He studied my face, then handed me a business card.
“Call me tomorrow.”
I recognized the name before I recognized him: Alexander Carter. Forty-one. Manufacturing companies, luxury hotels, commercial properties. His picture had been on a business magazine someone left beside our register.
I put the card behind my electric bill.
Luis caught me at the service station after they left.
“He asked about you,” he said. “I told him you work hard.”
“What else?”
Luis’s smile faded.
“That you deliver food at night. That you’ve never missed a shift. He asked if you were dependable.”
I knew he meant well. Still, it felt strange to imagine my exhaustion becoming a conversation between two men while I cleared plates.
Outside, I fastened my motorcycle helmet and checked the delivery app. Seven dollars to carry dinner across town. Another order appeared before I accepted the first.
For a moment, I took the card out again. Thick paper. A direct number. A future, perhaps, or simply a rich man’s way of feeling useful.
I couldn’t afford to mistake one for the other.
The next morning, I called from our apartment stairwell because my roommate was sleeping after a hospital shift. A woman named Nadia answered.
“Mr. Carter hoped you’d call. Are you available at eleven?”
“I start work at ten-thirty.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“I work tomorrow too.”
There was a pause. Then another voice came on.
“Emily? Alexander Carter. What time do you finish?”
“Four, if the next person comes on time.”
“I’ll be at the café at four-thirty.”
He arrived without the suit jacket. He bought coffee and asked whether I could sit for a few minutes after clocking out.
“My mother’s name is Evelyn,” he said. “She insisted on eating out yesterday. We argued about it.”
“Because of her hands?”
“Because I thought it would be easier to have lunch at home.”
I said nothing. He turned his cup a little.
“She has people helping her. Before you wonder.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“Everyone wonders.”
