The Beginning of After - By Jennifer Castle Page 0,43
then flipped it over.
WELCOME TO ARI’S FUNZONE ARCADE, it said. thank you for playing.
The first thing Eve gave me when I showed up for my new job on Monday was a stack of folders a foot high.
“Filing,” she said. “It’s the backbone of our whole operation.” There was not an ounce of kidding in her voice.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. My only other job had been as an intern at my dad’s advertising agency the previous summer, and that had just been for a month. I was supposed to be working as an apprentice to the art director, but all I did was make photocopies and get sandwiches and answer the phone. I didn’t mind; I was making more money than Meg was earning at Old Navy, and I got to ride into Manhattan on the train with my father, and sometimes he’d take me to lunch. When he couldn’t, I’d sit outside in a nearby park, sketching the skyline.
I loved seeing Dad at his job as an account executive, but sometimes it felt like he was avoiding me. When I did catch glimpses of him in the office, he’d be on the phone with someone who was angry, or he was busy trying to fix a problem someone else caused. He’d look stressed and unhappy until he saw me, and then put on an instant professional smile.
“Do you ever feel sad about not being a reporter anymore?” I asked him once at lunch when he seemed especially anxious.
My question had taken him by surprise, and he put down the hamburger he was about to bite into.
“Well, I miss the work itself. It wasn’t easy, but it was challenging and fun. I don’t miss the instability of it. Not knowing when I’d get an assignment, or if an editor would go for my pitch.”
“Maybe you could go back to it someday,” I offered. I loved looking at our old newspapers and magazines with his articles, running my finger over his byline on the page.
He snorted a bit. “With college tuition just around the corner? No, I don’t think so. I made a choice to do something that better supported our family and where I wouldn’t be traveling so much, and I’m good with that.”
But he'd looked out the window wistfully, and I’d made a vow to myself not to stay in any job I hated.
“We’ll need to get you some scrubs,” said Eve now, scanning my khaki pants and V-neck top, the most office-worthy thing I could find. “Dr. B is pretty strict about that; he wants us to look professional even if we’re not officially vet techs. There are a couple of hand-me-downs in the back; see what you can find for now. I’ll give you the names of some websites that have cute ones.”
Eve tugged on her shirt to indicate the inherent cuteness of the dog and cat fairies she was covered with, then the phone rang and she spun away from me to answer it.
Despite her age, Eve clearly ruled the front desk realm. Tamara, Dr. B’s sister, was the office manager and technically our boss, but she holed up in a small room off the front desk and concentrated on billing. I peeked into her office, and she looked up from something to wave at me, and I waved back.
I set to work on filing the charts into the wall of cabinets behind the front desk, and listened as Eve handled the phones, taking mental notes because that was going to be part of my job too. I’d arranged to show up at three p.m. every day—after school, as far as they were concerned, because nobody knew that I wasn’t actually going to school—and help out in the front until seven p.m., when the hospital closed. Then I’d be expected to walk the dogs, some of which were boarding, some recovering from surgery or treatment like Masher had been.
I filed for twenty minutes before Eve came over to check my progress. She didn’t look happy with how big the pile still was, and watched me slide a chart into the stacks.
“No, uh-uh,” she said. “After you put one back, you have to use your right hand to flip through the next few tabs to make sure it’s in the right place, alphabetically. In the past, charts got filed a little wrong and nobody bothered to fix it. So now we always check.”