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Interview for a Lifetime
Dedicated to My Darling Husband
Submitted by Kay
I took a deep breath and pushed through the glass door. Divorced with a young daughter, I was walking into my first job interview in over a decade. Determined to prove that I could provide for us, I teetered in unfamiliar high heels, smiled my most confident smile, and tried to make the hand holding my freshly-typed resume stop trembling.
My credentials and answers earned a job offer on the spot. Mr. Belton, the employer, explained the position's salary, benefits, and asked me when I could start. I didn't answer immediately, not because I wasn't eager to accept, but because I was momentarily stunned. Life was beginning again.
Misinterpreting my hesitancy as indecision, he hastily prodded, "Did I mention that we have a very nice divorced man working here? He's very sharp, a fine young fellow. I think you'd like him. His name is Bob, Bob Caldwell."
His odd comment snapped me back to attention. Had I heard correctly? Did this man just try to entice me into taking a job by telling me about a prospective man? It was so ludicrous, I chuckled.
"No, thank you, sir. I'd be delighted to accept the job, but the last thing I want in my life right now is a man."
It was true. My failed marriage had totally soured me on romantic relationships. My naive choice of a husband had been disaster, and resolution to "stick it out for the sake of the children" had proven to be in no one's best interest. "Happily ever after," I was sure, did not include a man for me.
On my first day at work, my new boss escorted me around the office, introducing me to everyone. In spite of my protests at his match-making, I couldn't help but be mildly curious at the "fine young fellow" he thought would be such a good catch for me. We walked right by his closed office door, however. "Bob's out of town on business."
In the hubbub of my first week on the job, meeting Bob was forgotten. Then, on Friday, a tall, handsome, black-haired man wearing an Indiana Jones hat breezed into the office. Part of my responsibilities included greeting visitors, instructing them to sign in, and steering them in the right direction. This man, however, was quickly striding right past me.
"Excuse me, sir, but visitors need to sign in."
"I'm not a visitor. I work here. You must have started while I've been away. How do you do? My name is Bob Caldwell."
He smiled. So did I.
At our wedding two years later, Mr. Belton sat in the front row, bragging to everyone how "he'd known it all along." We couldn't afford our dream honeymoon in Hawaii. All we could manage was a blissful weekend at a local bed and breakfast, but we'll make it to Hawaii some day. We have the rest of our "happily ever after" lives.