The Interview Blues

            It wasn’t the end, even though it felt like it. Marie had to keep telling herself that. It was only an opportunity, a possibility, not something that she had had and then lost. Her perfectly manicured fingers trembled as she pushed on the door and let herself out. Marie would never see these people again, never know the consequences of the words that had slipped out of her mouth. So why did it feel like she had been clubbed with a crowbar?

            The nausea, at least, began to subside after she got a hundred feet from the building. Marie took a deep breath and let her brain wander over the past few minutes. The brightly lit room, the gentle hum of the AC . . . The nausea returned so quickly that she ran to the nearest trashcan and leaned over it. She dry-heaved several times, and sweat began to bead on her forehead. She wiped it away.

            Marie straightened up and pulled at the sleeves of her blazer. It was itchy under the collar and a little tight in the shoulders.  She wanted to take it off, but she was also pretty sure that the sweat from her armpits showed through the tight button down she wore underneath it. She took a few unsteady steps away from the trashcan.

            It wasn’t that Marie lacked confidence. That had never been true. In fact, when she had been approaching graduation and watching her friends have meltdowns over the stress of numerous interviews, she hadn’t been worried. It’s just talking to someone, she had insisted, how difficult could that be? She was used to her words slipping under people’s skin, warming them or filling them with guilt as she required. Surely, interviewing would be the same.

            It hadn’t even been a difficult question, that was the most embarrassing part. The neatly dressed woman asked her why she was interested in working for the company, and Marie enthusiastically dove in. She had always dreamed of working for a nonprofit, and what they were doing in Haiti was admirable. She especially appreciated the way they sourced local materials for their housing projects. Did they need someone to work on the ground there, or was the position primarily located in the States? She would be perfectly happy doing either.

            The woman stared at her. She pressed her lips together. “Housing projects?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

            At this point, Marie was still unfazed. “The ones you started fairly soon after the earthquake. I think it’s amazing that you have continued to work in that region, even though most other nonprofits pulled out when media coverage declined. That’s the kind of company I want to work for.”

            The woman blinked. “Interviewing for a lot of jobs, are we?” she said.

            Marie could feel a drop of sweat run down the back of her neck and along her spine. She swallowed. “Um, a few,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

            The woman’s eyes flickered up and down Marie’s outfit before she said, “Because we don’t work in Haiti, and we never have. We’re not involved in housing at all.”

Marie apologized profusely and tried to clean up the mistake, but it was too late. The rest of the interview felt like a formality. The woman sitting across from her asked a few more questions before telling her they would let her know. Marie tried to make a joke of her mistake as she got up to exit, but the sides of the woman’s mouth barely twitched. This wasn’t going to be her job.

            And that should be fine. Her humanity should allow her a few mistakes. This should be something that caused Marie to blush whenever she talked about it, preferably over a few beers with friends. A funny anecdote, and not one that defined her. But it didn’t seem that way right now. Marie felt her tights begin to slip down her legs. This was her fourteenth interview since leaving school. She couldn’t afford this kind of humiliation.

Marie’s steps got a little steadier. She wanted to walk home, to give herself space to think, but she already felt her feet painfully pulse from being in heels too long. It was tempting to slip them off, press the ground into her bare skin and let the pavement’s coolness travel up through her legs and calm her. She reached down, but glanced back to the building from which she had just retreated. Marie couldn’t make a fool of herself, not here. She needed to be professional.

She took the short walk back to the subway. The blast of warm air that hit her as she descended the steps made her grip the railing with both hands.

~

            “Hey! How’d it go?” her roommate, Jeanette, called as she walked in. She was seated on their couch with both legs extended, her laptop planted in front of her.

            Marie smoothed down her hair as she nudged the front door closed. “Um, it could have gone better,” she said.

            Jeanette’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

            Marie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I got it, though.”

            “Really? But you were so excited about it.”

            “Excited about the wrong thing, as it turns out.”

            “What?”

            Marie flopped down at the end of the couch and looked at her friend. “I just . . . I don’t think I can talk about it yet. It’s too horrible.”

