Page 73 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
Anna shuts off her laptop. “The only thing I’m doing is keeping my head down and my designs to myself until I have enough experience to move onto something better.” She grabs her bag, ready to leave. Possibly ready to leave behind what she’s told me, too.
But I’m not. I follow her to the elevator, clinging to the need for justice. “You may be able to let it go, Anna, but I can’t.”
“If you figure out how to bring them down, let me know.” The cynicism in her tone tells me how likely she thinks that possibility is. “In the meantime, if you tell anyone I showed you the Fall line, I’ll deny it. No one junior to me is supposed to see it. This is the first time they’ve allowed me a preview of what’s coming.”
We’re silent on the elevator and as we walk out of the Valente building until we get to the parking lot.
“I’m sorry, Piper,” Anna says as she walks toward her car, and I head toward the bus stop.
I reply with a slow nod. I don’t have any words.
When I get to the bus stop, I’m surprised to see Julia there since she’d told me she’d likely be staying late today. I try to smile, but then I notice the tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I put a hand on her shoulder.
“They let me go.”
“What? When?”
She needs this job. The restaurant where her husband worked as a chef burned down in the LA fires. Now they’re both out of work.
“Today. My arthritis. I can’t meet my quota anymore.” She wipes at her eye and says something in Spanish I don’t understand.
“But…you’re not supposed to have quotas at all, Julia. You should be making minimum wage, not being paid by the piece.” My reasoning makes no sense, even to me. Julia’s only confirming what I’d already suspected Valente was doing. Honestly, I should be less surprised that they’ve stolen from me. The signs of unethical business practices were all around me from day one.
Julia’s problem with Valente, however, feels more solvable than mine. “I can help you find an attorney. They can’t fire you for a disability.”
Julia shakes her head and sends me a look as if I should already understand why she hasn’t done that already and why she put up with Valente’s abuse in the first place.
She’s undocumented. She can’t report Valente for workers' comp violations without the risk of being deported.
“I’m sorry, Julia. This isn’t right.”
She offers me a sad smile. We both know I’m powerless to do anything. If I can’t keep them from stealing from me, how can I keep them from stealing from anyone else?
“Don’t worry, mija. I’ll be okay. I’ve been through worse. My family will help me plan what to do next.” She pats my hand with a confidence that I don’t have about my own situation. Julia has family to pull her through.
I have…me.
“How was your day?” she asks as she pulls an orange from her bag and begins peeling it.
“Fine.” I can’t tell her about what Valente has done to me without admitting I don’t have anyone to help me plan what to do next.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” She hands me a section of orange.
I hesitate, then bite into the orange. Tangy juice fills my mouth while tears fill my eyes. I can’t tell her that my only plansare not only to plot revenge against Valente but also to undo my already plotted and executed revenge against Archie.
“Oh, Julia,” I sigh-cry. “I did something really stupid.”
Maybe it’s the black bandana she’s used to hold her hair back that makes her look vaguely like a nun, but I confess everything.
I tell her about the trash bag full of stinky fish I put in Archie’s room and how I justified it by telling myself that Archie expects to be catered to and given what he wants. I admit to judging him for living off an allowance from Malcolm and spending ninety percent of his life without a shirt on because he doesn’t have a job. I leave out that I don’t mind the no-shirt part.
But I tell her the truth about why I’m living in the house. I was born to a beautiful, stubborn woman who snagged a rich guy, then wouldn’t finalize a divorce until she got something more than the bare minimum from him. I didn’t earn the privilege through any talent or work of my own.
The wider Julia’s eyes grow, the more I realize I’ve enjoyed all the privileges of wealth that, from the little I’ve learned about her, I doubt Julia’s ever experienced. Most people in the world haven’t.
When I finish, though, it’s the sushi Julia’s most concerned about. “Everything will stink. The whole house!”
