Chapter 7 - The Interview Shirt

Luis owned three shirts he considered interview shirts.

Sofia rejected two.

“The blue one,” she said.

“They are all blue.”

“The darker blue.”

“That one pulls at the neck.”

“Then the middle blue.”

Luis held it against himself.

“You are enjoying this.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“A little.”

They were in his bedroom forty minutes before the video interview.

The laptop waited on the kitchen table. Sofia had already tested the camera, microphone, internet connection, and the unfamiliar interview platform twice.

Luis had told her to stop testing it.

She had tested it a third time.

Now he buttoned the middle blue shirt and looked at himself in the mirror.

“I look like someone asking for permission.”

Sofia leaned against the wardrobe.

“You look like someone going to an interview.”

“That is asking for permission with better lighting.”

“Dad.”

He smiled.

“Nervous.”

“I know.”

He sat on the edge of the bed.

“What if they ask why I went from production manager to delivery work?”

“Tell them the truth.”

“The company closed.”

“And?”

“I took the work available.”

“And?”

“I stayed because it was flexible while I handled debt and family things.”

“And?”

Luis frowned.

“You tell me.”

“No.”

“Sofia.”

“You know.”

He looked at his hands.

“I learned new route systems. Worked across different clients. Dealt with people.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded.

“What if they think I am too old?”

“They might.”

Luis looked up, surprised.

Sofia continued.

“You told me not to invent a perfect world. They might prefer someone younger.”

“That is encouraging.”

“I’m serious. You cannot control what they think. You can only answer honestly and make them reject the real person if they’re going to reject anyone.”

Luis stared at her.

“You have been listening.”

“Occasionally.”

He stood.

“I hate that you are right.”

“Family tradition.”

At 9:58, Sofia moved to the living room.

Luis sat alone at the kitchen table.

She could hear parts of the interview through the open doorway.

“Tell us about a time you handled a missed deadline.”

Luis began too slowly.

Then his voice steadied.

He described the supermarket catalogue run.

The failed press.

The incorrect paper.

The split production schedule.

Sofia smiled.

Another question.

“How do you manage conflict between team members?”

Luis spoke about two machine operators who had refused to work together after a safety dispute.

He did not dramatize.

He did not pretend the conflict ended with friendship.

He said he separated the immediate work issue from the personal argument and made both men document the safety concern before the next shift.

Sofia realized she had never heard these stories.

The father she had reduced to “delivery driver” and inflated to “business owner” had an actual professional life between those extremes.

A life she had not bothered to ask about.

At 10:43, the call ended.

Luis sat silently.

Sofia waited.

He walked into the living room.

“Well?”

“I did not die.”

“That was not the goal.”

“It was one goal.”

“How did it feel?”

“Strange.”

“Bad strange?”

He considered.

“No.”

“What did they say?”

“They will decide by Friday.”

“Did they mention salary?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Better than delivery.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded.

Then he sat beside her.

“I forgot an answer.”

“You answered everything.”

“One question. About software.”

“You said you use route software now.”

“Yes, but I forgot the name.”

“That’s fine.”

“No, it looked stupid.”

Sofia caught herself before she reassured him automatically.

“Maybe.”

He turned.

“Maybe?”

“You could have looked more prepared.”

“Thank you for the support.”

“You wanted truth.”

“I wanted selective truth.”

She laughed.

Luis did too.

Then the laughter faded.

He looked at the dark television screen.

“If I do not get it, I think I will apply elsewhere.”

Sofia smiled.

“That’s the important part.”

“I thought you would say getting the job was the important part.”

“It would help.”

“Yes.”

“But you stopped rejecting yourself.”

Luis looked at her.

The words embarrassed him.

He stood.

“Coffee.”

Sofia let him escape.

That afternoon, she met Eleanor at a fabric shop.

The meeting had been Eleanor’s idea.

“I promise this is not wedding escalation,” she had written. “I need help choosing table linen for a museum dinner, and I thought you might enjoy laughing at how seriously people take napkins.”

