8. Selene
Selene
I’ve been sending out my resume for weeks, but I didn’t think I’d ever hear from this company.
And so soon after my submission? This week is off to a fantastic start!
The mirror in my bedroom leans slightly to one side. I try to straighten it with one hand while smoothing down the wrinkles on my blouse with the other. The fabric feels stiff, not because it’s new but because it’s been ironed one too many times.
Yet I will iron it again if it means I’ll get this job.
I step back and take a look at myself. Dark slacks, light blue blouse, hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Professional but not overdressed. I pinch my cheeks for a bit of color and dab on a touch of lip balm.
I’m going to nail this. I know it in my heart. My laptop bag sits on the bed, open and neatly packed. Leo’s drawings are scattered across the nightstand, and I briefly regret telling him to embrace his artistic side.
But I won’t let that sour my mood. If I get this job, we can move to a bigger house where he would have his own room to do whatever he wants.
For now, we’re sharing this small space.
I check the clock. I have fifteen minutes before I need to leave.
“Mom!” Leo’s voice cuts through the stillness.
I see him standing in the living room, holding a half-eaten apple in one hand and a crayon in the other. His green eyes are wide, and there’s a smudge of blue on his cheek.
“Grandpa Ben called!” he says, bouncing slightly on his toes.
I smile, ruffling his hair as I grab the phone from the couch. I had already told my uncle and brother about the interview, and they both wished me good luck. “What did Grandpa Ben say?”
“He said I should tell you you’re gonna do great!” Leo grins his toothy smile so big it makes my heart squeeze. “And you should buy me a big bowl of ice cream on your way back.”
I kneel to his level, brushing the crayon mark from his cheek. “No, he didn’t,” I say with a laugh. I turn my cheek, and he places a sloppy kiss on it. “You’re my good luck charm, you know, right?”
He nods seriously, then leans in to hug me. His small arms wrap around my neck, and I never want to let go.
But I have to.
“Be good for Uncle Jake while I’m gone,” I say, standing.
“I will,” he promises, turning back to his coloring.
Jake arrives exactly on time, and I hop into the driver's seat of his car. The car smells like Leo’s bubblegum air freshener and cedar.
For the third time, I glance at the address written on a sticky note beside me and compare it with the one I put in Google Maps.
Soon, a tall office building appears before me and a big S hangs on the last floor.
I park and walk inside. I’m immediately intimidated by how busy the reception is. I don’t expect anything less from one of the biggest media companies in the city.
The receptionist greets me with a polite smile and asks for my name.
“Selene Harper,” I say as she types it into her laptop.
“Please take a seat, Miss Harper. I’ll send you to the interview room once it’s time.”
While I wait, I look around and admire the polished floors, which reflect the fluorescent lights above. All I see is money.
Finally, my name is called.
The interview room is small but clean, with pale walls and a single potted plant in the corner. A man in his forties, wearing an immaculate grey suit, sits behind the desk. He wears a polite but impersonal expression.
“Selene Harper,” he says, gesturing for me to sit.
I lower myself into the chair, clasping my hands in my lap to keep them steady.
He glances at my résumé, flipping through the pages quickly. “You say you’re a rookie journalist?” he asks.
The question makes me twitch, but I keep my confidence in place. “I am.”
He raises his brow. “And yet your article on the Stone's wedding made so many waves. It’s clear you have talent.”
A tiny spark of hope ignites in my chest.
“Thank you,” I say. “I worked hard on that piece.”
He nods, setting the papers down. “And you know that Three Stones Advertising Group is a rival to Steven and Co., right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you send an application to them too?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
Because I dated the president eight years ago, got pregnant for him, and disappeared.
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I’m a rookie journalist, as you have noted, sir.
I’m friends with Olivia Stone, the fiancé of Garrett Stone.
If I get a job at Three Stones advertising group, it will spark rumors or favoritism.
I don’t want to start my career being the subject of another journalist's news article.”
His lips twitch, and I see he’s holding back a smile. Good. I think I impressed him.
He seems to consider this, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “It’s a competitive field. What sets you apart?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m adaptable. I’ve worked under tight deadlines, juggled multiple projects, and delivered results that exceeded expectations. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
He nods again, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Your experience is impressive,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. “But we typically require a master’s degree for this role. Do you have plans to pursue one?”
The spark of hope fizzles out.
I force a smile, my chest tightening. “I can’t afford to at the moment. But I’m always open to learning and growing on the job.”
He smiles faintly, closing the folder. “Thank you for your time, Selene. We’ll be in touch.”
No, he won’t.
I’ve heard enough ‘we’ll be in touch’ to know when someone won’t be in touch.
