37. Chapter Thirty-Six Gloria
Chapter Thirty-Six: Gloria
H ealing Hearts Children's Home is small and decorated in a quaint and cozy style.
Children's finger paintings are taped to the walls and polaroids of the staff members cover a bulletin board, with their names written underneath each one.
I march up to the receptionist's desk, my head held high and my briefcase gripped in one hand.
"Hi, I'm Gloria Romero, here for an interview," I say. "It's for the legal position—"
"Yes! We've been expecting you. I'm Kerry," says the receptionist with a friendly smile. "Take a seat. Our hiring manager, Shannon, will be with you shortly."
I arrived ten minutes early. But I'm too full of nervous energy to sit down.
Even if the lobby has two comfy-looking corduroy armchairs flanking a magazine stand.
Having told Wendy I was going to a dentist's appointment this morning, I have three hours to kill before I need to go back to the office.
Still, I have the pre-interview jitters as I wander around the lobby in my three-inch kitten heels, smoothing out any wrinkles in my charcoal pantsuit.
A plaque gleams on the wall, next to a list of charitable organizations that Healing Hearts works with.
More photos line the other wall, which is covered with framed photos of the staff with children, smiling and playing games.
"Gloria Romero?" An unfamiliar voice calls.
I recognize the hiring manager since I stalked her on LinkedIn. "That's me."
"I'm Shannon Ford, the hiring manager. It's a pleasure to meet you."
I step forward and shake her hand. "It's nice to meet you, too."
"Please follow me to my office," she says with a smile. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun, and she wears a casual outfit of light-wash jeans and a graphic t-shirt, making me feel overdressed in my pantsuit.
We walk into her office, which is homey like the rest of the building. A few family pictures clutter the desk, next to a mug that reads PUMPKIN SPICE SEASON. Mustard yellow chairs flank the desk.
"I've taken a look at your resume," Shannon says, typing in her computer password and pulling up a file on her desktop.
"I have to say, we don't get many defectors from big law firms like McMann and Ma.
Most law students—and lawyers—would dream of working for them and practicing corporate law.
What made you want to apply for Healing Hearts? "
I take a deep breath. "It's a bit of a long story."
Shannon glances at the cuckoo clock on the wall. "You have half an hour, so tell me as much as you want."
"My cousin, Eddie, back in the Philippines, lost his mom in a hurricane a few years ago.
" The familiar guilt that comes with those words doesn't crush me this time, so I keep going.
"Fortunately, his uncle adopted him, but I've always felt for the children who weren't as lucky.
The ones who lost everything—and everyone—they had in one horrible day.
When I saw the position for Healing Hearts open up, I felt it could be a way of giving back somehow.
I went into law school because I wanted to help others and pursue justice.
But in my position at McMann and Ma, I'm defending big corporations against lawsuits for defective products—lawsuits they probably deserved in the first place. "
Shannon nods, taking in my words. "I see. So, you want to make a difference with your job, not just maintain the status quo?"
"Exactly," I say.
She makes a note in her computer file. "We work with a lot of government and adoption agencies at Healing Hearts. Do you have any experience with that?"
"I've done a lot with tax law and ethical compliance, but not as much with adoption agencies," I say honestly. "I'm a quick learner, though."
"Can you tell me about a time that you overcame a challenge, whether it was personal or professional, with the help of others? We do a lot of collaborative work here, so even if you're the only lawyer here, you'll have to work with HR and our other departments, like finance," Shannon says.
I start telling her about one of the times that London and I worked on a case together, leaving out his name. We had worked together to help one of the corporations I was representing with a taxation issue they were dealing with.
Shannon’s brows rise in approval. “That’s good to hear.
Another thing I should let you know upfront is that we don't exactly have regular hours at Healing Hearts.
Some days may be 9-5, but on other days, you might have less work than others, or be called in at odd hours.
And we also work with children a lot here, so you'd need to get a police check to work with minors.”
I nod. "I've already taken that into consideration."
"And do you have any questions for me?"
"What do you love about working at Healing Hearts?" I ask.
Shannon looks slightly taken aback by my question.
Hopefully, my question stands out from the other candidates’.
"The sense of purpose I have with my coworkers—knowing that we’re all here because we care about the same cause: helping kids who other people overlook, whether it's in the foster care system or otherwise. "
"That's awesome," I say, finding it's true.
"That concludes our interview, then," she says. "Thank you for your time."
"Thank you for seeing me," I say, then want to smack myself in the forehead because it sounds like I'm talking to a doctor.
"Of course. Have a great day." Shannon walks me to the door.
I drive back to the office, feeling hopeful for the first time in a long while. Before I've even made it halfway back to McMann and Ma, I get a phone call from a number that's not in my contacts. Frowning, I decide to take it since the number looks familiar.
"Hello?" Connecting the phone to my car's Bluetooth speaker, I pick up.
"Hi, Gloria, this is Shannon from Healing Hearts. I just wanted to let you know, we had another applicant who was supposed to come in after you, but he cancelled. After reviewing all the candidates, we've decided that you are the best person for the job. Would you like to accept?"
I wish I could cover the receiver and break out into a happy dance, but I'm stuck in the middle of traffic and my phone is on speaker. So instead, I say, "Yes, I'd love to."
"Perfect. When can you start?"
