Page 2 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“Jessica Torres, please,” said a musical female voice.
“Speaking.”
“This is Amelia Crowley in Santa Barbara. My partners and I met, and we’d love to offer you an associate attorney position at our firm, starting immediately. Are you interested?”
Was I interested in getting out of L.A.?
More than she knew.
I’d interviewed at Slausen Crowley last week, and I’d thought that being hired was unlikely. I mean, working in Santa Barbara for my ideal firm and a choice client? That didn’t happen to me.
For the past year while I’d finished up law school, I’d worked as a paralegal at a sole practitioner’s office doing family law. Once I passed the bar, I’d been promoted to attorney. But I didn’t like family law, because I saw too much drama, too many dysfunctional families.
Too close to my reality.
I had to leave my job, though, because the attorney I worked for was retiring and closing his firm. I didn’t have the money to buy his practice, and I didn’t want to. I’d found the firm’s ad on Craigslist and thought that the position sounded ideal. It was the kind of public advocacy work that I went to law school to do, with a well-established client base of progressive companies.
I chatted with her about the amazing salary, trying to keep my cool, but inwardly dancing.
Actually, I was outwardly dancing too, shaking my butt as I held my cell phone to my ear in the parking lot adjacent to the busy L.A. street. But then I remembered myself and stopped. No one wanted to see the fat girl dance.
I wanted to work there badly, and hearing from them so quickly warmed me. My pulse raced, my arms prickled, and my stomach fluttered.
A chance to get out of here. A chance to leave. Dreams,my dreams, coming true.
Shoving my previous thoughts about my weight into the folder in the back of my mind marked, “Do Not Think About Ever Again,” and putting my thoughts about shaping up in a folder marked, “Think About Later, Maybe,” I talked with Amelia about the benefits they offered. Awesome health insurance, including generous allowances for mental health. Full vision and dental. Vacations and sick leave. Even paid maternity leave. I couldn’t have designed a better firm if I created it myself.
And then I remembered my mom and my brothers, and I realized that I couldn’t take the job. They needed me. I hadn’t even mentioned the interview to them. This would be a horrible surprise.
I’d miss them. They’d miss me. I’d spent my whole life taking care of them. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t really go, could I?
That came out as an audible groan.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m flattered by the offer, but I can’t accept it right now.”
“That’s too bad. Did you accept another position?”
“No. I just I haven’t talked about moving with my family. Truthfully, I didn’t think I had a chance at the job. Now that I’m looking at it, I don’t know how I’d do the move.” I kicked at the curb, which hurt my toe again.
“Oh, I understand that. Talk about it with your family. We’ll keep the offer open for forty-eight hours.” She told me the billable hour requirements—how much time I’d have to spend in the office. It was totally livable. The job sounded wonderful. I’d be free.
I couldn’t do it.
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the offer, and I’ll think about it.” I wouldn’t be accepting it, though. I’d just wasted her time.
I hung up, mad at myself, and drove home.
My mom lived in an old bungalow with bars on the windows. All of the houses in this neighborhood had bars on the windows. She never opened the shades, so it was always dark inside. A habit from back in the day. The better for the neighbors not to see what used to go on, although I suppose they could hear. None of that went on anymore, since my father died three years ago, but we hadn’t changed anything about the way we lived.
I parked in the little space in the back and went in through the kitchen. My mom stood at the stove stirring a pot of beans and another one of carnitas.
Great.
Food.
I didn’t need any of that. Just when I made the decision to get svelte.
