Chapter 2 Chapter Two

• The headset pinched the soft skin behind Sylvia’s ear and the client on the other end kept changing the floral budget as if money grew on the same trees that supplied the centerpieces.
• She stood in the service corridor of the Grand Meridian with a tablet balanced on one forearm and a cooling cup of coffee in the other hand. The air smelled of industrial cleaner and the faint sweetness of lilies that had already been trimmed and sorted in the loading bay. Two servers hurried past carrying trays of polished glasses. One of them mouthed “sorry” without slowing down.
• Sylvia adjusted the numbers on the screen while the client spoke. She kept her voice even. “We can reduce the cascading arrangements by thirty percent and still keep the height you wanted for the head table. The difference will cover the extra votives.”
• A pause. Then reluctant agreement. She ended the call, lowered the tablet, and pressed her free hand against the wall for a second. The corridor lights hummed. Her shift had started at noon. It was now past nine.
• Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Luis.
• She stepped into a quiet alcove near the emergency exit and answered.
• “Hey.”
• “Sy, I know it’s late.” His voice sounded thin, the way it did when he had already tried every other option. “The housing office says I need the rest of the deposit by Friday or they give the room away. I thought the scholarship covered it.”
• Sylvia closed her eyes. The numbers she had just adjusted for the client still floated behind her lids. “How much?”
• “Four hundred. I can put in extra shifts at the library but they don’t pay until next month.”
• She did the math in her head while a cart rattled somewhere down the hall. Rent was due in six days. The electric bill had arrived that morning. She had already moved two smaller payments to next week.
• “I’ll transfer it tomorrow morning,” she said.
• “You don’t have to—”
• “I will. Just send me the account details again. And Luis? Eat something that isn’t instant noodles.”
• He gave a short laugh that cracked in the middle. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”
• “I know.”
• She hung up and stayed in the alcove until her pulse slowed. The tablet screen had gone dark. She woke it, checked the revised floral order one more time, then walked back toward the ballroom.
• The event was a corporate anniversary dinner, two hundred guests, cream and gold everything. Sylvia moved along the edge of the room checking place cards against the final list. A woman in a silver dress stopped her to ask where the restrooms were. Sylvia pointed, smiled, and kept moving. She had learned years ago that smiling cost nothing and bought a little more patience from people who expected the night to be flawless.
• By eleven the last dessert plates had been cleared and the band was packing up. Sylvia stayed until the rental company signed off on the inventory. Carmen appeared as the final truck pulled away, coat already on, car keys in hand.
• “You handled the flower change without drama,” Carmen said. “Client actually sounded pleased when she left.”
• “She lowered the budget. That helped.”
• Carmen studied her for a moment. “Go home. You’re on the Bennett lunch tomorrow. I need you sharp.”
• Sylvia nodded. She waited until Carmen’s car disappeared down the ramp before she walked to the bus stop. The night air carried the smell of rain that had not yet fallen. She rode the bus with her forehead against the cool window and counted the stops.
• The apartment was a third-floor walk-up with a stubborn lock. Maya had left the small lamp on in the living room. The television was muted, some late talk show with bright colors. Maya herself sat cross-legged on the couch in an old university sweatshirt, scrolling through her phone.
• She looked up when Sylvia dropped her bag. “You look like someone who just negotiated with a ghost.”
• “Client. And Luis.”
• Maya set the phone aside. “How much this time?”
• “Four hundred.”
• Maya was quiet for a few seconds. Then she stood, went to the kitchen, and came back with a glass of water and a piece of cold toast. “Eat that. You forget when you’re calculating.”
• Sylvia sat on the arm of the couch and took the toast. It was dry but she chewed anyway. Maya watched her with the expression she used when she was deciding how hard to push.
• “You can’t keep being the emergency fund,” Maya said eventually. “He’s twenty-two, not twelve.”
• “He’s still in school. I’m not going to let him lose the room.”
• “I know. I’m just saying the pattern is getting heavier.” Maya reached over and tugged lightly at the edge of Sylvia’s sleeve. “You ever think about letting someone else carry a little of it? Not Luis. Someone who actually has room in their life.”
• Sylvia swallowed the last of the toast. “I’m fine.”
• “You’re tired. There’s a difference.”
• Sylvia did not answer. She finished the water, set the glass down, and kicked off her shoes. The apartment was small enough that she could hear the refrigerator cycle on and off. Outside, a motorcycle passed and faded.
• Maya stretched and stood. “I’m going to bed. There’s leftover pasta if you get hungry later. And Sy?”
• “Yeah.”
• “You don’t have to solve everything before morning.”
• Sylvia gave a small nod. Maya disappeared into the second bedroom and closed the door with a soft click.
• Alone, Sylvia opened her banking app and stared at the balance. She moved the four hundred into a transfer scheduled for first thing. The remaining number looked thinner than it had that morning. She closed the app, plugged in her phone, and sat on the edge of her bed without turning on the light.
• Through the thin wall she could hear Maya’s quiet movements, the ordinary sounds of someone settling in for the night. Sylvia lay back and stared at the dark ceiling. Tomorrow would bring another event, another set of details to keep straight, another quiet calculation of what she could stretch and what she could not.
• She closed her eyes and let the city noise fade into the background. The last clear thought she had before sleep was simple and familiar: she would manage. She always did.