Page 25

“That sounds like hard work,” Oliver says.
Millie is somewhat taken aback by this. Most men, when they hear she’s an air stewardess, say stuff like “That’s hot” or “That’s a cushy job” or something else that’s equal parts creepy and demeaning. “Yeah,” she says after a pause. “It is.”
“I can imagine. Private planes would mean catering to the rich and famous, and they’re not known for being easy to work for. Not to mention the jet lag.”
Millie nods, her face reddening with guilt. He thinks she’s a hard worker. She can’t take any more of this. Time to deflect. “What about you?”
“I’m just a supe,” Oliver says. “I do minor repairs for the tenants in the building.”
“Oliver is writer,” Vera says.
Millie almost jumps. How long has Vera been listening to them?
“I don’t know if I would call myself a writer—” Oliver says.
“Silly boy, of course you are. He is freelance writer, has written for theSan Francisco ChronicleandBay Area Times. Very good articles too. I frame them up in my tea shop, you know.”
Oliver grins at Vera, and there’s so much affection in his expression that it makes him look like a little boy.
Millie looks away, her emotions warring inside her. She makes a big deal out of checking her watch, then says, “Oh no, look at the time. I have an early flight tomorrow, so I should go.”
“Oliver, walk her out,” Vera says with a sly smile.
“You don’t have to,” Millie says, but already Oliver is getting up.
“Make sure she don’t get mugged before she get in Uber or bus or whatever,” Vera says sternly.
“Okay, Vera,” Oliver says.
Millie says goodbye to everyone, but before they can go down the staircase, Vera comes after them and pushes a heavy container into Millie’s hands. “Some Chinese barbecue pork for you,” Vera says. “You should eat more, you are too skinny.”
Tears prick Millie’s eyes. When was the last time someone had looked out for her like this? She manages a nod and turns away before Vera can see the tears that are threatening to fall.
Outside, Millie wraps her jacket tightly around herself, wishing she could disappear. Oliver stuffs his hands inside his pockets and gives her a quick smile. “Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
He’s so nice. Why does he have to be so nice? She must get away from him. She mustn’t let them see her with him. “No, it’s fine. I’m taking the bus.”
“Okay. I’ll wait with you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Oh, I really do. I don’t want to get in trouble with Vera.”
She can’t help laughing at that. A young, confident man like Oliver being scared of Vera is somehow hilarious and yet utterly believable. They walk in amicable silence to the bus stop. Herphone dings with a text. She pretends not to hear it. It dings again. And again.
“You can get that; I don’t mind,” Oliver says.
“Sorry.” She hurriedly takes it out and checks her messages. They’re all from Mother.
Curfew’s over.
Where are you?
Millie. Come home NOW.
Her mouth has turned into a desert. She tries to type quickly, but her fingers have gone numb. She manages to tap inOMW backbefore the phone slips out of her fingers and falls onto the sidewalk.
“Oh no,” Oliver says, bending over to retrieve it.