nora.
Brielle made a throat-slashing movement, trying to end the conversation. “Later,” she said, taking the bucket from her and removing a folded cloth from it. “Since Mrs. Tanaka has quartz counters, we need to make sure we never use abrasive materials or cleaners to wipe them.”
Nora opened her mouth, but Brielle lifted a finger and she snapped it shut again. Grabbing the cloth, she turned on her heel.
“Brielle?” called Mrs. Tanaka from the hallway. “Might I have a moment?”
Brielle rattled off some instructions to her sister, who simply widened her eyes and nodded, and headed off toward their client, wiping her hands on her apron. Mrs. Tanaka was sorting through her mail. “How’s your job hunt going?”
A twitch tugged on the corner of Brielle’s lips. “It’s… Well, it’s not really… going anywhere. I got a few more rejections from jobs I applied to weeks ago, but…” She lowered her voice so Nora couldn’t overhear and use it to deflect an argument with their mom. “I haven’t applied for much for the past two weeks.”
Mrs. Tanaka raised her eyebrows, even though she kept staring at a catalog. “Two weeks? Leah surely wouldn’t like that.”
Mrs. Tanaka and her mom were on a first-name basis. “She doesn’t know.”
Clicking her tongue, Mrs. Tanaka put the stack of mail on a table in the hallway and grabbed for her letter opener. “If I had children and I was really so determined they not work for my own business, I’d be checking to make sure they were applying every day.”
Brielle decided not to comment on the fact that children applying for jobs would hardly be at the age where peering over their shoulder at the computer would be appropriate. “I should get back to applying more often.” She ran a hand over the inside of her arm. “I will. I just… got distracted.”
“Got lazy, my mother would have said.”
After a few weeks of them falling into a sort of alliance when she’d gotten back into the work this summer, Brielle had almost forgotten how she used to find Mrs. Tanaka distasteful. But she had a point. And maybe the old her, the pre-graduation her, would have bristled like Nora would have in her position, but she had to admit she was right. “I guess I just got overwhelmed. And comfortable in my day-to-day routine.”
Tossing aside an empty envelope, Mrs. Tanaka pulled her reading glasses from their resting place atop her head. “I take it you didn’t take my advice to jump into the dating scene.”
Brielle grimaced. “I think I might have briefly, but that didn’t turn out well.”
“Why not?” Mrs. Tanaka’s eyes never left her letter.
“Well, I shouldn’t have dated him to begin with, right? Not until I knew where I was headed.”
“And what if you wind up staying right here for months or even years to come? What then? Would you regret not having dated him longer?”
“I don’t think my mom would be happy about that.” Brielle felt like she was being mined for details for the woman’s next session of town gossip. “And besides, I think I already kind of messed up.”
“Nonsense. Nothing an apology won’t fix.” She shifted her glasses back to the top of her head and handed Brielle the letter.
Brielle stared at her a moment, taking the mail from her cautiously, figuring she was just being asked to add it to the pile of mail and straighten it.
“Read it!” Mrs. Tanaka sighed, exasperated. “You know, I got a job right out of high school. I never went to college. Then I married Tomokazu and quit to stay home and he got transferred to America after a few years of marriage…”
Brielle wasn’t sure if she was supposed to read the letter or pay attention to the woman’s story just then. The way Mrs. Tanaka’s voice got choked up toward the end, Brielle felt compelled to listen.
“Tomokazu was a good provider.” She nodded, as if approving of the house around them. “I really didn’t even need to work. Especially since we had no children. But I loved staying busy. Being with people. I didn’t care if it was not a good job.”
Unsure where she was going with this, Brielle nodded and forced a smile on her face. Perhaps she was about to be told to stay a cleaner forever again—not that she would even care about that as much as her mom might. Even so, with the clock ticking on her first payment due for her student loans… She glanced over the letter. It was from the historical museum downtown.
“I worked at the museum downtown for years,” said Mrs. Tanaka. “Decades really. Just as a cashier and a greeter. It might not have exactly been the type of job one could bank on for retirement, but I was lucky—I snagged that rich husband.” She winked at me.
The letter, addressed to “Emiko,” said it was wonderful to hear from her and that the letter-writer was glad to know she had met a young woman interested in museum work. He couldn’t promise a position at the moment, but he had an opening for a Museum Assistant in Collections. If the “young woman” was interested, he’d be willing to interview her first before he advertised. Brielle gasped.
“I know it’s not a fancy city,” said Mrs. Tanaka, “but whether you use it for more experience and connections or you wind up loving the work so much, you stay here for decades to come, what’s important is that you decide. And that you don’t let that mother of yours devalue her own career by insisting you get a ‘better’ one.”
“Thank you!” shouted Brielle, screaming and jumping in place. “Yes! Yes, I’d definitely be interested in an interview.”
