Page 9 of Isn't She Lucky
“Good,” I reply, being truthful without going into much detail.
“Last I heard, you had landed yourself a good computer job at Intech.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I ran into your mother. She recognized me right away.”
Ran into my mother, he says as if they run in the same circles. My mother is a housekeeper – not that there’s anything wrong with that, because it got us by, but where did he runinto her? I hate to ask because I don’t want this to turn into an interrogation, but curiosity has me in a headlock. Mom had stopped working for the Nobles the same year I graduated from high school. Said she got tired of making the drive and wanted to find work that was closer to her house, which she did. Now, she only works part-time, and whatever bills she can’t cover, I take care of.
I say, “Hmm…that must’ve been some time ago, huh?”
“Yeah, about a year ago, maybe. If I recall correctly, she was coming out of Publix.”
“Oh. Gotcha.”
Were you coming out of Publix, too, or going inside?
That’s what I wanted to ask. I know this man doesn’t do his own grocery shopping. His parents were millionaires. Now that they’re gone, I’m sure they left everything to him. Why wouldn’t they? He was their only child. The large estate, the cars, the business – I’m sure it’s all his. So, in my opinion, he shouldn’t be in the vicinity of a grocery store or any other kind of store. He’s supposed to have people doing that for him, just like his parents had my mother cleaning their house. Whenever Mrs. Noble couldn’t cook, she had a chef come in, or they’d dine out. They had groundskeepers, a pool person, and a part-time nanny.
On another note, why didn’t my mother tell me she ran into Kasim? Surely she would’ve said something, especially since she knew how close we used to be back then.
“But yes,” I say. “I’m still at Intech. Been there forever.”
“Do you like it?”
I shrug. “It pays the bills.”
“I get that, but do you like it? Are you passionate about it?”
“Am I passionate about getting up at six o’clock every morning, being stuck in traffic, sitting at a desk for eight hours while my booty cheeks go numb, and doing it all again, the next day and the next day and the next?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he says.
Smart man.
“That’s too bad, though,” he tells me.
“Why’s that?”
“I remember how passionate you used to be about school projects and things. Do you recall helping me with my science project in the fifth grade? I got an ‘A’ because of you.”
“Wait—you remember that?”
“You don’t?” he asks with his brows sloped. “I mostly remember you paying attention to every detail of what Saturn should look like. All that research you did…” He smiles, reminiscing while staring at my mouth.
I hope he’s not waiting for me to respond, because I have nothing to add.
He continues, “You were going above and beyond for something you didn’t have to do because the passion was there.”
“Yeah, well, in the real world, I guess one doesn’t have a lot of time to think aboutpassionwhen the car note is due every month on the third.”
“I heard that,” he says, grimacing slightly right before his eyes narrow. He pulls his inquisitive eyes away from me and returns them to the menu.
“Have you been here before?” he inquires without looking up at me.
“No. I don’t usually go to restaurants that require a reservation.”
“No way,” he says, lowering the menu.
