This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,15

a long way toward giving me the words to answer her father’s question. When the sting of his accusation dissipates, I hear my mother’s voice in my head, reminding me to turn the other cheek, to kill with kindness. It’s not as if these aren’t questions that any employer would want to know, even if they don’t have the nerve to ask them to my face.

“Sir, my record is perfectly clean,” I say, in as steady a voice as I can muster. “I can have one of my references, Father Healdon, call you if you have any questions.” I figure it’d be laying it on too thick to add that I was an altar boy and still sing in the church choir.

Mr. Wu frowns and squints at me again, and my brain starts generating rogue press conference questions like a mofo. What if Mr. Wu thinks that I’m too arrogant? What if he decides to call up Father Healdon, who tells him about the time I left my cell phone on and Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” from Thor: Ragnarok (Manny’s distinctive ringtone) went off in the middle of Communion? What if Mr. Wu looks through my résumé and thinks I’m exaggerating my business experience with my “selling ads for the school newspaper” line item?

Finally, after what feels like decades of scrutiny, Mr. Wu lets out a breath through pursed lips and waves at me dismissively. “No, no need to make call, too much trouble. You work hard, there be no problem. But Jocelyn will keep close eye. No hanky-panky! I want to see results! Now come help me carry in grocery.”

This Is My Brain on Smiles

JOCELYN

I almost pass out from relief when Will doesn’t quit on the spot after my dad’s questions about drugs and arrests.

Seriously? Like my dad doesn’t know what it’s like to be racially stereotyped?

There is one moment where the shock on Will’s face almost tilts into anger, but then he closes his eyes, and when he opens them he’s composed again. Even respectful, though my dad barely deserves it.

Over the years, I’ve gotten good at keeping any exposure my dad has with my friends—and potential friends—to a minimum. He’s just too embarrassing, on so many levels. But Will’s an employee now. It’s not like I could shield him from my father forever.

I wonder if it’s weird that I’ve already started to view Will as a potential friend, as a person I want to hang out with. A person I want to not just respect me, but like me.

Because I like him. Not, like, like like him. Though the guy does look good in a suit.

Basically, Will is a pretty darn likable dude. I’m most impressed by how calm he is when my dad gives him the third degree. Actually, “calm” is the wrong word—the way he holds himself almost soldier straight suggests there’s some sort of tension buzzing under the surface. He’s… deliberate. But it isn’t a calculating, manipulative kind of deliberation that a pro would throw at you during a job interview. He’s thoughtful. Wanting to give an honest answer.

Which is good, because the Wu family bullshit radar is military grade.

Given how much of my time the restaurant eats up, I don’t have that many close friends. Priya has a ton of them and I kind of hate her for it.

Another thing that doesn’t help is my resting bitch face, which my mom has been trying to train me out of since middle school: “Why you frown all time, Xiao Jia? You so pretty when you smile! How you find husband if you always look so moody?”

I always thought it was ironic that she’d bring up my future mate (assumed to be male, of course), when it’s always been a given that she and my dad won’t let me date until college. I guess the point my mom was trying to make was that people don’t consider me welcoming, because I only smile when given a reason to. And what’s the matter with that? It takes a lot of effort and a significant amount of muscle control to be a walking smile emoji all the time.

Bottom line: I don’t meet potential friends often, so I’m glad my dad didn’t scare Will away.

I make sure to plaster a big smile on my face when Will comes in with the last of the broccoli. He’s panting a little and has rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, revealing well-toned arms that my gaze does not linger on