Chapter 5 A NEW JOB

LUCIANA POV

I sigh shakily with my eyes closed. I feel Rodrigo's little body all warmed up from his bath nesting against me. I hug him closer with one arm, my other holding my phone up to my ear. This felt comforting. _He_ felt comforting.

"I understand where you're coming from, ma and I totally appreciate it, but I just need to focus on finding a job now. I've been working these underpaying part-time jobs for too long now, and I need something real, something more reliable, you know. Plus I've kind of grown tired of men for a while now," I speak out, no longer feeling that usual shaky feeling that overwhelms me whenever I hear about my father. My dead father.

"M'ija," my mum lets out a heavy sigh on the other end, "This topic of finding a new man which you've constantly been avoiding, I don't feel comfortable with it. I don't feel comfortable with it at all. It's like since that useless _cabrón_ you've chosen to stay away from men entirely. What's really going on?"

My lips purse and I begin to run my fingers through Rodrigo's hair to calm my turbulent emotions. "It's not got to do with men, mama. I'm just tired. That's all." The lie slips out of me quite easily, more easily than it used to.

And before she can continue this conversation which I really feel uncomfortable with, I decide to turn the topic away from me entirely. "We've been talking about me since, ma. But what about you? How have you been holding up since Rodrigo and I left?"

My mum's voice comes after a pause, the shortest of pauses, but still a pause. "I've been alright my little dove. I've been going to the community baking get-together with our new neighbor, Asa, a lot more than I used to. Plus there's this new young Priest at the Church who's quite cute and all the young ladies adore. The seats have been more filled whenever it's his turn to say Mass. Plus, Yuki, that beautiful Japanese lady who lives opposite us, remember her?"

I hum and mumble incoherent words even though I really don't remember her. I try to picture the house opposite ours back at home, but nothing really comes up.

"She's been teaching me how to make some of her country's delicacies like curry and..."

"But ma," I cut in on her, "I'm asking how you're doing, how you've been doing since his death," the last part comes out with a struggle, my voice sounding strangled and barely containing my emotions.

Rodrigo snuggles up closer against me and stares at me with his beautiful browns, his eyes wide, as they usually are, with a look I do not really understand. Pity? Empathy? Assurance?

I look at him longer while waiting for my mother's response. His tiny soft hands reach out slowly and enclasp my larger slender ones in his warm hold. I blink, surprised and then slowly, a smile breaks open on my face.

"Go pick up a book you want me to read for you tonight," I whisper softly to him away from the receiver, wishing I could capture this warmth forever, this feeling of my hand being held in his. He nods and lets go of my hand, then jumps off the bed, strutting towards his powder blue bookshelf which held all of his night-time stories and a few of his many puzzles. I stare at the palm he had held in his, feeling bereft.

"Well, I've been better, M'ija," she begins, pulling me away from my thoughts, in a strained voice which she tries to suppress by sounding more cheery. But I know. I can tell when she's faking it.

"But," she continues, her voice growing stronger and calmer at this part, "I'm going to be fine. Maybe not on some days, but on others I will be. It won't always be like this for me, you know. And neither should it be for you, my little dove".

I smile in relief. "Okay, mama," I responded, watching Rodrigo who was walking quickly towards me, trying his best and almost failing not to run. He's holding his copy of Andersen's "The Little Mermaid".

"I've got to go, M'ija. I love you," my mother says.

"I love you too, mama," I say beckoning on Rodrigo who was now sitting against me, patiently waiting with his book in his hands, to talk to his grandmother as well"

"Me too, abuelita. I love you," he says out loud, coming closer to the phone.

"Thank you, cariño," my mum says affectionately to Rodrigo, before she continues, "You both sleep well, okay? And we'll talk about this blind date again, Luciana. Don't you forget," she says the last part with that stern tone she always uses whenever she calls me by my first name.

I let out a small laugh and a "hmm" in acquiescence, although I didn't really agree.

"Goodnight, mama. Sleep well".

"Bye, abuelita. Goodnight," Rodrigo says as enthusiastically as ever, while he bounces on the bed, book still in his arms.

