“Juice is pure sugar,” my father said. “Twenty-five spoons in one glass of orange juice. Imagine that.” My father was a health nut. He got up at five a.m. every morning to run, followed by a half hour of yoga and twenty minutes of meditation. For breakfast he had a wheatgrass protein shake and an egg white omelet and then it was a protein bowl for lunch, if he had time to eat at all.
“Who cares about juice, Rohan? She lost another job. We’ll never get her married now.” My mother turned to me, huffing her displeasure. “What did you do this time?”
“Nothing. The office was a soul-sucking wasteland of despair. I was overqualified. The work was mind-numbing, and the open plan office meant there were too many distractions. I couldn’t have picked a worse possible job.”
“How are you going to earn a living?” she demanded. “How will you find a husband?”
Some people had a great relationship with their parents. I did everything I could to avoid spending too much time with mine. Not because they were bad people—they were kind, charitable, generous, and well liked in the community—but because they couldn’t help judging me and meddling in my life. Before college, there was the pressure to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. Then the resigned sighs when I decided to get a business degree, and the seeming despair after graduation when I couldn’t land anything other than entry-level office jobs. Even worse was my marital status. Twenty-nine years old and unmarried. I couldn’t have been more of a disappointment.
“I’ll take extra hours at the candy store, and I’ll look for another job, but it will take time.” I grabbed a fluffy pav from the dish on the table. My mom was an amazing cook—an irony since my dad was not a big eater. Luckily my brothers had no food issues and could empty the pantry when they came home to visit.
“How much time?” Dad wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I applied for over ninety jobs last time, and the supply chain company was my only option. I really don’t want another entry-level position. I want to be able to use my degree, but I need money. I might just take another retail job while I’m looking.”
“Don’t dismiss entry-level positions so quickly,” Dad said. “Do you know how many CEOs started at entry-level positions? Doug McMillon loaded trucks at Walmart and worked his way to the top.”
“So now she’s going to load trucks at Walmart?” Mom was already up and tidying the kitchen. She was a woman who got things done, rushing through the house like a hurricane, vacuum in one hand, laundry in the other. Dad liked to linger over his food. Mom ate on the go—a necessity with four kids and a full-time job. I’d never seen her sit down for dinner. Usually, by the time Dad had finished eating, the kitchen was clean, the laundry was done, the floors were mopped, sports uniforms were washed and ready for the next day, lunches were made, and she was getting ready for bed so she could get up and start all over again.
“If you want retail, you can work with me,” my father said. “I need help selling to the younger crowd, but people your age don’t want to work in a tailor shop. They tell me they want to feel passionate about what they do, and they don’t have a passion for suits.”
“What about Cristian?” Half Portuguese and half Brazilian, Cristian Da Silva had been working at the store for the last year. When he wasn’t selling suits and flirting with the female customers, he worked as a life coach / male escort. For a dude whose entire goal in life was getting laid, I never understood why he worked in a men’s tailor shop until he told me about his crippling credit card debt, which came from living a lifestyle he couldn’t afford.
Dad waved a dismissive hand. “Cristian isn’t interested in a career as a tailor. If he wasn’t so good with the customers, I’d let him go. In my day, you were grateful to have a job. Excitement and passion were for hobbies.”
“We don’t live in the Middle Ages anymore, Dad. People want balance in their lives.” My dad’s life was consumed by work. If he wasn’t on the floor in the showroom, he was supervising the tailors, meeting with buyers, selecting fabrics, and traveling around the world attending fashion shows and visiting designers.
“This unbalanced life bought our house.”
“Well, I’m never going to be able to afford a house, so why kill myself trying?”
“She appreciates the offer.” Mom shot me a warning look, as if she knew I was thinking of turning Dad down because of the parade of suitors she’d soon be sending through his door. “She can start on Monday morning.”
“I need her tomorrow night,” Dad said as if the deal was done. “I have to attend a fashion show, and a late shipment of fabric is coming in. I don’t trust Cristian to handle it alone. Simi knows the business.”
We all knew the business. My brothers and I had to work at the store every Saturday during high school. My dad had hoped one of us would be interested in taking over, but my older brother, Nikhil, had become a doctor and the twins were studying engineering at MIT.
“I’ve got plans tomorrow night,” I said. “Chloe got a gig doing some freelance security hacking work for the Victoria Museum and they invited her to preview a new jewelry exhibition. She asked me to go with her in case the executive director asks her any art-related questions. I took an art history elective my first year of college.”
“You would choose Chloe over your own father?” My father slapped his hand over his heart. “Homelessness and unemployment instead of a job?”
“Rohan.” My mother looked up from wiping the table. “You can’t throw our only daughter out on the street.”
“I’ll pay time and a half,” my dad said. “You won’t get a better offer.”
My lips quivered with a smile. If there was one thing my family loved, it was the art of negotiation. “I can’t believe you think I’d blow Chloe off for money,” I said with feigned indignation. “What kind of friend would I be?”
“What kind of daughter would leave her father shorthanded at a critical time?” he retorted.
“A daughter who needs money.”
Dad made a show of shaking his head. “Double time.”
“Done,” I said. “But you’ll have to make it up to Chloe. She likes your dal tadka, paneer masala, methi saag, lamb biryani, and chicken coconut curry.”
My dad’s face softened. He had a sweet spot for Chloe and her daughter, Olivia. “I’ll cook on Saturday, and they can have it for Sunday dinner.”
“Then we have a deal. Chloe will have to go without me.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
?“Polka dots or flowers?” Chloe held two dresses in front of her phone camera. She’d been cool with me backing out of the museum tour to help Dad at the shop, especially because the consultant who’d hired her online had gone from friendly to flirty in the last few days, even hinting that he hoped their evening would continue beyond the museum.
“It depends on who you’re trying to impress.” I twirled around on one of the stools in Dad’s shop beneath a rainbow wall of thread. “Polka dots are artsy but sophisticated and would appeal to the executive director of a museum, especially one based in a historic building. The flowers are more you, but if you want to hook up with your hacking buddy—”