My mind flurries with activity as I catalogue the things I need to do. Submit my two-week notice, tell my family, tell London—
London.
"I can start two weeks from now," I say, taking a deep breath.
"That sounds great. I'll send you the offer of employment tonight, please reach out if you have any questions." She confirms my email address is correct, and we exchange a few more pleasantries before she hangs up.
I got the job !
And all I want to do is run to London, wrap my arms around his neck, and tell him that while he flings me around in a circle in the middle of the office.
Okay, maybe not that specifically, but still.
The only person I want to tell… is the person who's made me furious, confused, and fall hopelessly in love with him over the past few months. The person I haven’t talked to in days.
When I get back to the office, it's surprisingly empty before I remember that it's lunch hour.
Everyone is probably in the break room or at one of the nearby restaurants grabbing takeout or work lunches.
I settle into my cubicle and power on my computer to start typing up my resignation.
After I finish typing, proofreading, and sending my email, Wendy walks by my desk.
I scramble to my feet to catch up to her.
“Wendy! Could I talk to you for a minute?” I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.
“Of course,” she says. “I was looking for you. How was your dentist’s appointment?”
I cringe inwardly at the lie. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I wasn’t at a dentist appointment, I was interviewing for a job. And I got it.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, landing somewhere under her permed bangs. “Which firm is it? We’ll match their offer.”
“It’s not with a firm. It’s with the Healing Hearts Children’s Home.” I start explaining the work they do there, but she cuts me off.
“You’re going to leave everything here to work for a nonprofit ? All the time I put into mentoring you, all the prestige of working at McMann and Ma, so you can, what? Dry children’s tears and feel better about yourself for helping the less fortunate?”
I take a step back, almost stumbling. “I looked up to you, Wendy. And if you believe that advocating for those suffering injustice is any less important than defending billion-dollar corporations for tax evasion, then I guess you know why I’m leaving.”
A lump swells in my throat as her mouth opens. Then shuts. Then opens again. “Don’t bother with the two weeks. You can leave now.”
I turn on my heel and stalk back to my desk to gather my things, my hands shaking so hard I have to stuff them into the pockets of my blazer.
All this time, I thought Wendy believed in me and my potential.
Now, I guess she only ever believed in the version of me she wanted to shape me into. A carbon copy of her.
When I get back to my desk, a sticky note catches my eye, stuck to my computer mouse.
London Young's Love of my Life List
I frown, trying to tell if I'm reading the words correctly or if I'm hallucinating due to the sudden career changes.
But his distinctive handwriting stands out against the note in my favourite colour—peachy orange. And as I glance around my cubicle, actually taking the time to examine everything closely, I realize that there are more scattered around my desk.
There’s one stuck to a little carved fish, with a note saying, Must be a fan of tropical fish. Another taped to a wooden figurine of a horse, saying Must have ridden a horse before even if she's not particularly good at it. One is attached to a Filipino flag, saying, Must love her family.
Tears well up in my eyes as I look at the whole collection of small items—the amalgamation of his 'list'—lying on my desk.
I'm the love of his life.
And he still wants to be with me.
Just then, the clock on my desk tells me it's one o'clock, and everyone will be returning from lunch.
As if on cue, London walks into the office, his expression uncertain, searching, like he's lost his way.
But when his brown eyes land on me, they light up—first with joy, then with hesitation.
Like he's not sure if I want to see him as much as he wants to see me.
I spring up from my desk and sprint toward him, ignoring that I'm at work, and practically throw myself at him. It's a good thing he isn't carrying a hot beverage.
We stand there for God knows how long, wrapped in each other's arms, blind to the fact that we're still standing in the middle of our office.
I sniffle, trying to wipe back the nonstop tears coursing down my face.
London's arms tighten around me, squeezing me so tightly I swear he's going to break a rib.
His familiar scent of eucalyptus and cedar overwhelms me.
He's warm and strong and everything I've so desperately missed.
"You got one thing wrong," I whisper when we half-separate to look at one another.
"What's that?" he murmurs, a sly smile on his lips.
"The last item on the list. You should change it to, must want to have a family with London Young . Because I do." I take a deep breath. Has he really changed his mind on never having kids?
"I want to have a family with you, too." One of his hands slides up from my shoulder to cup my cheek. "I want everything with you, Gloria. And I’m sorry I didn’t come with you to the Philippines.”
“I really missed you.”
"I’m sorry I was being an idiot."
I laugh in spite of myself—or maybe because of the jubilation flooding through my veins. "Did you really mean it when you said that I was the love of your life?"
"Technically, I just made a list. You happened to fit all the requirements," he says playfully. "You, and no one else."
I take a moment to absorb the warmth of his words before saying, "I got the job. "
"I knew you would!" His eyes, already filled with love, flood with admiration and awe. "You're something else, Gloria Romero."
Next to us, Reginald clears his throat. "As much of a fan as I am of the two of you getting together, please keep the public displays of affection to a minimum of twenty seconds. This has been seven minutes too long."
London and I both laugh and let go of each other, though he still holds onto my hand.
"I'm going to miss working here," I say quietly as he sits next to me at my desk. "All the friends I've made…"
"Even Giorgio?" London teases.
I roll my eyes. "Maybe. But you, most of all."
He shakes his head. "You'll always have me, love."