Sofia almost declined.

Then she realized declining because she felt guilty around Eleanor was another form of managing discomfort.

So she went.

Eleanor held up two pieces of fabric.

“Which says generous donor without saying funeral?”

Sofia pointed left.

“That one.”

“Good.”

They walked between shelves.

For ten minutes, they discussed colors.

Then Eleanor said, “Oliver tells me Luis had an interview.”

Sofia smiled.

“This morning.”

“How did it go?”

“Okay, I think.”

“That must be exciting.”

“Yes.”

Sofia hesitated.

Then she said, “Can I ask you something uncomfortable?”

Eleanor folded the fabric over her arm.

“Apparently that is our family hobby now.”

Sofia smiled.

“Did you ever judge me because of money?”

Eleanor did not answer immediately.

“Yes.”

Sofia stopped walking.

Eleanor faced her.

“Not in the way you feared.”

“What way?”

“When Oliver first brought you home, I thought you were too impressed by everything.”

Sofia felt heat rise into her face.

“The house?”

“The house. The wine. The holidays. You asked what things cost without asking.”

“I did?”

“You would look.”

Sofia remembered.

Furniture.

Art.

A watch Richard wore.

Not because she wanted those things.

Because numbers helped her understand danger.

“How did you interpret it?”

“I worried you might care too much about wealth.”

Sofia swallowed.

“That’s horrible.”

“It was also incomplete.”

“When did you change your mind?”

“When you and Oliver had that argument about taking taxis.”

Sofia blinked.

“What?”

“You insisted on the bus because the taxi was twenty pounds.”

“Oh.”

“He was furious.”

“He said I was wasting forty minutes to save money we could afford.”

“And you said being able to afford something was not the same as needing it.”

Sofia remembered.

It had been their first real fight.

Eleanor smiled faintly.

“That was when I realized you were not attracted to money. You were measuring it constantly.”

Sofia looked down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It did not seem kind to announce that I had misjudged you.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

“And I misjudged you.”

“Yes.”

They stood in the fabric aisle between expensive linen samples.

Sofia said, “I assumed your kindness was conditional.”

Eleanor’s eyes softened.

“On what?”

“On me knowing how to behave.”

“That is not entirely imaginary.”

Sofia looked up.

Eleanor smiled without humor.

“My world has rules. I know them so well I forget they are rules.”

“Like dress codes.”

“Yes.”

“Table settings.”

“Yes.”

“Thank-you notes.”

“Those are civilization.”

Sofia laughed.

Eleanor continued.

“I probably made you feel observed.”

“You did.”

“I am sorry.”

Sofia waited for the familiar urge to say, No, it’s fine.

She did not.

“Thank you.”

Eleanor nodded.

Then she said, “And for what it is worth, I was disappointed when the large wedding changed because I liked arranging things.”

“I know.”

“I have since discovered I can arrange the smaller wedding just as aggressively.”

Sofia groaned.

“I knew there was a trap.”

Eleanor laughed.

They bought the left-hand fabric.

On Friday morning, Luis received the call.

Sofia was in a meeting when her phone vibrated.

She ignored it.

Then it vibrated again.

A text.

Call me when free.

She waited twenty-three minutes until the meeting ended.

That was progress.

She called.

Luis answered on the first ring.

“They offered me the job.”

Sofia stood in the corridor outside the conference room.

“What?”

“They offered it.”

She pressed one hand over her mouth.

“Dad.”

“Do not shout.”

“I am at work.”

“So am I.”

“Did you accept?”

A pause.

“No.”

Sofia’s excitement stopped.

“Why?”

“I asked for the contract first.”

She stared at the wall.

“Good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am proud.”

There was silence.

Sofia closed her eyes.

“I mean that in a non-patronizing way.”

“I know.”

“What’s the salary?”

He told her.

It was not enormous.

It was steady.

Pension contributions.

Paid leave.

Regular hours.

