The sharp knife sliced easily through the deep, red tomato. Noémi watched the juices from the ripe fruit spill out onto the wooden cutting board. Soothing R&B tunes played at a comfortable volume through her speakers atop the counter across from the one she worked at. She moved the tomato chunks into the blender, where she’d already placed chopped red and yellow onions, a jalapeño pepper, garlic, cilantro, corn kernels, and a few other spices. She blended them until the salsa was at the desired consistency.

Noémi set a bowl of her salsa and a bag of tortilla chips on her glass coffee table and opened the job section of the newspaper. She scooped a bit of salsa with the chip and directed it to as she browsed the ads. With a black pen she circled a few that she found interesting.

Not five minutes into her search, her cell started vibrating against the table. She picked it up and clicked “answer”. She waited for the automated voice to finish its spiel and accepted the charges. She took a moment to steel herself before speaking.

“Hello?”

“Noémi. Baby.”

She sighed. “Kameron.”

“Hold up. Is that any way to answer your man?”

“We’re not together anymore, Kameron. You know that.”

“I wasn’t serious about that girl, babe. I told you before she ain’t mean nothing to me. Don’t be bitter.”

You have to care to be bitter, Kam. She thought, but would never have the guts to say. “What did you want?” She asked.

“I’m just checking in.” He replied. “I wanted to see how my baby was doing, and I wanted to tell you some good news.”

“What?”

“I’ll be getting out sooner than we thought.”

A chill raced through her. “O–on parole?”

“Yeah.”

“How soon?”

“I’ll be out by the end of the year. Maybe November.”

She glanced into the kitchen, craning her neck to try and see the calendar she kept on the refrigerator.

“Baby? You still there?”

She flinched at the slightly hostile edge his voice had taken. “Yeah. Sorry. I was just checking out the calendar.”

“You still keep it on the refrigerator, don’t you? With the Great Salt Lake magnet?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Is it weird that I actually kinda miss it—wait,” He paused to speak to someone else. “Yeah, a’ight fine. Noémi,” he’d gotten back on the line. “Some wants to use the phone. I don’t want to up my chances of getting out of here, so I’ll give him a pass this time.”

She knew he was speaking more to the “” than he was to her.

“Anyway, I’ll call you when I can. And remember to pick up this time.”

She sighed again, this time a bit more quietly. He’d taken to signing off with this not-so-subtle threat. “Kam, the last time my mom was—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye, babe. I love y—”

She hung up, knowing she’d get an earful for it the next time he called. She set the phone back on the table, glaring at the calendar as though it was the cause of her problems. She stormed toward it, snatched off the magnet Kameron had mentioned and threw it across the room. Noémi wanted nothing to do with Kameron or his memories, and this childish reaction of hers made her feel the slightest bit better. She left the calendar on the floor and went back to the living room to resume her job search.

She munched on her salsa for a while, circling jobs occasionally, and then she paused, pen hovering over a rather business-like ad right in the center of the paper. It read: CHEUNG’S IN NEED OF PERSONAL CHEF. REQUIRED TO MAKE MEALS EVERYDAY (BREAKFAST, LUNCH (OCCASIONALLY), AND DINNER). SALARY WILL BE DISCUSSED IN PERSON DURING AN INTERVIEW. APPLICANTS MUST SEND A COPY OF THEIR RESUME BEFORE AN INTERVIEW CAN BE SCHEDULED. It then listed a number to call and an email address.

There was nothing particularly special about the ad, but Noémi felt something tickle in the back of her head as she looked at it. Maybe it was a moment of clairvoyance, or it could’ve been something as simple as intuition, but whatever the reason was, she dropped the pen, and went to grab her laptop. She sent her resume to the email address they’d supplied and hoped to get a reply soon.

Although, she wasn’t expecting one to come within the hour.

Her cell again vibrated against the coffee table. She feared Kameron was calling her again, but luckily the number wasn’t from the local jail.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” a deep, faintly accented voice replied. “Is this Noémi Moreen’s number?”

“It is.”

“Ah. Good. My name is Zhi Cheung, I’ve just finished reviewing your application.”

Noémi was quiet for a moment, then she realized that this was her potential employer. “Oh! It’s nice to meet you, sir.” She laughed a little. “I wasn’t expecting to get a call so soon.”

“I hope that’s alright?”

“Mmhm, of course.”

“Good. Your references are quite impressive. I’m familiar with Chef Tzell, and she recommends you so highly. And for you to be so young.”

Chef Tzell was a female chef, renowned for her mastery of foreign cooking techniques. Noémi had served as her sous chef for two years only a few months after completing cooking school.

“When would be a good time for you to have an interview?”

