The day of the interview, Noémi stood in the bathroom, frowning at her reflection. She’d picked out what she wanted to wear the night before, but after putting it on, she decided she didn’t like it. She shook her head and walked out of the bathroom to find something else.

“Noey what’s wrong with what you have on?” Joanne whined, rolling around on Noémi’s bed. She had agreed to drive Noémi to the interview. She had to take Anina to the dentist’s office today anyway although it was getting closer and closer to the time that she’d have to pick her up.

“It’s too… Stuffy.” Noémi replied, picking a different shirt out of the dresser. “I want to be professional, but I don’t want to look like I’m about to go to church.”

Joanne’s hazel eyes looked up to the ceiling as she sighed. “Well, you’ve got five minutes before we have to leave. Pick out something new and hurry up.”

“Since you had Anina, you’ve been so bossy.”

“Funny, I was just thinking about how you’re just like a kid, Noey.”

Noémi stuck her tongue out at her as she disappeared into the bathroom. She changed from her stuffy outfit and slipped on a pair of black slacks, a red and white striped blouse, and white flats to go with it. She modeled the look for Joanne.

“That’s better.” She admitted begrudgingly. “But what are you going to do with your hair?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t wear it down for the interview.” Noémi gathered her wild curls at the top of her head and secured a banana clip around them. She rearranged them a little and tucked the bangs behind her ear. “There. Simple yet professional don’t you think?”

Joanne laughed. “Let’s go, girl. You’re gonna be late if you keep feeling yourself like this.”

“It’s hard not to feel yourself when you’re looking good.”

“You’ve got such a big head.”

Noémi ran her fingers over her friend’s head. Joanne liked to keep her hair shaved close to her head.

“You’re one to talk.”

She dodged the half-hearted kick Joanne aimed at her and led the way to the green 2005 Toyota Camry. Nicki Minaj’s latest played through the speakers as they backed out of the parking space and away from the apartment.

There was hardly any traffic, so the drive turned out to be a little over thirty minutes long, which was a little shorter than either of them had planned for. The Cheung’s didn’t have any close neighbors, so the house was easy to spot: it was more of a modern mansion with an angular design that had a lot of windows. The house was white with darkly-rimmed windows and doors. It looked like two vaguely rectangular levels had been stacked almost haphazardly on top of each other. There were flowers and shrubbery lining the curving trail up to the front door. To the left of the house, the driveway led up to a box-shaped garage.

“Damn.” She and Joanne stated at the same time. They looked at each other.

“Call me when you’re ready, Noey. I’ll try to find a supermarket around here to shop at while you’re in there. Don’t get lost while you’re in there.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Once Joanne drove away, Noémi started to feel intimidated by the house’s size. She shook her head and tried to swallow the discomfort. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

A man, who Noémi assumed was the butler, opened it. He wasn’t the stereotypical butler: old man with spectacles and a British accent. Actually, he was maybe a year or two older than Noémi, and when he spoke, his accent had the slightest southern twang to it.

“May I help you?” He asked.

“Yeah. Um, I’m here for the interview?”

“For the chef position, right? Your appointment’s at two?”

She nodded.

He checked his watch. “You’re early. Good. What’s the name?”

“Noémi Moreen.”

He smiled. “Follow me. My name’s Thomas.”

She returned the expression. “Nice to meet you.”

She followed him through the grand house. It was like each room had a different color scheme. They passed through an orange, green, and yellow room before they reached a wooden door. Thomas knocked twice.

“Ms. Moreen is here to see you, sir.”

He leaned in as a faint voice sounded through. Thomas stepped to the side and opened the door. The office was large but mostly empty. The walls were white and the carpet was a combination of grey and slate. Noémi walked in and Thomas closed the door behind her. She approached one of two chairs in front of a big mahogany desk.

Mr. Zhi Cheung typed on his computer. “Take a seat.” He told her. “This should only take a moment.”

“There’s no rush.” Noémi said as she sat. She looked around at simple room, sneaking quick glances at Mr. Cheung. He had black hair with only a few strands of grey peppered through, an angular face, and he filled out his button down shirt quite nicely. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief when he caught her staring at him. He smiled as her cheeks burned and turned in his chair to focus on her entirely.

“I apologize for the delay.”

“It’s okay.” She assured him.

“So how are you this evening?” he asked.

“Pretty good. And yourself, Mr. Cheung?”

“About the same, actually. Was it hard finding the house?”

She shook her head. “Not really; you don’t live as far as I thought you did.”

“Good. Good.”  He stood up. “Would you like a bottle of water? It’s cold.”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.” She turned and watched him grab a couple of bottles from the mini fridge sitting against the wall behind her. He handed her one as he settled in his seat.

He reached into one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a thin folder with Noémi’s name printed over it. “Let’s get these questions over with, shall we?”

She nodded, sitting a little straighter in her chair.

“So, Ms. Moreen—”

“Oh, Noémi’s fine.”

“Noémi then. How would you say that you are with people?”

“I usually get along with them well.”

“Has anyone that you’ve personally dealt with disrespected you or any way? And if so, how did you deal with that?”

