Page 89 of The End of Summer

A lady with her hair up in a bun and glasses asks me the next set of questions, beginning with where I see myself in five years.

Married,I say, surprising myself, but warming inside at the fact that it might be true.Working my way up a ladder in a job I can be passionate about.

She asks about my greatest strength, followed by my greatest weakness. I say that my two biggest strengths are being a hard worker and being extremely loyal, and my biggest weakness is that I sometimes invest too much of myself into my work.

She asks for an example of that.

I tell her that right after the pandemic, I worked for my father, because he needed good help and no one wanted to return to the service industry. I put in 110% of myself, only to learn that working with family is complicated. I struggled to delineate between personal and professional there, which is why I ultimately left, I say.

She thanks me for my honesty, scrolls down the resume she’s got up on an iPad in front of her, and asks me when that was.

End of May, I confirm.

She asks what I’ve been doing since then. Side hustle jobs, I tell her. Anything to keep afloat while looking for the next big thing, which, I speculate, might be this interview right now.

She smiles.

A different man takes over. He asks about how I heard about the position (found it online), why I want to work at Gildersleeve (seems like a fast-paced environment with top-notch professionals looking to make a real difference for the clients they serve), and what my timeline for moving to the city will be if I get the job.

Record scratch.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“I asked you what your relocation plans look like,” he clarifies. “Because the position comes with an allocation for that.”

I clear my throat. “I was under the impression that the position was remote,” I say calmly.

“Hybrid,” he clarifies. “Three days in, two days from home. We believe in balance here at Gildersleeve.”

“Does it matter which days, from a scheduling standpoint?”

“Not unless we have meetings like this. Otherwise, most of us opt for Mondays and Fridays from home.”

My mind races. The Acela train brings commuters to and from Boston, New York City, DC, etc. regularly. People do this. They make this type of thing work all the time. I nod at the table. “That sounds good.”

“Were you not expecting to move closer to the city?”

I think on my feet. “I’m open to anything. I’ve been interviewing in Boston and DC, too. So, I haven’t made any concrete plans, because that would be putting the cart before the horse.” They chuckle.

The rest of the interview goes well, but my chest feels like there’s something lodged in it. My phone vibrates in my pocket on two separate occasions, and I’m sure that at least one of those calls belongs to Gretchen.

We wrap it up, and I thank the interview team for taking the time to meet with me. Stellaris says they’ll be in touch very soon. Sounds like potentially good news. He walks me out, shakes my hand, and tells me I did great in there.

In the elevator on the way back down to the lobby, I check my phone. First up is a text from Gretchen.I got called for an interview by Eastport, babe! It’s for an after-school counselor position, working with grades 1-3. I’m so excited! Hope your day is going great! Xoxo!

There’s also a text from my mom.Still on for dinner tonight? I got a room with two queen beds in case you want to stay the night.

I reply to my mother first:Yes, can’t wait to see you! I’ll let you know about an overnight. Let me see how traffic is. I’ll keep you posted on my travels.

Then to Gretchen:So exciting! Can’t wait to hear all about it. Call you in a bit.

But I can’t shake the feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Before I head back to the car, I stop into a kitschy souvenir shop and buy Gretchen anI ♥ NYt-shirt. I grab myself a bagel with cream cheese for lunch and eat it on a stool overlooking fast-paced Lexington Avenue. Even at lunchtime, the city is fueled by an energy I’m not sure if I could ever match. It’s thrilling, but I feel like my blood pressure has been through the roof ever since my arrival.

I muster up the courage to drive my car out of there, and by the time I’ve left the Bronx and am driving up I-95 into Connecticut, I can finally feel my shoulders begin to drop. I talk to Gretchen on the phone, and she shares all the exciting details of the interview she’s got lined up next week. She asks me how my interview went, and I keep it vague, but let her know I have a good feeling, and that I’m just nervous about it. I ask about her dad; how did it go when she told him about my “switch” over to Mulligan’s? It went fine, she assures me. All is good again. She asks if I’m coming home tonight or planning to hang with my mom. I tell her I’m not sure.

“You should stay, Brady. She probably really misses you. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

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