“I’m free this Wednesday. And 2:00 is a good time for me.”

“Perfect. Do you have a pen?”

“Yes. One moment…” She found a notebook nearby and flipped to a clean page. “Okay, go ahead.” She wrote down the address of the Cheung home and the details for the interview.

“You have a nice day, Ms. Moreen.”

“You too, Mr. Cheung.” She hung up, a wide smile spreading across her face as she stared at the paper.

She picked up her phone again. Joanne was at the top of her recent call list. She pressed the number and put the call on speaker.

“Girl!” She exclaimed when her best friend picked up.

“Noey!” She returned. “What’s up?”

“We’re going out tonight!”

“Again? But wasn’t your birthday, like last Tuesday?”

“Yep! And it’s time to celebrate again! When can you pick me up?”

Joanne laughed. “Is seven okay?”

“Seven works fine.”

“Can your mom babysit Anina again?” Anina was Joanne’s daughter.

“Mmhm. You know how much my mom loves her.”

“Cool. See you then.”

“See you.”

For the night out, Noémi chose a royal purple colored Jersey knit top and dark jeans to hug her zaftig form. Her twist-out curls fell in defined, bouncy waves about her shoulders and silver studs shined in the double piercing in her ears. When she heard the knock at the door, she spritzed herself with some vanilla perfume, stuffed her feet in a pair of black flats, and answered the door.

“Ready?” Joanne asked.

“Yep! Let’s go.”

After several hours of dancing with strangers, drinking, and general tomfoolery, Noémi drove Joanne back to her place to recover. She didn’t drink much alcohol as a rule; she’d only had two margaritas the entire night. As she drove she sipped on a small, overpriced bottle of water she’d bought before they’d left.

The next morning, Joanne woke with a groan and rolled off the bed to the floor. She fell with a squeak, her head pounding between her ears. She was tempted to get back in bed, but decided not to once she smelled breakfast. Noémi had made some of her famous brown sugar-cinnamon pancakes and an egg Benedict for each of them.

Joanne flopped into one of the chairs at the small, wooden dining table in front of a plate of two pancakes.

“I love partying with you, Noey.” She admitted, grabbing a bottle of syrup. “You always treat me so good after.”

“Of course I do.” Noémi served her the egg Benedict, then herself, and then sat beside her. “You’re my girl, after all.”

Joanne wiped an invisible tear off of her face. Noémi rolled her eyes.

“So what brought on such a wild night?” Joanne asked, cutting into her pancakes.

“I scheduled an interview.”

“That’s great! But not at another restaurant, right?”

Noémi shivered. The last time she’d worked as a restaurant chef, things had gone badly. “Definitely not. If they hire me, I’ll be a personal chef.”

“Cool. So who’re the lucky people that’re going to hire you?”

“The Cheung’s.”

“Cheung?” Joanne repeated. “As in Zhi Cheung?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Noémi, do you mean to say you just applied to this place without knowing who your employers were?”

She stuffed full of pancake and looked away.

Joanne sighed. “Typical Noémi.”

“What’s so special about the Cheung’s?” She asked once she’d swallowed most of the pancake.

“They own Satomi, one of the new technology software companies.”

“Oh.”As a tech nerd, it would figure that Joanne knew about them, but now that she mentioned it the name did sound familiar. She thought back to the address she’d written down and realized that the house was set in a pretty upscale neighborhood.

Joanne nodded, swallowing a mouthful of egg Benedict. “’Oh’ is right. Didn’t you hear that the Cheung’s are racists?”

“Racist?” Noémi repeated. “How d’you know?”

“They came under fire recently for firing one of their personal chefs. It was never said specifically why, but the woman is suing them because she claims it was because she wasn’t Chinese.”

“What is she?”

“Latina.”

“Oh. But when I sent them my resume, my picture was attached to it. They didn’t seem to care about it; they called me back the same day.”

“I don’t know, Noémi. I think you should consider canceling the interview. It’s not worth your pride.”

“Jo, I can’t. I need to move out of here by the end of the year, and I have a feeling the Cheung’s are my way to do that.”

“Why?”

“Kameron’s getting out sooner than we’d thought.”

Joanne turned somber. “When?”

“November.”

“Damn. Now I can see what you mean.”

“Yeah. The lease expires in July, and it’s already March. I won’t sacrifice my pride for this job, but if they’re as rich as you say, I’ll need to stick with them at least until I can get settled down somewhere far from here.”

“I hear you. When’s your interview?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Are you ready?”

“Sure. At least, I’m pretty sure that I know what they’re going to ask.”

Joanne nodded. “Well, I wish you luck, girl.”

“Thanks.”