“What about Corey?” I continue, clinging to the one thing that might make him reconsider. “This isn’t just entertainment to Corey. He’s a suspect formurder.”
Corey puts his palms up. “I need you to stop saying that, Mavis. I’m not a suspect.”
“Ummm, you’re a suspect.”
“I’mnota suspect,” he repeats, looking at me like I’m crazy. “I didn’t do anything, and they know that now.”
“Then why were you doing this?” I twiddle my thumb around my pinkie, in an exaggerated imitation of his nervous tic.
“Because I am a Black man being interviewed by the police. Did you expect me to be calm? But we good now.” He waves his hand as if this was all just a gnat flying by his face, a mild annoyance. Then a smirk appears on his lips—one I know all too well from arguments past. “And if we’re asking questions, I have one. Why are you home? In the middle of the day?”
I roll my eyes at him. Sure, my dad is trying to make Corey the Adnan Syed to his Sara Koenig, but let’s bring this back to me.
“Yeah, why are you home?” Dad asks, raising his microphone again.
“Put the mic away, Dad,” I say through my teeth, but he only lowers it slightly, hoping I don’t notice. I don’t want to do this right now—or, like, ever. But it also seems like I don’t really have a choice. Maybe it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid…
“I took a half day?”
Who am I kidding? I never rip off the Band-Aid. I take those suckers off one stinging millimeter at a time.
Corey purses his lips and tilts his head to the side like,Try again. And I can already see the gears moving behind my dad’s narrowed dark brown eyes. I need to start talking fast before one of them says the Q-word.
“I left early because…well. I’m…taking a sabbatical.”
Yeah, that’s it. A sabbatical. A sabbatical sounds much more mature and grown than quitting without a backup plan when I have a child to support and a quickly dwindling savings account.
“Was this planned?”
None of your business…is what I want to say. But again, mature and grown.
“Not quite, but don’t even worry. I’m looking for something, and I already have a lot of leads. I’m sure I’ll find a place that appreciates me in no time, probably next week.”
I take a deep breath before I meet my dad’s eyes, steadying myself to see the inevitable worry, maybe even disappointment there. But he speaks before I can gather the courage.
“Good.”
“Good?”
I nearly fall over.
He nods confidently. “Yes, good. You’ve been there for almost eight years. You’ve been an exceptional, loyal employee. You deserve to be compensated to reflect that.”
It’s not the response I expected from my hardworking, never-quit-a-job-in-his-life father. It’s…overwhelming. My throat immediately feels scratchy and tight, and I have to blink away pesky tears in the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, Dad. I thought you might be…upset with me.”
“Nah, I trust you, Mavis. You know what’s best for you and Pearl.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I feel my heart squeeze in tandem. If my dad approves…maybe this was the right choice after all. Maybe this will all be okay.
“Now, Corey, I’m not about to make the mistake of getting in between you and Ms. Joyce, but why don’t you stop by after you’re finished and we’ll get down some tape of your initial reaction?”
What isnotgonna be okay, apparently, is this true crime podcast my dad is stubbornly moving full speed ahead on, but that’ll just have to be a battle for another day because, whew! I’m tired.
“Sounds good, Elijah.”
Corey’s too respectful of Dad to disagree, even though I can tell he wants to, and anyway, my dad’s already walking down the hallway, like he didn’t really need confirmation. Before he turns the corner, I hear him mutter to himself, “Bert is about to lose his mind.”
And so am I.
I awkwardly turn back to Corey, expecting him to leave, too, before Ms. Joyce sends up an emergency flare. But he just keeps standing there…not leaving.