Chapter 18
A blinding headache accompanied Fiona into the Keeney Works parking lot.
She was coming from an on-site meeting with a large, up-scale nursery that hired both long-term and seasonal workers.
They’d been reluctant to come on board when she reached out to them more than a year ago, but they requested today’s meeting out of the blue.
The presentation went well. Despite being frazzled, Fiona fielded questions from the management team like a champ, and she anticipated securing a new job source for her clients.
“I’m wondering about our client base. Will the workers’ looks intimidate them?”
The question came from a pot-bellied middle manager.
“What do you mean?” One eyebrow raised, Fiona replied with a tight smile.
Four middle-aged white men busied themselves with cellphones around the table, leaving the other man gaping like a fish.
Sitting back in her chair, Fiona silently studied him, wondering if he realized how condescending and racist he sounded.
Another time, she might have swallowed back the slight and murmured about Keeney Works teaching their clients about workplace etiquette and dressing like professionals.
But today, she was tired and overwhelmed and just done.
The moment lengthened and became increasingly more awkward.
With a nod, Fiona closed her notebook, stuffed it in her tote bag, and rose from her chair, murmuring her thanks for their time.
No one spoke as she walked to the door. She placed a hand on the knob, paused, then turned back.
“ I take that back. This has been a waste of my time. Keeney Works seeks to improve our clients’ lives.
I don’t see how that can happen here. You care more about the delicate sensibilities of your precious customers than improving the community.
This was an opportunity for you to show Keeney that you care about giving someone the benefit of the doubt and a chance to prove themselves.
But God forbid you should offend an over-privileged suburbanite by hiring someone who’s a different color, or lived rough, or speaks broken English. I won’t be calling you again.”
She yanked the door open and stalked through the store and out into the parking lot.
Stopping at her car, she gusted out a sigh and leaned against the tailgate as she pulled her hair out of its customary bun and massaged her tight scalp.
What had she done? Having the nursery as a job source would have been a feather in her cap, but she’d blown it in a fit of righteous pique.
The board of directors would not be thrilled, and she may have jeopardized her job.
She stared around the parking lot at the upscale cars and thought about her parents.
Sponsored by the United Methodist Church, they’d emigrated from Vietnam in the mid-1970s.
Her mother and father were both young children, and grew up together in the tight Vietnamese community of Anaheim, California.
They were expected to marry and did so. They’d learned English quickly and, like many others in their culture, started out in nail salons.
But Linh Han was ambitious, and she and her husband relocated to Keeney and opened up their own nail salon in a strip mall, eventually buying the strip mall itself.
As business focused as she was, her mother appreciated the church’s generosity and made it a point to give back to the community that embraced her.
So while HFH expanded their real estate ventures, they built a cosmetology school in Keeney and awarded scholarships specifically for immigrant students to further their education.
Which confused Fiona as well. Her mother believed in raising up others but didn’t want Fiona to be with a Hispanic man. Linh Han couldn’t see her own prejudices and biases.
Tomas overcame so much, his lack of education and a learning disability a huge part of it.
Then came the obstacles and opportunities he faced when he got out of prison.
How Eddie had denied him work, how Vincent had gone to bat for him, and how Iris had taken him on.
His success was the kind of thing Fiona wanted for her clients.
And if this nursery didn’t see the opportunity they’d passed up on, too bad for them.
On that conclusion, she beeped her car open and climbed in.
She squinted against the late morning sun in the Keeney Works parking lot, and the pain radiating from the base of her skull.
Trudging into the building, she passed the receptionist with the barest of waves, intent on getting to the quiet of her office.
Three paces from finding refuge, her steps faltered.
Her mother’s voice was coming from her office.
Fiona must have made a noise because Iris popped her head out of her own office and scurried toward her, an unhappy expression on her face.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she whispered. “She arrived thirty minutes ago and insisted on waiting for you in your office.”
Groaning inwardly, Fiona patted Iris on the arm. “It’s okay. Thank you for letting her in.” Running a hand over her hair, Fiona straightened her spine and strode into her office.
Linh Han was speaking rapidly in Vietnamese on her phone. At Fiona’s entrance, she raked her eyes up and down her daughter, her gaze lingering on the hair hanging loose down her back, then pointed at her wristwatch. She finished her conversation while Fiona rounded her desk and seated herself.
“It’s about time you got here.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize, but Fiona bit it back. Instead, she made a show of looking at her calendar. “I wasn’t aware we were meeting today. How can I help you?”
“Don’t be impudent,” her mother spat out. “We need to finish our conversation.”
“No, Mother, we don’t.”
Linh Han gasped.