            “Uh oh,” Jeanette said. She tore her eyes from her computer screen. “Do you need a drink?”

            Marie glanced at the oven clock. “It’s still too early.” She paused. Then, “I think I’m going to go look at the alumni board. Maybe some more jobs have been posted.” She got up and walked towards her room.

            “I’ll let you wallow for an hour and then I’m coming in after you,” Jeanette called. Marie raised her hand in response. She walked into her room and let herself fall facedown onto her bed. She kicked her shoes off and listened to the satisfying thudding sound they made as they hit the floor.

            Marie found it surprisingly easy to clear her mind. The stress of the day slipped away and left behind exhaustion. She closed her eyes.

            It wasn’t until she was jolted awake by the bright ringtone of her phone that Marie realized she had fallen asleep. She grabbed the tiny device and slid her thumb along the answer button.

            “Hello?” she said, rubbing her eyes.

            “Honey? Did I wake you?” her mother’s voice shouted into her ear.

            “No, mom, it’s the middle of the day,” she said. “What’s up?”

            “I just wanted to know how your interview went,” her mother said.

            “Oh.”

            “So . . . how did it go?”

            Marie tried not to sigh audibly. “It could have gone better.”

            “Did you like the interviewer?”

            “I guess.”

            “Was the company everything you imagined?”

            “Not quite.”

            “Well, honey.”

            “Yeah, mom?”

            “You don’t sound like you want to talk.”

            “Sorry, mom. I’m just . . . tired.” Marie sat up.

            “What have you been doing?” her mother’s voice was laced with concern.

            “Nothing like that, mom. The interview today was . . . stressful. I just need a minute.”

            “Okay, well I’ll let you go. I wanted to check in because, you know, the rent’s due in six days . . .”

            Marie massaged her forehead. “Mom, even if I got a job tomorrow, I wouldn’t get paid for a while.”

            “I know, sweetie.” Her mother seemed to deliberate before continuing. “It would just be a start.”

            “I’m doing my best.”

            “And your room’s still here. You could always come back . . .”

            Marie glanced at her door and wondered if Jeanette could hear her. “I know, but I’m not ready for that yet.”

            “Well, honey, you’re not in college anymore. We don’t know how much longer we can support you financially . . .”

            “I know, mom. Look, I have to go.”

            “Alright, sweetie, I love you.”

            “Love you, too,” she said, hanging up and letting the phone fall into her lap. She felt the familiar chest pressure that came with intense stress. She turned and stood up out of bed, folding both hands together and stretching her whole body up to the ceiling. It was only then that she realized she was still wearing her interviewing clothes. Marie unzipped the side of her pencil skirt and let it fall to the ground. She looked down at her body, the curve of her stomach under her tights and the hemmed edges of her stocking feet. She tried to conjure the self-respect she had spent so many of her teenage years cultivating, but right now her body felt like a nothing instrument. She bit her lower lip.

            “Marie?” she heard Jeanette call from the other room. “Come in here for a minute.” Marie quickly replaced her tights with sweats and pulled off the itchy blazer.

            “Yeah?” she said, entering the living room.

            Jeanette was standing by the open door, her hand resting on it like she was prepared to slam it shut. Her other hand seemed paused in the middle of brushing through her hair. Her eyes were pinched in worry, the skin on her neck was starting to turn red and blotchy. Marie took time examining the unexpected details of her friend before her thoughts were interrupted by Jeanette saying, “Look who it is.”

            Marie switched her focus to the figure in the doorway. He was blurry at first, like it was with all the people she knew intimately, but hadn’t seen in years. Her eyes readjusted their expectations with what was in front of her. His hair was longer than she remembered, and darker brown, but his eyes were less blue. His ears still stuck out from his head, and he still held his shoulders in what looked like a permanent half-shrug. She watched as he touched the side of the doorframe, then let his hand fall back at his side. Nervous.