She thought about it. “Yes, I’ve dealt with disrespect a few times. Both inside and outside of my job. I handled each situation differently: when I was dealing with coworkers who were disrespectful, I told them exactly how I felt about the way they were treating me, and if they continued, I took it to the boss. But if it was outside of my job, I respond less… eloquently I guess you could say.” She laughed a little. “I let them know how I felt about them, too.”

“Fair enough.” Mr. Cheung wrote something down on a sticky note and attached it to the folder. “Are you okay with anyone coming in the kitchen while you’re working?”

She nodded. “I don’t mind. Just as long as they let me know they’re in there. I’d hate to be carrying a pot of soup and be startled by someone standing behind me, you know?”

He nodded and wrote some more. “How are you with children?”

“My best friend has a seven-year-old daughter that I’ve watched several times. Also, my mom owns a day care, and I helped her out part-time when I was in high school.”

“So you’re good with them?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Are you a very judgmental person?”

Noémi took a drink of water. These weren’t questions she’d prepared for.

“I form my own opinions about people,” she replied honestly, “But I try not to let them interfere with how I treat them. Or how I work with them.”

“Do you work well under pressure?”

“I do.”

“Alright.” He added another sticky note to the file and pushed the folder to the side. “The reason I’m asking is my family can be difficult at times. I have to make sure your personality won’t clash with theirs.”

“I get that.” She replied.

“Would you mind cooking lunch? I know that the ad says ‘occasionally’, but it will probably be more often than that.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“So what factors do you consider when creating a menu?”

Mr. Cheung switched to asking questions that pertained to cooking, which were much easier for Noémi to deal with. She grew more confident and more comfortable with him as she answered.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s all the questions that I have; is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

“Hmm… Is it okay if I play music while I cook?” She said, “It wouldn’t be at a loud volume, and the songs wouldn’t be too vulgar. Music just helps me focus when I’m in the kitchen.”

“Yes. As long as you keep it at a respectable volume.”

She smiled. “Of course. Also, will I be cooking just for your family? Or does that include the others who work for you?”

“I’m only paying you to cook for my family.”

“Okay. So you said your family could be difficult. Can you tell me a little more about them?”

Mr. Cheung leaned back in his chair. “Where to start?” He asked, looking toward the ceiling. “Well, there’s my youngest son, Yan-Tao. He’s… an odd child, but very astute. My second youngest, my daughter Mei-Li. She’s at a difficult age. She’s always shut up in her room doing… I don’t know what. My second son, Dae. He’s very hard working, but he hardly visits anymore, so you probably won’t see much of him. My oldest son, Kuen, and his wife, Annchi. I’m not always sure about their relationship.”

“No?”

He smiled, and the expression was a little sad. “I guess you’ll learn all of the inner workings if we hire you.”

“That’s true. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

“That’s alright. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, um, could I see the kitchen?”

His smile turned into a grin. “No need to be bashful.” He told her. “Follow me.”

She stood and walked with him out of the office. When they reached the kitchen, she had to stop at the entrance to take everything in. It was huge. The walls were a deep, crimson red and the cabinets were dark brown with silver handles. She took a step in, her eyes running over the marble counter tops and the sleek chrome silver of the refrigerator, microwave, and ovens. There was a rack filled with spices and oils and sauces, and a bowl filled with fruits on the island.

Excitement tingled in Noémi’s stomach; she had the most inappropriate urge to giggle like a little girl and dance around the room. It was perfect, her dream kitchen. Her hands were itching to explore the cabinets and drawers and to touch all of the appliances and utensils.

With wide eyes, she looked back at Mr. Cheung, who had an amused expression on his face.

“Does it pass inspection?” He asked.

She nodded emphatically. “With flying colors.” She replied.

He chuckled at her.

“Mr. Cheung, if you hire me, is it alright if I come in a day early to reorganize?”

“Reorganize?”

She nodded. “Like with the spice rack, I use some more than others and I like to have my favorites nearby.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Thank you.”

“Ah. Before I forget, we should discuss your pay.”

“Oh. Right.” She sobered and looked at him.

He rubbed his chin and walked over to the refrigerator where there was a pen and a notepad magnetized to the door. “Let’s see… For breakfast, lunch, and dinner…” He scribbled for a few moments before he ripped out the page and handed it to her. “How’s this amount?”

“Thirty-six hundred?” She stuttered.

“Yes. Would that be enough?”

“Yeah—er, yes. That’d be more than enough.” She wasn’t sure where he was getting the numbers, but that was more than she’d ever been paid. Even with all of the ingredients she’d be buying for the family, she’d definitely be able to afford an apartment with that—and a pretty nice one, too.

He smiled. “Great. I’ll call you once I’ve made a decision.”

Noémi flashed her brightest smile at him. “You have a great day, Mr. Cheung.”

“You, too, Noémi.”

She walked out of the grand mansion and down the sidewalk. She called Joanne and told her to meet her on Baker’s, the street she’d turned off of to get to the Cheung’s. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could take a deep breath. She knew she was going to get that job, it was just a matter of waiting for Mr. Cheung to call and affirm that.

And thankfully, he didn’t wait too long.

Sorry about the wait you guys. I've been keeping up with what's going on in Ferguson, and it's been pretty emotionally and mentally draining. I had to take a break from that to write this chappy, so I hope you guys enjoy it!