Page 37 of Ella Gets the D
Rose considers me with a knowing smile. “Are you ready for the tour?”
“Sounds great.”
“Okay, we can do this.”
Bywe, I mean me and my self-esteem—the latter of which threw up a peace sign and made a beeline for the door weeks ago. She has yet to return.
Five applications submitted.
Four rejections.
One left on read.
I’m one rejection away from hiring a fortune-teller or a miracle worker to sprinkle good vibes on these job boards. There’s always the recruiter route, but the gaps in my employment history are as wide as DC potholes. I don’t want anyone laughing in my face or frowning with pity.
Staying home to raise my children was a privilege I don’t take for granted, an experience I wouldn’t change for the world. Watching them grow from babies and putting my early childhood development background to use allowed me to lean into my love of motherhood and my passion to cultivate the next generation.
The empty sections on my résumé don’t encompass the blood, sweat, and tears it took to make my house a home. I was the COO of our residence—the event planner, personal shopper, scheduler, housekeeper, driver, and tutor. I would add chef to the list, but nuggets, eggs, and sandwiches are the extent of my culinary expertise.
I shift on the barstool at the counter and refill my wine. The house is quiet, the kids asleep and the kitchen wiped down for the night.
Rose assured me I don’t need to stress. She admitted that she watched my interactions with the kids, prompting her to speak about Haile matriculating at Bright Spot—and the possibility of me becoming the new assistant director.
“She drank one too many juice boxes.” I giggle into my wine, still in disbelief.
Tomorrow, I return for an interview. Haile will try out a preschool class, which gets zero objections from me.
The résumé on my laptop stares back at me, a reminder to stop slacking off and fill in the gaps. Tomorrow’s interview isn’t a guarantee, but it is a chance at a fresh start.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter 15
Ella
“What?!”
Morgan’s shout is loud enough to carry through her open office door, down the hall, and to the ground floor of the building, where Ms. Maritza is putting the finishing touches on her lunch menu for Suegra’s. It’s a Panamanian restaurant she opened two months ago, and people have come from near and far to taste herbistec picado, fried fish with rice, andsancochoof the day.
Her patrons aren’t here to listen to my best friend yell like she doesn’t work for a prestigious law firm paying her to use her inside voice. I’m just as surprised as she is that the tour at Bright Spot Academy turned into a job interview, but you don’t see me hollering, do you?
For someone so composed, she’s at a twelve today.
“Want to scream it from the roof? I don’t think your dad and colleagues heard you.”
“Why the shouting, pumpkin?”
I stand corrected.
Langston Brooke absorbs the doorway with his tall frame in a tailored navy suit. His dark eyes acknowledge my presence in one of the button-tuft office chairs before scanning the room for the threats that caused his daughter to squeal so loud on a Tuesday afternoon. His features soften after a beat, the edges of his wide lips spreading his salt and pepper goatee at his oldest child, who shares his almond-shaped eyes and hydrated skin.
Morgan flicks her hair over her shoulder like her outburst is a daily occurrence. The specs of glitter in her black eyeshadow are no match for the sparkle in her eyes. “Haile’s new daycare offered Ella a job on the spot. You’re looking at the new assistant director of Bright Spot Academy!”
“Technically, I interviewed for the position today,” I add for clarity. “No job offer yet.”
I felt seen speaking to Rose during our hour-long conversation. I didn’t realize how much I missed being in the childcare space until we discussed planning, programming, and aspirations to make Bright Spot the best for families and staff. It’s clear that Rose pours her heart into the center. There’s a magic there I’d love to be part of, and I’m crossing my fingers and toes everything works out.
A father’s pride reflects in Langston’s gaze. My dad died when I was five, in a car accident after a long shift at the factory. But I imagine his smile would mirror the man who’s become an unexpected stand-in, one I inherited after Morgan and I became friends. He calls me on Mother’s Day and sends gifts on my kids’ birthdays. I might not share his last name, but that doesn’t stop him from calling me his second daughter.
