Chapter 41 Taylor
Taylor
The weekend arrives; Taylor has officially finished her first week of employment at the Knox.
But there’s no one to celebrate with; Sam is in Miami meeting up with someone he met on Raya, the high-profile dating app.
So Taylor spends her time binging reruns of Gossip Girl and perusing online luxury consignment shops.
Every minute away from the Knox feels multiplied by two.
At one point, when she pulls out her credit card to snag some vintage Gucci buttons from a trusted eBay seller, she comes across a crumpled slip of paper.
It’s the receipt that apparently fell out of her wallet at Savenor’s, the one the woman behind her in the checkout line handed to her. Taylor opens it, curious.
But it’s not a receipt after all.
It’s a handwritten note, embossed with the Knox logo: Go back to being a nurse.
Taylor’s heart immediately starts racing. What is this? Who would leave it for her? Is it a warning? A demand? Who at the Knox even knows she’s a nurse?
She closes her eyes, trying to think. Did she somehow let that information slip?
No—she’s sure she didn’t. Someone knows more about her than they let on.
She opens a new browser to google herself.
Maybe somebody from the Knox looked her up online and found something.
Perhaps there’s something incriminating on one of her social media profiles.
But she’s reassured to find that her Facebook and Instagram profiles are still private, with no classifying information.
Her Snapchat is basically inactive. She does have a new Instagram follow request, from a faceless someone named @tdgarden33__.
Either a bot, or someone is sniffing around.
Taylor tries to relax, but a current of anxiety pulses through her. She’s too much in her head, worrying about the note, worrying about everything.
If the Knox didn’t really mean to hire her, and that’s what this note’s about.
If she’s asked too many questions.
If her landlord, Anna, will think her request for an intro to the used-bookstore owner is weird, or suspicious.
If Jerry and the others will ever accept her.
If Sam actually likes her, or if their friendship is more of a neighborly convenience.
If Vivian is long dead, even though Taylor hasn’t yet heard back from the state about Vivian’s death record.
It’s like opening Pandora’s box.
Will Taylor always be an outsider? What if she never comes close to being the woman her mother was? Is she pathetic for even trying? Would her mom be ashamed of her, if she could see her now?
Taylor looks around her apartment, taking in the sagging secondhand couch, the throw with a grease stain from Chinese takeout that she’s been unable to remove, the dirty bowl she routinely leaves in the sink. It’s embarrassing, really, her doldrum existence.
She wonders if she’s nothing to the Knox. If she were to quit tomorrow, or be fired, would anyone even miss her, remember her? Would she be reduced to terse mentions, like Tara? How quickly would Taylor be replaced? How much more easily would that new person win Jerry’s favor, or Rose’s trust?
Taylor wonders if she’s simply traded a subpar life in North Carolina for a subpar one in Boston.
She wonders if she’s nothing at all.
On Saturday midafternoon, like a Hail Mary, Taylor receives a surprise banking alert: Her first paycheck has been deposited, not even twenty-four hours after finishing her workweek.
No typical one-week pay lag for Knox employees, apparently.
She can’t believe the number: nearly three times what she was making as a nurse.
Hell no, she’s not going back to nursing.
She doesn’t know who left her that note, sure, but, frankly, after this paycheck, she’s having a hard time making herself care.
It’s like the oldest kind of magic, the way the sparkling new balance in her checking account lifts her spirits, transforms her outlook, makes her feel like she’s on “the right path” after all.
Emboldened, she orders a sushi lunch—to be delivered, no less—not paying any mind to the hefty delivery fee, and finally texts Aunt Gigi.
Hi Aunt Gigi, sorry for the delay. Thnx for thinking of me with all these nursing positions. BUT I’m all set for now. I got another job.
Her aunt responds almost immediately.
Oh! That was quick! Where?
It’s not in nursing. But don’t worry! I’m making *really* good pay!
What kind of job??
It’s a kind of waitressing job. But I’m doing other stuff 2.
A pause.
Where?
It’s for a private restaurant.
A private society.
Taylor quickly edits the text.
A private club.
What’s the name of it?
The Knox.
Taylor sees the dots appear and then disappear.
Eventually, they’re gone. Aunt Gigi has chosen not to respond.
Just as well. Taylor knows it’s only a matter of time before the message now gets relayed to her father.
At least, hopefully by then, he will have received the check she’s just popped in the mail.
As she bites into her salmon sashimi—another extravagance she wouldn’t normally indulge in—and sips her wine, she decides she’s glad Sam is away. She doesn’t have to field questions about the Knox she doesn’t want to answer.