Page 7 of Unmade

He snorted softly. “Not when a bossy mother decides to name the firstborn. And no, he’s not around. He’s overseas. And…” He shook his head and scratched his jaw. “Truth be told, kid, my brother’s met with countless applicants here. I sincerely doubt he’d remember.”

Goddammit. But when did the brother return? It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?

“I don’t know why it matters, though,” Bo added. “Since Jacob is deceased, chances are you can find his records at the National Archives. I’d reach out to them if I were you—or the base directory at Fort Benning.”

Aunt Laura had mentioned something similar before we’d parted ways earlier, and I could just imagine the number of forms. I assumed I’d have to prove I was next of kin somehow, and I didn’t know how to do that. I didn’t fucking know anything. What the fuck was the National Archives? Like some big-ass library?

“Okay, thank you,” I replied quietly. I’d have to look elsewhere. I’d bothered Bo Beckett long enough. “Um, one quick thing. Is it difficult to get a job here?” Couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

His forehead wrinkled, and he smiled in confusion. “What kind of job?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I need a second job. I’m currently cleaning offices around DC, and I have experience in retail too.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I’m afraid we’re low on retail jobs at Hillcroft—and we only employ veterans for maintenance and cafeteria gigs.”

“Gotcha.” I’d definitely bothered him for too long now, and I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. I’d received some answers and acquired even more questions. I was such a loser for not knowing anything. Yet, I couldn’t help but open my dumb mouth again. “Out of curiosity, does everyone who works here have a military background?”

“There’s an exception to every rule, but yeah, pretty much,” he said, standing up. So I did the same. I was done here. “Our youngest operators these days are twenty-four, twenty-five… Thereabouts.”

I nodded once. “Okay. Um, thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

“No problem. I hope you find your dad’s family.”

Yeah, me too.

* * *

May 22nd, 2018

“Thank you for coming in, Leighton. We’ll get back to you.”

“This looks good. If we decide to go forward with your application, you’ll hear from us in the next couple of weeks.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have enough experience…”

“We will email you in a few days.”

“We’ll call you.”

I chewed on my lip as I checked my email.

What was I doing wrong? I’d been to fourteen interviews in the past couple of weeks, and I’d sent my résumé to over sixty places, from restaurants and coffee shops to clothing stores and businesses like Target, IKEA, and Costco. I lacked experience in the restaurant world, but I had to get started somehow, right? I’d held jobs in some capacity since I was sixteen, and I had good references. Mostly, I’d worked at cleaning services for office buildings; Druncle Billy’s wife had gotten my foot in the door before she’d wised up and left him. Now she lived in Tulsa, of all places, and my uncle was probably sitting on a park bench somewhere.

The bus slowed down again, and I pocketed my phone.

New day, new companies to visit. I had four hours to kill before work, so I was gonna drop off more physical résumés all over. I’d noticed I was more likely to get an interview at smaller businesses by showing up rather than emailing them.

I stepped off the bus outside a gas station in an area where I hadn’t looked for jobs yet. I had a friend from middle school who lived in Lyon Park, but I hadn’t talked to him in months. He was heading off to college soon anyway.

At some point, I should reconnect with the few friends I had. Life was lonely as it was now. But how was I supposed to have the energy for a social life? My 200-square-foot shoebox of an apartment was thirteen hundred a month, which was fucking cheap for NoVa, but it didn’t matter if I barely had the money to pay for everything. There wasn’t a Metro station anywhere nearby, taking the bus was much slower, and my commute was longer now.

Being a grown-up fucking sucked. I woke up with a rock in my stomach, and I worked my ass off to afford to exist. Rent, utilities, my phone, public transit, internet, food… I had insurance for now, but I knew what my mom had paid. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be able to renew it in seven months.

I went into a few restaurants, two of which had signs in the window that they were hiring, and I left them my information. I made a note in my phone, too, to look up the gas stations. Maybe they needed people.

It’d be nice to work at a place that served food. The staff got free lunch, right? Or was that taken from the paycheck?

I needed to fix up my old bike too. The less I had to take the bus or Metro, the better. I’d always need public transit for when I worked across the river, but if my second job was in Arlington, I’d use my bike.

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