This Is My Brain on the Unexpected

JOCELYN

Because pretty much all my clothes are hand-me-downs, or from Goodwill or Target, I call an emergency fashion consult with Priya on the day of my very first employee interview.

Ultimately, we throw together the black slacks that I wore once for a middle school chorus concert with a blouse that my auntie Lei got from Taiwan. I even sneak into my parents’ bathroom, steal some lipstick, and comb my hair. Checking myself in the warped bathroom cabinet mirror, I have to give myself props. Pretty good “She Cleans Up Nicely” trope.

At 1:50 I head down to the restaurant. The place is pretty much dead except for the sounds of Jin-Jin cleaning up the kitchen in the background, so I bring out my laptop and transfer the questions from Monster.com onto a legal pad, as if that were somehow more official.

At 1:53 I grab two glasses of water, feeling only a little silly when I set them on cocktail napkins, because it’s not like Formica forms water stains.

At 1:58 the bell jangles as someone comes in. It’s a tall black guy in a navy-blue suit that doesn’t quite fit him. He looks almost lost, and there’s a furrow between his brows as he scans the restaurant before settling on me.

“Can I help you?” I ask. “We’re still serving lunch if you need anything.”

“I’m, um, William Domenici.”

I puff a laugh. “Oh, of course. Sorry,” I stammer, and give my head a shake, only barely resisting an actual facepalm. Way to get off on the right foot. “Sorry. Please come in.”

Oh, God, I’m such a screwup.

WILL

The girl at A-Plus is quite pretty, or would be if her mouth wasn’t twisting in dismay. She has shoulder-length hair that frames round, full cheeks and brown eyes with thick, quirky eyebrows.

“Sorry. Please come in,” she says.

“I wasn’t who you expected,” I say grimly, a familiar tightness growing in my chest.

“No, not really.” She smiles crookedly. “You just look so professional I didn’t take you for a high school student.” At that her smile breaks open, and the pressure under my breastbone recedes. She stands up and beckons me in to sit at her table.

“Hi, William. I’m Jocelyn Wu,” she says as she extends her hand. I try to subtly wipe mine against my pants before holding out my own. Her hands are soft and dry. They feel like my mother’s favorite blue silk scarf.

“It’s Will. Call me Will.”