That morning, Whira woke earlier than usual. She cooked rice, prepared a simple side dish, then checked her phone for the umpteenth time. A message from her former workplace was still on the screen.
Interview at nine.
That short sentence made her heart pound. Not because she was sure she would be hired, but because for the first time in so long, she felt she had a choice.
Amri came out of the bedroom with his hair a mess. He was still wearing his sleep shirt and sarong when he saw Whira putting porridge into a small container for Keysa.
"You're really going?" he asked.
Whira didn't turn right away. "I'm just going to an interview, Bang. I'm not leaving for long."
"I know."
"But you look like you don't like it."
Amri pulled out a chair. Outside, the neighbor's motorcycle and the vegetable vendor's calls were beginning to be heard. Since last night, he still hadn't found a way to say what was making him uneasy.
"If I get hired," Whira said as she closed the porridge container, "we can start saving again. Maybe in a few months, we can come home."
"A few months?"
"Yeah. Do we have any other way?"
Amri lowered his head. His rough hands, covered in calluses from hoeing and tending the garden, clenched the edge of his sarong.
"No."
Whira stared at him. She had heard that answer too many times. Whenever Amri said there was nothing wrong, there was usually something he was deliberately keeping to himself.
From the bedroom, Keysa began to fuss. Her cries were still small, but soon grew louder and louder. Whira hurried inside and picked up the seven-month-old baby from her bed.
"Yes, sweetheart. You're awake? Hungry?"
Keysa squirmed in her arms, then searched with her little mouth. Whira kissed her forehead and gently patted her back.
Amri stood in the doorway. "Let me carry her. You eat first."
"It's okay."
"You haven't eaten anything yet."
Whira handed Keysa to him. Amri held his daughter awkwardly but carefully. Keysa was still sobbing against his shoulder. He patted the baby's back as he slowly walked around the room.
Whira watched them. The sight made her want to smile, but worry quickly pulled the smile away.
"I'll leave after Keysa falls asleep again," she said.
Amri stopped walking. "We'll leave her with Mom first."
Whira turned to him at once. "With your mom?"
"Just for a few hours. I have to go to the garden too."
"You can take Keysa with you?"
"Take a baby to the fields? It's hot. Dusty. She'll just get sick."
Whira fell silent. She knew Amri was right, but every time she had to leave Keysa with Amri's family, an uncomfortable feeling came with it.
"I'll come home quickly," she said at last.
After Keysa fell asleep again, Amri took their daughter to his mother's house. He put on a worn shirt to go to the garden and carried Keysa in a jarik sling. On the terrace, his mother greeted them, her expression changing immediately when she heard that Whira was going to an interview.
"Whira wants to work?" she asked.
"She's going to an interview."
That was exactly what would make his family grow even more distant.
"The baby's only seven months old, and she's already leaving her?"
Amri held his breath. "It'll only be for a little while, Mom. We need the money."
"Money can be found. But if a wife starts spending more time outside the house, who's going to take care of her husband and child?"
"Whira still takes care of us."
"You always defend her."
Amri looked at Keysa, who was beginning to stir in his arms. "She just wants to help."
His mother didn't answer. She took Keysa from Amri's arms, then patted the baby's back with movements that were too firm.
Amri left with a heavy heart. He was supposed to head to the garden, but his steps stopped at the end of the road. Whira's interview might give them a steady income. But he knew that if his wife worked, his family would have even more to say.
Meanwhile, Whira arrived at her former workplace. The waiting room was still the same: plastic chairs, a reception desk, and the smell of coffee that had once been so familiar to her. Several people greeted her warmly. Others merely glanced at her, as if wondering why the woman who had once resigned was coming back.