Not Perfect(2)

They stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked across the street to Rittenhouse Square. The air was cool and smelled like fall as it always did in Philadelphia at this time of year, of crushed ginkgo nuts and woodsmoke swirling up one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old chimneys.

“I want to go this way!” Fern said, moving to cross the street and walk through the Square, which was only slightly out of their way.

“No way,” Levi said, turning toward Spruce Street. “I don’t want to be late.”

Again Fern sighed and groaned at the same time, and Tabitha wondered if constantly not getting what she wanted would take a toll on her. She hoped not. They walked down to Spruce and headed west toward school. They saw lots of kids walking to Sutherfield, the neighborhood public school, with uniforms and collared shirts with the school name printed on them. Tabitha tried not to think about it, about the choices she and Stuart made. But that wasn’t even the problem. As far as she could tell, school was paid for. At least Stuart did that. Sending the kids to a public school now wouldn’t mean a refund of that private-school tuition. Nobody would hand her $50,000.

“What’s up for you guys today?” she asked. They were going to the Larchwood School whether she liked it or not, whether she, herself, could afford it or not, so why give it any thought?

“Today is Sarina’s birthday so we’re having cupcakes,” Fern said proudly. Sarina was her best friend. Shoot. That would probably mean a party at some point, and a present. Shoot.

“That sounds nice,” Tabitha said. “What about you, Levi?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

The difference between a fourth-grader and a seventh-grader seemed much bigger than three years. Tabitha wished she had someone to talk to about that, someone who cared about her kids as much as she did. But there was really only one other person in this whole world who fit into that category, and he was unreachable. Based on recent events, though, she wasn’t even sure he fell into that category anymore, and that terrified her. At the gate Fern ran right to Sarina, who was wearing a birthday crown and huge, colorful sunglasses that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY, then turned with a quick wave and was gone in the ocean of kids in the yard. Levi slunk off, no wave, no good-bye. Tabitha didn’t linger. She turned and walked east on Lombard. At least it wasn’t hot out. At least she didn’t have to worry about being sweaty when she got there.



When Tabitha was two blocks from the building where her interview would be, she pulled her phone out of her pocket: 9:17. Yikes. She picked up the pace, not caring anymore about how she’d look, just wanting to not be too late. Who hired someone who was late for the interview? She should have taken a cab halfway. She still had a little credit on her card—though she was trying to save that for emergencies.

She got to the lobby and ran in, out of breath. Then she couldn’t remember whom she was there to see; she’d set up so many random interviews lately. She fumbled with her phone, called up the email. Home Comforts. Right. Someone named Kirk Hutchins. She told the person at the front desk, who waved her through. No time for hair fixing or lipstick refreshing. Did it count as refreshing if she hadn’t put lipstick on in over a week? She pushed “4” and waited. It was a slow, jumpy elevator, but she was glad to have a few seconds to herself. The doors opened slowly, like they were giving her a chance to change her mind. “Flee while you still can,” she imagined them saying to her. But she didn’t listen. She stepped out and looked left, then right, and there she saw a huge sign that read HOME COMFORTS with big rocking chairs settled in what looked like a garden bed. She realized she wasn’t even sure what service this company provided. Maybe it didn’t matter. The ad was for a receptionist, she could do that. She could certainly greet people and answer phones. And whatever they did, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t run into people she knew. That was how she picked her interviews—places people in her life wouldn’t ever go. She would have gone farther—to the suburbs or the Northeast—but that would have required a commute, which would have required money. Also, she wouldn’t want to be too far from the kids in case they needed her, not now that she was the only parent in town.

She pulled open one of the double glass doors and stopped. It was chaos. It sounded like three phones were ringing at once; every seat was taken in the waiting room, mostly, she noticed, by very old people. One man was standing and banging his cane. Another pounded the side of his walker. There didn’t seem to be anyone in charge. She wanted to go back into the hall and take some time to research what this place was. A doctor’s office? No, she wouldn’t have picked that, too many germs. What was it?

She read the sign over the desk. WE MAKE IT POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO STAY WHERE YOU BELONG—YOUR HOME. Right, that made sense. They provided in-home care for people who needed it, mostly old people, she guessed. How bad could that be? Obviously they were in desperate need of a receptionist. Maybe she’d actually get the job. So far she had gotten three rejections—a men’s clothing store on South Street that catered to tourists, an offbeat movie theater, and a vegan bakery, though that last one had her worried she would run into people she knew. Better that she hadn’t gotten it. Maybe this would be the one.

A man with bright blond hair walked quickly out of a back room right toward Tabitha.

“Are you here about the job?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m . . .”