Heart pounding in time with her head, Fiona pushed through.
“Mother, I am thirty-three. I am a divorced woman living on my own and supporting myself. You have no say in who I see, or what I do.” Holding her hand up to stop her mother from interrupting, she snapped, “I’m not finished.
I’ve done everything you wanted me to, up to and including marrying a man who gaslighted me because you thought it would be good for the business.
I lived under your thumb, then under Eddie’s thumb.
I will not do so again. It is my life, and who I choose to spend it with is my business. ”
“You are wrong. What you are doing brings shame to the business. You are with a criminal!” The anger fairly vibrated off of her mother. “His people are?—”
“What? Immigrants? So are you and Father. Tomas’s parents are naturalized Americans. They are hard-working business owners. They go to the United Methodist Church, just like you.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Louisa Santiago is not like me. She is?—”
“Warm, inviting, interested in the lives of her children without trying to control them. She is involved in the community and a great mother.”
Linh Han waved her hand in dismissal. “If she was a good mother her daughter would not be flighty and unable to hold down a job, and her son would not have gone to jail.”
“Tomas made a bad decision. One he paid for. But through that decision he learned skills that allowed him to become an excellent contractor and an excellent teacher. He is a good man, and I care deeply about him.”
“He is beneath you.”
Leaning forward, Fiona banged her fist against her desk. “Why, Mother? He treats me well. He’s interested in what I have to say. How can he be beneath me? I don’t understand.”
Rising to her feet, Linh Han screamed at her daughter. “He is an uneducated Mexican! He will always be beneath you.”
T omas pushed through the door to Keeney Works, determined to make it right with Fiona.
Hopefully, a heartfelt apology would work, because more than anything, he wanted her to know that he would not take her for granted.
That he would not assume what he wanted was what she wanted.
Three women gathered around the receptionist’s desk looked at him with big eyes.
Loud voices came from the hallway, one that belonged to Fiona.
Without a word, he headed toward the heated argument in Vietnamese.
When it switched to English, he clearly understood the words being spoken.
In the silence that followed, he leaned against the wall, weak-kneed.
He’d faced them before, bigots and racists who judged him by the color of his skin, and he knew he would do so again.
But from Fiona’s mother? She was Vietnamese, she’d felt the same prejudice.
What would it be like to have that woman in his life?
Because as Fiona’s mother, she would be in his life.
Thoughts chased through his head, freezing him in place.
“I think you should leave.” Fiona’s cold voice released him. His heart started to beat again.
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Mother. You’ve truly revealed yourself this time and I can’t talk to you. Go.”
There was a rustling sound then Linh Han emerged from Fiona’s office. She startled when she spotted Tomas. “You!” she spat out, then stalked down the hallway.
Edging closer to Fiona’s door, Tomas spotted Iris in her office across the way. The older woman jerked her head toward Fiona and mouthed the word “Go,” moving her hands in an encouraging gesture.
“Hey,” he said, rounding the door.
An exhausted-looking Fiona sat at her desk, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” He tried to speak gently, but keeping the bitterness out of his voice was hard.
Blinking back tears, Fiona looked away. “I’m sor?—”
“Don’t apologize.”
“But my mother…what she said about you….”
“Yeah, it hurts. I won’t lie about that. But I also heard you. You care deeply about me?”
Fiona’s head jerked up, her lips rounded in a silent O.
Moving away from the door, Tomas crossed the room to where she sat. He turned her chair to face him and kneeled before her. “Yeah, I heard that, too.”
Sighing softly, Fiona laced her fingers together in her lap and looked up at him with an uneasy gaze.
“I don’t know what to do about your mother, but your words made me very happy. Especially after your text this morning.”
“I—”
Tomas touched a finger to her lips. “Please. Let me finish.” He waited for her nod, then stroked his finger across her cheek.
“I assumed that you wanted me to come over tonight. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.
Instead of telling you I’m coming over tonight, I should have asked if I could.
I know you have a life, and it was wrong of me to think that you’d drop everything for me.
You are your own person, and I can’t, and shouldn’t, make decisions for you.
” He sat back and waited, hoping he’d said enough. Hoping she’d give him another chance.
Leaning forward, Fiona touched his cheek. “Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me.”
He gusted out a sigh, took her hand, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “May I see you tonight?”
Her smile was his answer, and he brushed her lips with his. Rising, he pulled her up from her chair. “What time? And would you like me to bring dinner?”
“Six o’clock. And yes, whatever you want to pick up.”
“I hope your day gets better,” he said, rubbing her shoulders until the tension eased out of them.
She gave him a crooked smile. “It just did.”