TWO WEEKS TO FOREVER

CHAPTER TWO:Thirt-Nine Rejections

I couldn't sleep all through the night, I thought about what I would do and how. There's only one thing — leave this environment. There's obviously nothing left here for me to do. I’d done everything, worked in almost every street, the pay hadn't been worth it. But to leave here would mean me leaving Priscilla behind, at least for a while….. Then maybe I'd come back for her after I had found a job and gotten a little apartment for both of us.

It was about 3:30a.m when I woke Priscilla up.

“Pris Dear…” I called softly.

She woke up almost immediately, stretching and rubbing her face with the back of her hand.

“Pris., please sit up, we need to talk for a bit. I promise it won't take long, so you can go back to sleep. But I need to say this to you now.”

Her eyes became wide awake, she could tell it was something serious.

“Pris Dear, this breaks my heart so much, but it's our only way out. I would need to go to the city in search of a job, a more promising job so that we can live a little better and maybe if I'm lucky enough, you might even get the treatment you need.” I had told her, with my voice muffled with tears I was trying hard to conceal.

“You’re going away from here?” Her brows furrowed, eyes wide awake.

“……what about me? I'm going with you, right? You aren't leaving me behind, right? I don't want to stay here while you're gone. I'm so scared of mummy…. I don't want you to leave me, please. Okay, I promise I'll be well. I promise I won't have any attacks anymore, so you won't have to worry too much about me. I promise I'll be a good girl. Please don't go….” At this point, tears were streaming down her face effortlessly as she started promising the world. I hate to do this to her, I hate to see her cry. But, promises do nothing now. We’re in a situation where I can't just sit back doing nothing anymore.

“Pris, do you trust me?” I asked her, as I tried to calm her down.

She nodded amidst sobs.

“I will definitely come back for you. I promise. I don't know what the city holds for me yet, I can't just go around with you without plans right now. It would be way easier going alone. But I promise I'll come back for you.” I tried to sound reassuring.

She had begun weeping profusely. But she understood every word I had said. She just hugged me.

“Just be a good girl, okay?”

“Zara….I love you….” her voice cracked.

My heart shattered into uncountable pieces. Priscilla had told me several times that she loved me… but this… this. I hugged her so close to my heart, I felt like I was her biological mother, like I gave birth to her myself.

We fell asleep in each other's arms.

First thing at dawn. I was on my way to find greener pastures. I spoke to our neighbor, Mrs. Dube, to help watch over Priscilla. She never had a child of her own, hence, she's been so kind to us but wary of our mother. I had explained things to her and promised to always call her and send money for Priscilla’s upkeep.

Our mother didn't come home last night, so there was no way to discuss things with her. Plus, she wouldn't even care. She hardly came home anyway. She was better off without us.

By noon, I had hit fifteen job applications. And by 2 p.m, I'd been rejected by a coffee shop, two restaurants, a dry cleaner, and a bookstore. I was ready to work for minimum wage, I was that desperate. But they only laughed at me. I guess, even desperation has standards.

The sixteenth place is a bar called Henley's, tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat. It looked like the perfect place that I could fit in. I was so hopeful.

I met the manager, a man in his mid-fifties, in a stained apron who looked like he'd seen a lot of people like me … didn't even let me finish my talking.

"Sorry, sweetheart. We don't have any openings right now. Maybe try back in a few weeks?"

We both know I won't.

"Thank you for your time," I said, because my mother taught me exactly one useful thing: how to stay polite when you want to scream.

I walked out into the afternoon sun and felt the gross weight of failure settle over my shoulders like a coat. It felt heavy and suffocating. But it was mine. My failure. I could even smell it.

Twenty-three rejections yesterday. Sixteen today.

Thirty-nine ways of being told that I'm not good enough.

I leaned against the brick wall outside Henley's, trying to remember to breathe again because it felt like I had been holding my breath, when someone touched my arm.

I jumped. I was lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," it was a woman's voice, "I didn't mean to startle you."

I looked up, and I was face-to-face with someone who looked like she had walked right out of a magazine. Mid-thirties, effortlessly elegant in a navy blue dress that probably costs more than my rent.

"I'm Sandra Lewis." She extended a hand, smiling warmly.

I took it, but I could feel even my handshake was weak. "Zara Simon." I managed to say.

"I know this is going to sound strange," Sandra said, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to look away, "but I couldn't help but notice you in the bar just now, speaking to the manager for a vacant position." She paused. "You look like someone who needs a miracle."

I laughed. “Is it that obvious?"

"I recognize desperation. I've been there." Her smile turned rueful. "Listen, I work for McCoy Group. I'm a personal secretary, or I was. I just resigned, but I need to find a replacement before I can actually leave. So, I also need a miracle."

My heart shook in its rib cage.

"I'll take it," I said before I could stop myself. "Whatever it is. I'll take it."

Sandra's smile faltered. "You didn't let me finish."

"It’s a job right? I need a job. Any job. I don't care." I'm not too proud to beg. I gave up pride somewhere around rejection number fifteen.

"You should care." Sandra's voice goes serious. "The pay is $120,000 a year."

Now, I felt like there was an earthquake inside my body… because every fibre of my insides shook.

$120,000.

That's... I can't even process that number. That's Priscilla's surgery. That's an apartment that doesn't have water stains on the walls. That's food that isn't ramen and reused tea bags. That's a lot of solutions.

"What's the catch?" Because there's always a catch. Nothing good comes without a price.

"Nicholas McCoy," Sandra says simply. "He's the CEO. Brilliant, driven, absolutely impossible to work for. I lasted six months, which is apparently a record. Most secretaries quit within two weeks. One lasted three days."

"Why?" Now, I care.

Sandra chose her words carefully. "He's not cruel in the traditional sense. He doesn't yell. He doesn't throw things. But he's cold in a way that gets under your skin. He expects perfection because anything less is failure, and he doesn't tolerate failure. He works eighteen-hour days and expects you to match him. He'll literally fire you for breathing too loud."

I thought about my mother. About the years of verbal warfare. About how I had learned to take hits and keep standing.

"I've survived worse," I said quietly.

Something shifted in Sandra's expression. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. I'm not sure which is worse.

"Come on," she said. "Let's see if Nicholas is willing to interview you. Disclaimer; he's going to be an asshole about it.”