“Good,” said Mrs. Tanaka. She sniffed. “Because I got a little impatient about waiting for the postman to bring my response, so I went ahead and called Jim and I already said you’d be interested…” She laughed. “I was going to feign you got another job offer if you refused me.”
“No, I wouldn’t…” She stared down at the letter, shaking her head. “This is the closest I’ve gotten to a job offer in a field I’m interested in. Or a job offer at all, really.”
“I’d say it’s more than an offer. I acted as your reference, and so long as you show up wearing clothes and smiling, I’m pretty sure you got the job.”
Brielle screamed again and hugged Mrs. Tanaka once more as a thunderous sound echoed in the hallway and both of her cats ran past and up the stairs.
Clomping her feet into the hallway, Nora folded her arms, the cleaning cloth still in her hands. “Okay, seriously? You have to tell me why you keep screaming. You scared the kitties.”
“I think I got your sister a museum job.”
Brielle grinned and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. She didn’t even care that Nora scoffed as she did. “Thank you!”
“Awesome,” said Nora.
“So you’re moving out and I get to take over all your shifts. Is that hot disabled guy still your client?”
“No, remember?” said Brielle, stepping back and smoothing her apron. “And his name is Archer. Besides, it’s the museum downtown. I don’t know if I need to move out.”
“Oh, Mom will love that.” Nora examined her nails. “She thinks as long as you still live with us, she can’t downsize.”
Brielle frowned. How did Nora know their mom intended to sell the house, but not Brielle? Maybe her mom didn’t want to put added pressure on her. But is that why she cared so much about her finding a job?
“About that,” said Mrs. Tanaka, grabbing for her purse on the hallway table. “I may have told you about my cousin’s daughter, who moved here last year? She got a job at the same company Tomokazu worked at.”
Brielle didn’t remember this cousin or her daughter at all, or even know why Mrs. Tanaka would expect her to catalog her obscure relations, but she supposed she’d probably told her about it last summer, when Brielle’s mind had wandered whenever she’d had to deal with her. She was on such a high from the maybe-probably job offer, though, that she just grinned and nodded.
“Well, she had a roommate until last month, when the woman just up and left without much notice.” She flicked at her phone screen. “She was charging her roommate dirt cheap rent, so I don’t know how the girl could be so ungrateful if you ask me. It was about a boy, I’m sure.” She shook her head. “It’s a two-bedroom, second-floor condo my cousin and her husband outright bought for her. She just wants three hundred dollars a month from a roommate to help with taxes and utilities.”
Nora glowered. “Her parents bought her a condo? And she still wants a roommate?”
Mrs. Tanaka nodded. “Her mother doesn’t feel comfortable with her living halfway across the world alone. I offered a room in my house, but the girl refused. Something about my cats.”
Nora chortled. “Three hundred? I’ll move in with her if Brielle won’t.”
“No you won’t,” said Brielle, gripping the letter tighter in her hands. She had no idea what this job would pay yet and how many hours she’d work, but she’d be crazy to pass up rent for only three hundred dollars. It probably wouldn’t be much longer before her mom expected her to chip in just as much—or even more. And she was tired of walking on eggshells around her about the whole thing. She wanted this. Unless it was in a bad neighborhood or something. “Where is the condo?”
Mrs. Tanaka turned her phone around so Brielle could read the screen. It was a Google map showing an address. “It’s not that far.”
Brielle laughed. She stared at it and laughed again.
“What’s so funny?” asked Nora, stuffing the cloth into her apron pocket and peering over her shoulder.
“Mrs. Tanaka might just be my guardian angel,” said Brielle.
Nora looked confused but shrugged and tapped the Scrubbing Cherub art on the back of Brielle’s T-shirt. “I think you mean ‘guardian cherub.’”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Did you draw this?” Mrs. Ward stood back to gaze up at the canvas Brielle had hung about a month before. The other one stood stuffed between two of his cabinets, out of sight but rarely out of mind.
This was actually the first time his mother had been to his condo in weeks, so he couldn’t have asked her to hang the other canvas if he’d wanted to. But Pauline came on an almost daily basis, and his dad had stopped by for lessons. He just couldn’t bear anyone else hanging it.
“No, Mother, I did not draw Dick Tracy.”
“Is that was this is?” All Mrs. Ward was missing was the monocle. She squinted and finally tore her eyes away. “I don’t know why you’d hang something so garish if it wasn’t one of your comic drawings.”
“Thanks, Mother.” Archer rapped his knuckles on his armrest. Silence lingered conspicuously in the air, but it was interrupted by the occasional thump from his upstairs neighbor’s condo.
“Why don’t you have any of your art in here? I bet you could have it printed and hung on canvas.”
The suggestion brought to mind Brielle, and it stung. Archer’s reply was more biting than even his mother deserved. “Because you decorated it, so of course you only hung your art.”
She looked as if he’d slapped her. “I thought you liked these pieces,” she said, her lip quivering. “You said you got your love of art from me.” She slipped past him to grab for her painting of a vase of flowers and fruit. “I can take them back. Or just throw them out…” She choked on her words.