            “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”

            Marie looked at him. Then she looked down at what she was wearing. Armpit sweat stains shone through her formal button down shirt, which was ever so slightly tucked into her sweatpants. She closed her eyes and wanted to bash her head into the wall. But when her eyes closed, everything moved in a little bit closer, and got a little realer. She felt the telltale pressure start to build, so she forced them open again. He was still standing there, foot poised to step into the apartment, taking care of her as soon as she showed signs of weakness.

            “She’s had kind of a long day,” Jeanette started. “Maybe you should come back later . . .”

            “No,” Marie said, as she watched his body begin to turn. “Come in. Come inside and sit down.” She gestured to the couches where Jeanette had just been working. “I’m assuming you have something you want to talk about.”

            As soon as Thomas crossed the boundary into her apartment, Marie woke up. Her senses heightened as though responding to a challenge. She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, straightening it and smoothing the wrinkles. Her shoulders back, she crossed the apartment to the couch where Thomas was headed.

            “Um,” Jeanette said, “I think I’m just going to grab my stuff . . . maybe work at a Starbucks or something.” Marie nodded and they locked eyes. Jeanette’s expression said she knew this might take a while. She shoved her things into a laptop bag and slipped on her shoes. Marie watched her fly out the door and tramp down the stairs, the rhythm of her footsteps the same even though she hurried.

            She returned her focus to the man in front of her. “Well?” she said. She sat down and watched as he perched beside her.

            “Rough night?” he said, gesturing to her outfit. A smile played across his lips and she realized he was trying to joke to break the tension.

            “Not particularly,” she said.

            “Oh,” he said, “um, okay.”

            They stared at each other for a moment. Then she couldn’t stand it. “So, I’m sorry, but what the hell are you doing here?”
            “I’m back from London,” he said. “Work transferred me back into the area.”

            “Cool, great,” she said, “but you know that’s not what I mean. What do you think you’re doing here?”

            He shrugged. “I . . . I got back. I moved back in and I said everything to everyone and it occurred to me that I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere else.”

            She took a deep breath. “So you just came here,” she said.

            “Well, yeah.”

            Marie shook her head. “No,” she said. “That’s not good enough.”

            “Marie . . .”

            “No,” she repeated, more emphatically. “It’s not.”

            He rested an arm on the back of the couch and leaned into it. “You don’t think I remember how things ended? I do, okay, and I feel like an asshole every day thinking about it. But I still want to be with you, okay? I still love you.”

            Her arms gestured wide in a motion of disbelief. “Well, there it is. We’re just jumping straight into it, aren’t we?”

            “Would you rather I tiptoe around it for a few more minutes?”

            “No, but . . .” she stood up and crossed to the kitchen. “You think I don’t realize that the only reason you’re here is because of work? You didn’t come back because of me, so don’t try to set yourself up as the romantic hero.”

            He sighed. “Things aren’t that simple.”

            “How are they not?” she said, too loudly. She could feel her lower lip start to tremble, so she turned away from him and massaged her forehead. “I haven’t heard from you in months.”

            “Because you told me you wanted space.”

            “Well, what was I supposed to do? You moved halfway across the world. We were going to have space whether I wanted it or not.”

            “So you didn’t want it?”
            She put out a hand and leaned on the counter. “But you didn’t even talk to me.”

            Marie could hear him make a frustrated noise from across the room. “Because . . . space . . .”

            She whirled around. “You don’t seem too concerned about giving me space right now.” Thomas shrugged. “What, did you think you could just show back up and I would be waiting for you.”

            “No,” he said, “I didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything.”

            “So why are you here?”

            He stood up and took a few steps toward her. “Because I still love you, and I’m here. I know what happened, but . . .”

            “You left,” she said, letting her eyes wander up and down his lanky figure.

            “I know,” he said, “and I don’t regret it. I did what was right for me. But I left the country, not you.”

            “You left the country and me.”

            “I wasn’t gone forever.”

            “You were just gone for an unspecified amount of time.”

            Marie watched his jaw clench as he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere. He walked over to her cabinets and opened one. “Do you want a drink or something?” he said.

            “Why? Do you need this conversation to be easier?” she snapped.

            “No, I just think it might go better if we’re both relaxed.”

