Such a Fun Age(54)

Emira crossed her legs. “Kelley . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s a job. Briar hangs on me all the time. And I comb her hair every time I see her.”

“Alex was a senior in high school. She wasn’t a baby.”

“But . . . I don’t know. I know it’s weird”—she tried to explain—“but people do pay other people to act like part of the family. That doesn’t mean it’s not a transaction.”

“Emira, this was different. The woman who worked for them? They made her wear a uniform. At first I just thought she wore the same polo a lot, but then I saw that it said Murphy on it and I was like . . .”

Emira couldn’t keep it in. When Kelley said the word polo, she dropped her eyes. She let out a sound that was very Mrs. Chamberlain–like in pitch, and it sounded like a very curious “Huh.”

“Wait . . .” Kelley lifted his hands and rested his palms at the base of his hairline. He looked like he was watching the end of a very close game. “Emira,” he said. “Don’t tell me she makes you wear a uniform.”

Emira looked up at the water-stained ceiling. She raised her shoulders and said, “Well, she doesn’t make me do anything.”

“Goddammit, Emira!”

Emira gripped the sides of her chair and looked at the other end of the bar. Out of everything that had happened that evening, this reaction stunned Emira the most. She wanted to shake him and say, No no no. You’re Kelley, remember? You think videos of dogs who can’t catch anything are hilarious. You take pictures of mirrors you see on the street, and send them to me with the caption, “Hey, A-Mira.” You still put a glass of water by my side of the bed even though I’ve never drunk from it. Not even once. But here he was behaving as if they were alone, in the type of bar that Kelley should have checked in with her about before sitting and ordering a drink. “You need to calm the fuck down,” she hissed.

“You have to quit,” he said. “You have to. You cannot work there. Holy shit, how did this happen?”

“Okay . . . I’m a babysitter.” Emira scooted up on her seat to speak closer to him, hoping to lower his volume with her private proximity. “I wear a different shirt at work because we paint and color and go to the park and shit. It’s just so I don’t get my clothes messy, that’s it. This is nothing like the house you went to in high school.”

“Oh, right.” Kelley had a childish glare when he asked, “So have you ever not worn it?”

Emira closed her mouth.

“Do the shirts say your name on them? Or hers?”

In a small voice Emira said, “I feel like you’re being kind of a dick right now.”

“This is not okay.” Kelley hit his fingers against the bar top on not and okay. The brown liquid in his glass trembled twice. “This isn’t me having some unresolved high school crush or grudge. Alex does this. She uses black employees as an excuse for her own actions. Not only is she a bad person, but it’s infuriating because you’re incredible with children! You should get to wear your own clothes with people who deserve you. And I know I said I’d drop it but I swear to God, if you released that video from the grocery store—”

“Kelley? Back up.” Emira said his name the way she said Briar’s when the little girl wanted to open the trash can and look, just for a second. “Now you wanna use this video to shame Mrs. Chamberlain?”

“Alex shouldn’t be able to get away with this shit. And you would probably get nanny offers from the richest families in Philadelphia.”

“Cool, that would literally only make you happy. You do realize they’d pay me the same?”

“Then tell me what I need to do!”

“Kelley, ohmygod.”

“If it’s money or a job or if you need to live with me for a bit, whatever.” He listed these options on his fingers. “Tell me what I need to say to get you to leave.”

“I feel like leaving this fucking bar right now.” Emira grabbed her purse.

“Emira. Don’t.”

Her heels clicked as she went for her coat. Emira heard Kelley’s stool move as he did, and then his voice behind her. “Wait wait wait, talk to me.”

She opened the door to the bar vestibule, much like the one at the front of the Chamberlain house, but this one was dark and smelled like stale smoke and sweaty shoes. The door outside was heavy and cold as she pushed herself into it. A gust of wind and snow fought her from the other side, and the door closed shut against her shoulder. Emira said, “Fuck.”

The door behind Kelley closed and then it was just the two of them in this tiny space. “Hey.” He held two fingers to the bridge of his nose as if he were checking it for a break. “Hear me out here. I don’t want to fight. All I’m saying is that you should—”

“Okay, first of all?” Emira turned to him. She threw her coat over her arm and held it close. “You don’t get to tell me where I should and shouldn’t work. You literally have a cafeteria in your office. You wear T-shirts to work. And you have a doorman, Kelley, okay? So you can one thousand percent go fuck yourself. The fact that you think you’re better than A-leeks or Alex or whatever is a joke. You will never have to even consider working somewhere that requires a uniform, so you can chill the fuck out about how I choose to make my living. And second of all? You were so fucking rude in there! At a Thanksgiving dinner!”