Less than Sofia earned by a wide margin.

More security than Luis had had in years.

“When do you decide?”

“Monday.”

“Do you want help reviewing it?”

“Yes.”

Sofia smiled.

“What kind?”

“Read the contract. Tell me if anything looks strange.”

“Okay.”

“And then stop talking.”

She laughed.

“Deal.”

That evening, Oliver came home with takeaway noodles.

Sofia told him the news.

He hugged her.

“That’s brilliant.”

“He hasn’t accepted yet.”

“Still brilliant.”

They ate on the floor because the kitchen table was covered with boxes.

They had started packing.

Not because they had bought a house.

Because they had decided to end Sofia’s lease and rent a place together for a year before buying.

The decision had disappointed almost everyone.

Eleanor thought renting was wasteful.

Richard thought the market would rise.

Luis thought moving twice was foolish.

Mateo, when told, had said only, “Good. Everyone disapproves equally.”

Sofia loved it.

Halfway through dinner, Oliver said, “I need to ask you something.”

She pointed a chopstick at him.

“Careful.”

“It’s a normal question.”

“Go.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

Sofia lowered the chopstick.

“Yes.”

“Immediately?”

She frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“We could postpone.”

Her chest tightened.

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

“That sounds like yes.”

“It sounds like I don’t know.”

She put down the food.

Oliver continued.

“I don’t want the wedding to become another deadline where we prove everything has been repaired.”

Sofia looked at the half-packed room.

“Are you asking to cancel?”

“No.”

“Postpone?”

“Maybe six months.”

Her eyes filled before she could stop them.

Oliver moved closer.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“I am not leaving.”

“I know.”

“But?”

“But it still feels like punishment.”

He nodded.

“I understand.”

She wiped her face.

“Is it because you don’t trust me?”

“Partly.”

The honesty hurt.

Sofia looked away.

Oliver continued.

“And partly because I don’t trust us yet when we’re frightened.”

She looked back.

“What does that mean?”

“You hide. I solve. Both of us call it protecting the other person.”

Sofia stared at him.

He was right.

“I hate that.”

“So do I.”

She picked up a cardboard box flap and bent it between her fingers.

“What happens if we postpone?”

“We move in together.”

“We keep doing the work.”

“Yes.”

“We tell everyone the truth.”

“Yes.”

She laughed weakly.

“My father will say something unbearable.”

“Probably.”

Sofia looked at the ring.

For four days after the engagement dinner, she had feared Oliver would take it back.

Now she realized she had been treating marriage as proof he still loved her.

That was unfair to both of them.

She held out her hand.

“Six months.”

Oliver looked surprised.

“You’re sure?”

“No.”

He smiled sadly.

“Good answer.”

She leaned against him.

“We tell our families tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“No fake reasons.”

“No venue problems.”

“No work schedule.”

“No overseas contracts.”

Oliver laughed.

“Definitely no overseas contracts.”

The next morning, Luis came over to review his employment contract.

Sofia handed him coffee.

Then she said, “We postponed the wedding.”

He looked from her to Oliver.

“Why?”

Sofia answered.

“Because we love each other and we have some trust to rebuild.”

Luis was silent.

Then he nodded.

“Good.”

Sofia stared.

“That’s it?”

“What do you want?”

“I expected a speech.”

“I have a job contract to read.”

Oliver whispered, “I told you he was terrifying.”

Luis heard him.

“I like him less today.”

Oliver smiled.

They sat together at the table.

Luis opened the contract.

Sofia watched him read every page.

No rushing.

No assuming.

No deciding that one good opportunity had to be accepted before it disappeared.

When he reached the final page, he looked up.

“It seems fair.”

“Do you want it?” Sofia asked.

Luis looked at the signature line.

“Yes.”

Not because he had no other choice.

Not because Sofia needed the story to end neatly.

Because he had read the terms, asked the questions, and chosen.

Luis signed his name.

And Sofia understood why the act moved her more than the job offer itself.

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