She ends the call and I place my phone on his bedside table decorated with some of his Lego toys and some tiny multi-colored duck plushies. We both lie down on the bed, with Rodrigo cuddling closer into my arms which I put around him. He gives me the book to begin reading like he did the night before and the night before that. This was our special ritual we'd adopted for as long as I can remember.

"The Little Mermaid, uhn. You prepared for a night of bawling and tears?" I tease him with a smile giving him a small nudge.

"I'm a big boy now, mama. I promise I won't cry anymore over a stupid little story," the little chipmunk says with a pout, his nose in the air, trying to look disdainful.

I roll my eyes and grin, "Stupid little story, you say? Okay then, mister. I better not see you crying at the end"

He huffs and nods, telling me to start reading to him. I do so, trying to make the story sound more interesting and dramatic by giving my voice a somewhat exaggerated dramatic tilt to the parts it felt fitting to.

"But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much," this part I said in a cleaner more melancholic tone like I always have whenever I read the book for Rodrigo.

He turns to me, his head resting on my chest and quietly asks a question he never has before, "Why do mermaids have no tears, mama?"

"Well, my love, in some folklore, mermaids do, in fact, have tears. These tears are said to be the sea glass you see lying around the beach or even pearls in some others. But, to me, I think writing that mermaids have no tears is the author's attempt to point out how much more suffering mermaids have inside even when they're sad since they're unable to cry because they're surrounded by saltwater. So, you couldn't even really tell if they cried. Imagine not being able to cry when you're very sad, wouldn't you feel even worse inside?" I point out, trying to explain this in a way that makes sense to a smart five year old.

Rodrigo draws circles with his index finger on my arm and nods, "Yes, I would, mama. The mermaid not being able to cry makes her feel even sadder. I wish I could give her a hug".

"Me too, baby," I say quietly, resting my chin on the top of his thick head of hair, "Me too".

****

My phone which I'd forgotten at home rings just as I step into our apartment. I had just dropped off Rodrigo at school and stopped by the grocery store down the street on my way home to get a few things we were running low on. I couldn't afford other more pricey things because I was really strapped for cash.

"God, I really need a fucking job," I mutter with a sigh as I make my way to my still ringing device lying on the small dining table, after taking off my shoes at the door.

It was Madison calling.

"Where have you been, woman? I've been calling all year," Her lyrical voice says exasperatedly, with her Irish accent becoming more pronounced as it usually does whenever she's feeling strong emotions.

I chuckle slightly at her exaggeration and respond apologetically, "I'm so sorry, Maddy. I just had to drop Rodrigo off at school. And I might have forgotten to take my phone with me," the last part, I say in a smaller guilt filled tone.

"Ugh," she lets out in a playfully annoyed manner. "You know how you've been looking for a more stable job since, well, you came to Dublin..."

"...More like way before I even came here," I cut in as I made my way to the cream-coloured sofa sitting beside the small balcony in our living room which came with the apartment. I stand at the balcony, overlooking the almost empty street, my body resting against the rusted railing as I stare at the street, my eyes not really focusing on anything.

"Well, it's true. Anyway, There was an opening for the Financial Secretary position to Eamon MacCarthy, our Sales Manager. And I told him about you. And guess what? He agreed to give you an interview today".

My arms almost slipped off the railing and I started to panic, "Wait, you mean today. Like today, today?"

"Umm, yeah. What other day is there, honey? Get your ass over here quickly and try to be here in two hours tops, woman. I really want you to get this job, you know. I'll be rooting for you. The boss just stepped in and everyone's trying to act more coordinated and all so I gotta go. Bye, love you. Call me when you finish the interview," she immediately ends the call in a rush after that before I can respond.

My breathing becomes heavier as I literally begin to panic, but I also feel elated and full of anticipation and anxiety. I need to get dressed quickly and get a cab since my car is sitting in the mechanic's and has been for the past few days.

I make a dash for the bedroom, my mind going through a million thoughts, with the most prominent being what exactly I would wear to the interview.