Chapter One
Kristen
What do you consider to be your biggest strengths and weaknesses?
I’ve been staring at the stupid question on this application for a solid ten minutes and I’ve still come up with nothing. It shouldn’t be a difficult question; I’ve been filling out applications for weeks now and seen similar. But I haven’t exactly been drowning in job interviews either, so I’m thinking maybe my default answers are leaving something to be desired.
Strengths seem easy enough, anyone can throw together something about being detail-oriented, passionate, driven, whatever. The hardest part is being realistic and selling yourself without beingtoobraggy.
The real can of worms is the “weaknesses” section. No one likes to talk about their flaws, and it’s not like you’re trying to give them all your worst faults. So, you almost have to create flaws that sound like good things, like perfectionism or competitiveness.
It’s such an annoying line to toe, one I know everyone hates. So why do we put each other through it?
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeep!
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeep!
The sound of the oven timer pulls me out of my sulky thoughts. I grab a set of oven mitts and slip them over my hands before opening the oven and drawing out two trays of freshly baked cookies.
The heavenly smell wafts up and my mouth waters, but I set them down and gingerly scoop them onto the counter where I’ve laid out wax paper so they can cool. Then I put another pair of cookie sheets, already loaded with carefully placed blobs of dough, into the oven and set the timer for another round.
I’ve been baking all morning while I’ve been working on job applications. My boyfriend Joel had casually mentioned the night before how much he’d been craving my chocolate chip cookies, so I’d decided to make sure he had some to come home to.
And then I’d found a bag of butterscotch chips and decided to experiment with those. And a bag of mini marshmallows had inspired me to attempt some s’mores cookies. And then why not some peanut butter to round things out?
Okay, I’d gotten a little carried away. But it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do between applications. Which is why, even though Joel has offered to support me on more than one occasion, I still need to find a job. I’d lost my own nearly two months ago, when the business where I worked as a receptionist unexpectedly went under.
Joel makes a great salary that would easily support both of us and let me do the whole “housewife” thing, but I’m too restless. We live in a modest place, so keeping it clean isn’t too daunting a chore, especially since Joel insists on helping with things like dishes and vacuuming.
Maybe if we had kids around, it would be different, but we aren’t there yet, and in the meantime, the tedium is beginning to get to me.
As I’m scooping out another batch, I notice some movement and glance out the kitchen window, which faces out towards the street. It’s a large moving truck rattling down the road, and my interest piques.
The house next door had gone on sale shortly after we’d moved in here together about a year and a half ago, the elderly owner having retired and moved out to Arizona to live with her daughter. But it had been on the market for quite some time, until about three weeks ago when suddenly there was a big red “SOLD” tag slapped across the realtor’s sign.
We hadn’t seen anything since, any sign of the new occupant’s arrival, but apparently today was the day.
I grinned. Whoever it was picked a good day. I’ve kind of always wanted to be “that” neighbor, the one who welcomes you to your new home with something freshly baked. It’s a little cheesy, but I’m excited to get to live out the silly little dream.
As I’m rummaging in a cabinet for a serving platter to load up to take over, my phone starts to ring with the cheerful Colbie Caillat love song I’ve assigned as Joel’s ringtone.
I manage to snatch it before the little song bite ends. “Hi, baby.”
“Hey, sweetheart, how’s it going?”
“It’s fine. Not much going on here, I’ve been staring at my stupid computer screen for hours trying to get through more applications.”
“I’m sorry, hon. Any more interviews?”
“No, not yet.”
“I still think you did better at that medical supply company than you think you did, I’m sure they’ll be calling you before long.”
“And I think you’re biased and overestimating my skills,” I laugh.
“Of course I’m biased, but you’re amazing.”
I laugh again and shake my head. “How about you, love, how’s work? You on your lunch?”