The drive back home is much slower than the drive to the interview. My phone buzzes in the passenger seat, Jake’s name lighting up the screen.
I pick it up and put it on speaker. “Hey!” I say in a bright voice.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“They were impressed by my article on the wedding. They said I’ll hear from them soon.”
There’s a pause, then a sigh. “You’ll find something, Selene. You‘ll figure it out.”
I swallow hard, gripping the wheel tighter. “Thanks, Jake.”
“Leo’s doing great,” he says, changing the subject. “Kid’s been coloring nonstop and talking about his play next week.
I smile despite the ache in my chest. “Tell him I’ll be home soon.”
We hang up, and the silence fills the car again.
When I pull into the driveway, Leo runs out to meet me, his face lighting up like the sun. His arms wrap around my waist, and his laughter breaks through the heaviness in my chest.
“Are you going to help me get ready for my play now?”
“Of course, buddy,” I say with the brightest smile I can muster.
Jake comes out and mutters another set of encouraging words to me before getting in his car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
“Thanks, Jake,” I reply, struggling not to sound weary.
I need a car. And a job. And money. A lot of money.
Leo pulls me inside the house, and we close the door.
***
The next morning, Leo is wearing a makeshift costume we put together last night—a soft green tunic and brown tights that are a bit too long. His hair is slicked back with water, the damp strands already starting to spring free.
“Mom, do I look like Robin Hood?” he asks, spinning in a circle.
“You look better than Robin Hood,” I say, kneeling by the couch to adjust the belt around his waist. The fabric is old, so I pray it doesn’t rip during his play.
He beams, his green eyes bright. “I’m going to be the best one on stage.”
“You are,” I say, smoothing a wrinkle in his tunic.
I glance at the clock. The play isn’t until next week, but Leo’s excitement has me rushing to make everything perfect. He wants to practice his part for days before and I agree to help. I can’t let anything go wrong.
Leo grabs a wooden stick from the corner of the room, one we found on our walk last week. I had Jake brush away any prickly strands and we painted it black. He holds it up like a sword, his small hands gripping it tightly. “Do you think the other kids will like it?”
“They’ll love it,” I say, standing up and brushing the dust from my knees.
He nods seriously as if I’ve just given him the confidence he needs to conquer the world.
While Leo practices his lines, I gather the last few things he’ll need for school today. I’m in the kitchen, checking the contents of his lunchbox when someone knocks.
I frown as I wipe my hands on a towel and walk to the door.
Through the peephole, I see the last person I want to see right now: Mr. Randall, the landlord.
Shit.
I pull the door open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest.
“Morning, Ms. Selene,” he says. His weathered face is set in a neutral expression, though he’s holding a folded piece of paper in his hand that makes my pulse drop.
“Mr. Randall,” I say, forcing a smile. “What brings you by?”
He doesn’t return the smile. Instead, he holds out the paper. “We need to talk.”
I know what it is before I even unfold the notice. The bold letters at the top confirm what I already know: Eviction Notice.
“I’ve given you time,” he says. “More time than most landlords would.”
I grip the paper tightly, the edges crinkling under my fingers. My mouth feels dry, my chest tight. “I know. And I appreciate it, Mr. Randall. I really do. But I need a little more time. I’m working on it.”
He crosses his arms, the fabric of his worn jacket stretching over his shoulders. “Selene, I can’t keep waiting. You’re three months behind. I have bills to pay, too.”
I glance back into the apartment, where Leo is still practicing his lines, oblivious to the conversation happening at the door.
“Please, Mr. Randall,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m doing everything I can.”
He sighs, running a hand over his balding head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been patient, but I can’t wait any longer. You have until the end of the month.”
My heart sinks.
He shifts uncomfortably, looking behind me. “I know you’re a good tenant, Selene. I know you’re trying. But I have to think about my own family, too.”
I nod slowly and have nothing to say because he’s not wrong. He’s not being unkind, either. If anything, he has been too kind. “I …I understand.”
He looks at me for a moment longer, his eyes softening just slightly. Then he turns and walks away. I close the door quietly, leaning my forehead against the cool wood.
The notice feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in my hand. My mind races, calculating and recalculating, trying to figure out how to stretch what little I have left.
“Mom?”
Leo’s voice pulls me back, and I straighten up, turning to face him. He’s standing in the living room, his stick-sword raised high.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I force a smile, shoving the notice into my pocket. “Almost, buddy. But you need to take off your costume and get ready for school. Hurry now. I’ll be just a few more minutes.”
He nods, spinning in a circle and pretending to fight invisible enemies.
I watch him for a moment. I won’t move back to Jake’s house or with my uncle.
If I can’t provide my son with a decent place to live, do I even deserve to be his mother?