29. #2
The name appeared across a gray-and-purple banner behind the table.
Beneath it, smaller lettering identified the organization as a community domestic-violence resource and advocacy center.
Their display was quieter than several of the booths surrounding it.
Brochures were arranged across the table beside information about crisis intervention, survivor advocacy, court accompaniment and community outreach.
My pace slowed before I'd consciously decided to stop.
A woman was already speaking with one of the representatives, so I reached for a brochure and moved slightly to the side rather than hovering over their conversation.
My thumb stopped against the paper.
I opened it.
Emergency shelter referrals. Safety planning. Legal-resource navigation. Advocacy during protective-order proceedings. Support groups. Assistance with employment and housing resources.
There was nothing on those pages I hadn't technically known existed.
Knowing something existed and imagining yourself needing it were apparently different things.
"First Lady Housner?"
I looked up.
The woman behind the table had finished her conversation and was staring at me with unmistakable recognition.
She appeared to be somewhere in her forties, dressed professionally without looking overly formal, with a name badge clipped near the collar of her blouse.
Surprise lasted only a second before she smiled and extended her hand across the table.
"It's an honor to meet you."
I tucked the brochure beneath my arm before taking her hand. "It's nice to meet you too."
"I'm Donna." Her handshake was warm and brief. "Donna Ellis. I coordinate community advocacy and student outreach for Road to Safety."
"Naomi."
The second it left my mouth, I nearly laughed at myself.
Obviously she knew that.
Donna's smile widened slightly but, thankfully, she didn't point it out. "Are you just browsing today, or were you looking for something in particular?"
There it was.
I opened my mouth.
I'm looking for a job because the President canceled my credit cards seemed unnecessarily alarming.
"Um..."
Donna waited.
I glanced down at the brochure still tucked beneath my arm and made a decision that was only partially cowardly.
"I'm browsing. But I'd really love to get involved with an organization while I'm in school."
Her entire expression brightened.
"Well, then I'm very glad you stopped here."
I smiled as she immediately reached for another sheet from the table.
"We're hiring part-time advocates for the semester. It's primarily resource coordination, intake support and assisting the full-time advocates. Obviously, there are confidentiality requirements and training before you'd work directly with anyone,
but we've had several Georgetown students over the years."
That caught my attention.
"How many hours?"
"We usually start students around twelve to fifteen a week. We're flexible around classes."
Twelve to fifteen.
I could do that.
At least, I thought I could.
Donna continued explaining the training schedule and the kinds of tasks new advocates handled, and I found myself listening more closely than I'd listened during at least half of Constitutional Law that morning.
Donna glanced at me with a slightly amused smile. "I imagine the hourly rate isn't exactly what brought you over here."
If only she knew.
I returned the smile rather than explaining.
"But," she continued, "it is a paid position, and we'd certainly make it worth while to have the First Lady on our team. Honestly, having someone with your advocacy platform involved with Road to Safety could bring tremendous attention to what we do."
There it was.
First Lady.
Not Naomi.
I couldn't fault Donna for seeing the opportunity. If I ran a nonprofit and the First Lady wandered up to my booth looking interested, I'd probably start calculating press coverage too.
But that wasn't why I wanted her to hire me.
"Do you have an application?"
Donna blinked. "Of course."
"I'd like to apply."
Her smile returned immediately. "We would love to have you."
I shifted the brochure into my other hand. "You don't know that yet."
That made her laugh.
"I'm serious." I smiled too, but I held her gaze.
"I have a résumé. I can send you my class schedule, references, whatever you normally ask applicants for. I don't want you to skip anything because of..."
I gestured vaguely toward myself, because there wasn't a graceful way to gesture toward being First Lady. "All of this."
Donna studied me for a moment.
Something about her expression changed—not negatively, just enough that I could tell the conversation had shifted.
"Okay," she said. "Then we'll treat you like everybody else."
"Please."
I opened my bag and pulled out the folder containing the copies of my résumé I'd printed in the law library after class. I slid one across the table.
Donna accepted it and glanced down.
"Thank you."