            She glanced at the window. “It’s still early. Isn’t that kind of tacky?”

            “Come on,” Thomas said, “let’s have some wine in those glasses I got you.”

            Marie exhaled as their interaction moved from heart-wrenching to frustrating. “We don’t have any wine,” she said.

            He looked at her. “Of course you do. You and Jeanette always have wine.”

            She shook her head. “Not now. Red wine gives Jeanette migraines so we don’t keep it in the apartment anymore.” His hands fell away from the cabinet. “Besides, I don’t exactly have those glasses, either.”

            His body turned towards hers and his eyes searched her face. “What do you mean?”

            “I broke them. Accidentally. I broke all four of them . . . accidentally.” She combed through her part with her hand.

            A moment passed between them. Then he said, “Maybe I should have called first.”

            “Maybe,” she said. “But if you had, I probably wouldn’t have let you in.”

            “Yeah,” he said, “I guess I deserve that.” She nodded slowly. He walked to the center of the room and looked around. His fingers ran along the back of the couch.

            “Look,” she said, “I just . . . I need a minute. I was already having a pretty shitty day and now . . . you’re here.” He nodded. “I need to think.”

            He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, “I can go.” He closed the space between them until they were separated by a few inches. “I’m sorry I surprised you on a shitty day,” he said. “I just needed to be looking at you when I told you I missed you.” With him so near, Marie felt like her outer layer of skin had slipped off. The blur was starting to fade, until he was just Thomas, back in her apartment. She could feel the itch in her fingers, urging her to touch his collarbone, to touch his waist, to touch the skin behind his ears. Her body had felt his absence, even if she hadn’t allowed her brain to. Then he stepped out of her space.

            Thomas crossed to the door. “I’m living at my old apartment with my old roommates until I can get settled somewhere more permanent.” He opened the door and looked back at her. “And my number’s the same. Take your time.” He left.

            Marie flopped down into one of their rickety dining chairs. She pulled her knees up to her chin and bit into the sides of her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to fall out of time.

~

            Two weeks passed and Marie had another interview. This time, she knew where she was going. This time, she walked into the building in an outfit that fit. This time, she felt the steady pump of her heart and wasn’t afraid of it. This time, the body that she had barely been inhabiting was filled to the fingertips with her spirit. She didn’t need to stop and steady her breathing when she walked through the entrance. She felt ready.

            If she could have seen herself, Marie would have expected a woman with a glint in her eye, that international signal of competence and wit. She felt the spell she was weaving over herself and the interviewer, and she let it happen. She was charming in a way that she hadn’t been in years. The jokes that slipped out of her mouth came unbidden, but they made the man that sat across the desk howl with laughter. She was what she needed to be in the moment and when she left, she left confidently.

            Marie got a hundred feet from the building before the momentum of it almost knocked her over. She felt both of her thighs burn as though she had just run five miles. But this time she didn’t need to stop walking. She didn’t want to. She pushed herself towards the subway entrance at a slight jog.

            The movement of the train was soothing, and it let her fall back into her thoughts. She had spent the last thirteen days in her head, twisting her ideas around and around until they were no longer recognizable. Jeanette had brought her tea and chocolate and gossip magazines, and still she had felt like she was stuck in some kind of paralysis.

            But this morning she had needed to get up and go be professional, so she had. Marie had slipped on this persona as though she did it every day. The decision she had agonized over since Thomas had walked back through her door was made when she opened her eyes. It was floating there in front of her, mocking her with its obvious shape.

            The train came to a stop and she got off. She hurried through the dirty tunnels and back up into the sunlight. She didn’t have to think about where she was going. When Marie reached the old green building and knocked on the peeling door, she could barely grasp at memories of the journey over.

            She had wanted to punish both of them. She had wanted to punish him for choosing the smart thing instead of the romantic thing, and she had wanted to punish herself for feeling that internal collapse after he left. But it wasn’t what she needed. The woman she needed to be was draped in forgiveness, and that was the truth. There was no sense in letting him get farther away.

            Thomas opened the door and his expression warmed her shoulders. She stepped over the threshold and back into his life.