lank hair and wish that I had at least thought to blow-dry it this morning. Grace ushers me to an office in the back of their ground floor, overlooking their pool. It’s got chestnut-stained built-in bookshelves filled with legal textbooks—basically it looks like a stock photo office or an old-timey home “library” like the one that Don Corleone presided from in The Godfather.
Grace takes a seat behind the massive glass-covered oak desk. I have to hand it to her—this definitely feels like an interview. Or an interrogation.
“So, Jocelyn, Will says that you’re applying to some sort of scholarship program and are trying to get ready for the interview?”
“Yeah, it’s the University of Utica Junior Business Program.” When she smiles and raises her eyebrows for me to elaborate, I struggle to come up with a good description. “It’s, like, you can take some courses at the college. And you come up with a project. They have mentors and stuff.”
“I think I’ve heard of that,” Grace says. “One of my friends did it last year—it develops future business leaders and encourages creative entrepreneurship.”
It’s like she memorized their website, and it’s hella intimidating. “That’s the one,” I say weakly.
“So, tell me about your proposal. Will says that you’ve been doing some amazing things and really turning your family business around. A-Plus, right? Your dumplings are to die for.” When she smiles she reminds me so much of Will that I instinctively relax.
“Yup. My grandmother’s pot stickers are our claim to fame.” That’s as good a segue as anything. “I’m looking to expand the business, using the pot stickers as the kind of concession-friendly food that will allow us to do more catering and events. I think what we need to do is eventually buy a mobile unit, a food truck really, so we can participate in things like farmers markets and big sports events. We have a decently loyal customer base, but not much foot traffic. And you know how it is. Rent goes up every year.
“My real dream, though?” I pause. I’ve never said this out loud to anyone, have barely allowed myself to think it. “My real dream is for us to move beyond the daily grind of food service. There’s a huge market out there for affordable, ready-to-eat meals and frozen dinners, particularly with the growing Asian population in the area. That would give everyone in my family a break from having to run a storefront twelve hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five days out of the year just to scrape by.”
I’m thinking of my amah and the way the skin on her fingers cracks every winter from the constant hand washing and forced-air heat. My mom has started to fill old pillowcases with rice to make hot packs that she slings over her shoulders every morning after she wakes up and every evening before she goes to bed. My dad has always complained about everything from his worsening nearsightedness to indigestion to his “whole body ache” without ever bothering to see any sort of medical professional, but even he broke down recently and visited a primary care doctor, who prescribed him some blood pressure medications that he reluctantly takes every night.
Grace looks at me thoughtfully for a while after I finish. “Well, you’ve convinced me that you want it,” she says at last. “You’ve got a great story, clear motivation. What you and I have to do today is figure out how to maximize their confidence that you’ll follow through with your ambition. Here’s what you’ve got to do. First of all, you should make sure to review the program so you can make clear to them how they’re going to help you.”
She explains what she means: I need to know specifically what courses I want to take, and why. I need to have a mentor picked out already and be able to show them that I’ve done the research to find the faculty member who’s the best fit. I need to be able to parrot back the program’s mission statement, making sure that I know exactly which points of my story align with their “core values.”
Then she takes me downstairs to a closet off the basement where she sorts through a pile of shoes that she’s grown out of, and she finds me a pair of Mary Janes that are the right size if I wear thick socks. Afterward, we go upstairs to her room and she comes up with a camisole and a