"No." I tucked the brochure into my bag. "Thank you."
She handed me a card containing the application information, and I slipped that beside the brochure before stepping away so the students gathering behind me could approach.
I continued through the rest of the fair.
I stopped at four more tables, asked questions at three and handed out another résumé at one. I tried to give each position a fair chance rather than deciding I'd found what I wanted within the first ten minutes.
But every few minutes, my hand brushed the Road to Safety brochure inside my bag.
By the time I walked outside, evening had started settling over campus. Students crossed the pathways around me in groups, conversations overlapping as everyone headed toward dorms, cars, libraries and whatever came after class for people whose lives weren't organized around presidential schedules.
I stopped near the steps and pulled Donna's card from my bag.
There was an application link printed beneath her name.
For the first time since Rodney canceled my cards, the thought of money didn't make me feel powerless.
The job wouldn't make me financially independent overnight.
Fifteen hours a week wasn't going to create some magical life where I suddenly didn't need anybody.
I still lived in Grant's house. I still had his credit card tucked untouched into my wallet.
My legal marriage still connected me to a man who had spent years making sure I understood how much of my life depended on him.
But maybe independence didn't begin with having enough money to never need anyone again.
Maybe it began with having something that was mine.
I put Donna's card carefully back into my bag and started toward the parking lot.
By the time I opened the house door, the exhaustion I'd managed to ignore for most of the afternoon had settled into every part of my body.
"Hey, beautiful."
Grant's voice pulled my attention toward the living room.
He was stretched across one end of the couch with his laptop balanced over his thighs, looking considerably more comfortable than the version of him who had left the house that morning.
His dress shirt and slacks were gone, replaced by gray lounge pants and a black T-shirt, and the glasses he usually wore when he'd been staring at a screen too long sat low on his nose.
He looked up from the laptop, and whatever he'd been reading apparently became irrelevant because he closed it almost immediately and set it beside him.
"Hi."
The smile came before I could stop it.
Grant stood as I dropped my bag beside the entry table, and I crossed the space between us without bothering to pretend I wasn't going directly to him.
His arms opened before I reached him. I tucked myself against his chest, wrapping both arms around his middle while his settled around my shoulders, and for several seconds neither of us said anything.
I pressed my face into the soft cotton covering his chest and breathed in the familiar mixture of his cologne and whatever soap he used.
I'd spent an entire day surrounded by people, and somehow it wasn't until I was standing there that I realized how badly I'd wanted to come back to him.
"Long day?" he asked, his voice vibrating faintly beneath my cheek.
"Very."
His hand moved slowly over my back. "I'm glad you went."
"I think Professor Bennett assigned three weeks of material while I was gone just to punish me."
Grant laughed softly, and I kissed his chest through his shirt once, then again, because I could. His arms tightened around me.
"Come on." He reached for my hand when I finally pulled away. "I have something for you."
I narrowed my eyes. "What is it?"
He led me into the kitchen before I could ask why there was cake, waiting in the middle of the island.
It was small enough that the two of us could reasonably finish it. Covered in smooth white frosting with a thin border piped around the edge. Across the top, in slightly cramped black lettering, someone had written 'Welcome Back, Lawyer'
I stopped.
Grant leaned against the island beside me, apparently content to let me stare at it.
"Law student," I corrected eventually, although my smile was already giving me away.
"I know."
"Then why does it say lawyer?"
"Because 'welcome back to your first day of returning to your first year of law school' wouldn't fit."
I laughed, reaching out to run my finger just above the edge of the frosting without touching it. "You're so cheesy."
I turned toward him. "That was really sweet."
His expression softened. "I'm proud of you."
The words landed more heavily than they probably should have.
I looked at the cake again, suddenly very interested in the tiny imperfections in the frosting. Going back to school wasn't an achievement that belonged on a résumé. I hadn't passed an exam or finished the semester. I'd simply returned to something I'd already started.
I leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
"How was it?"
"Better than the first day."
"That's a low bar."
"Extremely." I smiled. "But it was okay. I have a lot to catch up on."