Re Jane by Patricia Park Read Free Book Online Page A

et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I’m calling to offer you the au pair position with our family, and I’m crossing my fingers that you haven’t already been snapped up—i.e., if you even still
want
the position. . . .” She named a figure that would have been one-third my starting salary at Lowood, before factoring in annual bonuses. Of course, her figure included room and board. I wondered whether I’d been her first choice or if she’d made similar calls to others and was forced to move further down her list.
    â€œAnd,” she continued, “we really loved you—Devon
especially. We’d be
honored
if you joined our household.”
    â€œBut I thought”—I cupped the receiver with my hand—“I wasn’t what you and Mr. Farley wanted.”
    I could see Sang pretending not to listen.
    â€œ
Please,
we’re on a first name basis in this household. Call him Ed. And again, my utter apologies for that miscommunication.” Her tone was breezy. “While we did
initially
want an au pair who spoke Chinese, we’ve since had some conversations. Devon’s getting quite a lot of exposure through her Chinese school, and . . .” Beth trailed off. “So what do you think? Will you join us?”
    I knew I should not have taken that job. I should have held out for a better offer. At the very least, I should have asked for a day or two to think it over. And I definitely should have asked Sang and Hannah’s permission.
    But sometimes you don’t always do what you should do. I wanted that job.
    I found myself blurting out, “I’d love to. Thank you for this opportunity.”
    â€œFantastic! We are so thrilled,” Beth said. We made arrangements for me to start the next morning.
    Sang’s eyes studied me when I hung up the phone. “Who that is?”
    â€œI got a job.”
    His eyes narrowed. “What kind of company calling you nighttime?”
    â€œIt’s . . . different. I’d be helping a family.”
    â€œHelping family
what
?”
    â€œThey have a daughter. And . . . I’d be living with them.”
    â€œWhat!” Sang dropped the paring knife; it clattered on its chip-proof plate. “This is like bad dream.”
    â€œIt isn’t,” I protested. “They’re a good family. They’re
teachers.
The wife is a professor
at a college
.
Imagine how much I’d learn from her.” I tried to speak Sang’s language. “It’d be like . . . like getting a free education.”
    He wasn’t having it.
    â€œSo you just want to throw away your everything? To become like indentured servant?”
    Sometimes the range of Sang’s English surprised me.
    â€œNever this happen you go to Columbia.”
    My uncle did this every so often: trace back all my recent failures to my not attending Columbia. I’d gotten in, only to find I didn’t qualify for financial aid. I couldn’t ask my uncle to spring for my tuition (blame
nunchi
), nor could I justify saddling myself with all that debt. I turned down Columbia and decided on Baruch, which I’d applied to as a safety school. When Sang learned this after the fact, he’d been furious. We fought and fought, our fight devolving into a litany of piddling resentments we’d each harbored over the years. The time the septic tank burst and my profligate use of paper towels (
Use rag and bucket!
he’d shouted) as I helped him clean up. The time I accidentally locked the keys inside the car and made the damage worse with a misdirected coat hanger. Each and every time he favored Mary and George over me. But it had been too late to reverse my decision; I was bound for this “lesser” path. And with that, Sang had swiped the air, taking an eraser to the plans charting my future.
    â€œUncle know this family?” he demanded. “They Korean?”
    â€œNo.