Archer cradled his forehead. “Mother, no, don’t. Please. I’m sorry.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry, I mean it. I do like your art.”
“Could have fooled me.” She crossed her arms and stared upward.
“Thank you… For giving me space these past few weeks.”
“Well, your father insisted.” She dug into her purse for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “All of a sudden, teaching you to drive was worth skipping all of our dinners for weeks. But heaven forbid I visit you even once a week.”
The hallway toilet flushed at just the right moment, giving Archer time to think over his response. “You could have come once a week,” he said. “I just didn’t like… that we made an appointment of it. Besides, Dad and I haven’t spent much time together in years.”
“What about your old man?” said Mr. Ward as he joined them from the hallway. “He’s getting on in years?” He wrapped an arm around Mrs. Ward and pecked her on the cheek.
She blushed, the hurt and anxiety that so often colored her face around Archer dissolving. “And handsomer with each passing one.”
Archer almost missed seeing them together. He saw another side of his mother she so rarely showed him. It was like just thinking about her son turned her into a ball of nerves, and his dad was the only known antidote.
“Okay now,” said his dad, “none of this arguing you two always wind up doing.”
“We don’t argue—” started Mrs. Ward.
“Sure,” said his dad, sticking his hand into his pocket. “But today is about celebration. Today we celebrate Archer earning his driver’s license!” He tilted his head down at his son, beaming.
A little more than a month ago, Archer hadn’t been certain his dad could ever be proud of him for anything. But it seemed like all that had been holding him back was a way to relate.
“I need a drink just thinking about it,” said Mrs. Ward, pulling away.
Mr. Ward grabbed her by the arm. “Uh-uh. This is a good thing, and we’ll limit our drinking to when we toast him tonight.” He winked. “Though none for you, son. You’re the designated driver.”
The doorbell rang. “That must be Pauline,” said Archer, still grinning from his dad’s dumb joke, even if he was wincing at the idea that maybe, yes, his mother drank too much. “I’ll get it.” He wheeled down the hallway and opened up the door.
“Hi,” said Brielle, her fingers threaded together.
Too late Archer realized the obvious: Pauline had a key. A few days after he’d last seen Brielle, she’d had her mother drop her pair of keys off when she’d closed out the contract. Pauline had dealt with her. Archer had cowered in his bedroom.
That, and only Brielle was polite enough to ring the doorbell. Despite him practically chewing her head off the first time she’d done it.
He realized he hadn’t responded and his jaw was practically on the floor. “Hi.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for what ought to have been a very uncomfortable amount of time if either were cognizant of it.
“Archer, ask Pauline to come in before we go—” Archer’s mother appeared behind him in the hallway and stopped midsentence. She played with a bracelet on one of her wrists, adjusting it farther up her forearm. “Oh. Brianna? You didn’t tell me you invited her.”
“Brielle,” said Archer and Brielle at the same time. Brielle looked as if she were hiding a grin when their eyes met again.
Cle
aring her throat, Brielle seemed to take in their attire. “Oh. Sorry. Is this a bad time? Are you going somewhere?” They were dressed admittedly on the fancy end of things. His mother didn’t like to celebrate at the Olive Garden when they could indulge in a local high-end bistro. Suddenly feeling choked and embarrassed, Archer tugged at the bottom of his navy tie, folding it over his lap time and again.
Mrs. Ward pulled her phone out of her little clutch purse and glanced at the screen. “Yes, we have reservations.”
His dad stepped into the hallway. “And they won’t kill us if we’re late, Geneva.” He put both hands on her shoulders.
“No, but they might give away our table. They’re very hot in demand these days, you know.”
“On a Tuesday night? And considering what I spend there? I don’t think so.” He guided her forward and they squeezed against the wall to get past Archer. He extended a hand to Brielle. “Baldwin.”
Brielle stared at him before realizing she was meant to shake his hand. “Oh! Brielle. Hi. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “At the airport. From afar.” He grinned and smirked down at his son, and there was so much that look conveyed but left unsaid. Archer could feel his face flushing.
“Right. Of course.” Brielle tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
Archer willed his lower half to calm down, especially considering he was sitting like a foot away from his mother.
“Why don’t you join us?” asked his dad.
“I made the reservation for four,” interrupted his mother.
Brielle looked down at her clothes—yoga pants and a skin-tight T-shirt, both a little stained with sweat—and grimaced. “Thanks, but I can’t right now anyway.”
Archer’s dad nodded and looked over her shoulder. A van was pulling in and had to maneuver around a moving truck parked in the middle of the lot to get a good spot. “There’s Pauline now. We’ll go greet her.” He reached into his pocket and tossed a pair of keys at Archer, who caught them despite the lack of warning. Archer felt almost smug about the fact that Brielle had watched him catching them, like he’d just caught a tricky pass in a neck-and-neck basketball game. “Congrats again, son.”
