Ispent eight years entering Mrs. Whitaker’s home with a key of my own, but I still asked before taking a glass from her cabinet. That boundary always made sense to me, until the day she asked me to come back when there was nothing left to clean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Mrs. Whitaker asked me to come back without my cleaning supplies, I assumed she had some old clothes or dishes she wanted me to take.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I EVEN CLEARED OUT THE BACKSEAT OF MY CAR.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For eight years, I’d cleaned her house every Thursday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew which kitchen drawer stuck, which towels were for guests, and exactly where every picture frame belonged after I dusted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She knew me as Carly, the woman who arrived at nine and finished before two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At least, that was how I thought she saw me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE WAS NEVER RUDE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She paid on time, left the air-conditioning on when she went out, and always asked how my daughter was doing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But we weren’t friends who called each other on weekends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had a key to her house, yet I still asked before taking a glass from the cabinet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I started working for her, my daughter, Willa, was nine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d recently separated from her father and was trying to fit enough cleaning jobs between school drop-off and pickup to keep us going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MRS. WHITAKER HAD CALLED AFTER SEEING ONE OF MY HANDWRITTEN ADS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That Thursday appointment became the one job I could always count on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, a few weeks ago, she told me she was moving closer to her daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’m tired of having a whole upstairs I don’t use,” she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We laughed, but cleaning the house for the last time was harder than I expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There were pale rectangles where the pictures had hung.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
HER KITCHEN CALENDAR WAS GONE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I kept reaching to move things that weren’t there anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I handed back her key, she closed my fingers around it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Not yet. Come back Saturday at eleven.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Do you need me to clean after the movers?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“NO. AND LEAVE YOUR SUPPLIES AT HOME.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I must have looked confused because she added, “I’m asking you to visit, Carly.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On Saturday, I showed up in jeans without bleach spots and a blouse I usually saved for school events.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I brought cookies because arriving empty-handed felt strange.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Most of the furniture was gone, but she’d kept the kitchen table and two chairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There were sandwiches on actual plates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“SIT DOWN,” SHE SAID. “I KNOW YOU USUALLY EAT LUNCH IN YOUR CAR.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I hadn’t realized she knew that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We talked about the move and Willa’s senior year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we finished eating, I automatically stacked our plates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker reached across the table and stopped me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Leave those. There’s something I wanted to show you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE DISAPPEARED INTO THE LIVING ROOM AND RETURNED CARRYING A CARDBOARD BOX.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I glanced toward the front windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The empty backseat of my car was visible at the curb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Apparently, I’d guessed right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“If those are dishes, I’ve got plenty of room,” I said. “I cleaned out the car.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Dishes?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“OR CLOTHES. WHATEVER YOU’RE TRYING TO GET RID OF.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a moment she simply stared at me. Then she laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh, Carly.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You thought I called you here to give you my leftovers?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When somebody moves, that’s usually what happens.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
HER SMILE FADED A LITTLE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’m not trying to get rid of anything.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She put the box on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside were photographs, greeting cards, envelopes, and folded letters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They looked like years of family correspondence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I relaxed. “You want help sorting these?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“NO.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the second time in 20 minutes I’d tried to turn the visit into work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker pulled out a Christmas card and handed it to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The photograph on the front showed her daughter, Mara, standing with her husband and two children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d seen their pictures around the house for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Open it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I DID.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a handwritten note under the printed greeting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I skimmed it until my own name stopped me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Tell Carly I hope Willa likes middle school. And tell her I said the first month is always the worst.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why am I in Mara’s Christmas card?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MRS. WHITAKER ONLY REACHED INTO THE BOX AGAIN.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next card was several years newer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Near the bottom, Mara had written, “Did Willa ever get comfortable driving? Tell Carly I remember teaching Kellen, and I still haven’t recovered.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read it twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“She knew Willa was learning to drive?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You told me about it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I TOLD YOU.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“But you told her?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker gave a small shrug. “Apparently.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Apparently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As if my name had wandered into her daughter’s letters by accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I STARTED GOING THROUGH THE BOX MYSELF.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There were cards from birthdays, Mother’s Days, Christmases.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My name wasn’t in every one, but it appeared often enough to make my face warm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Ask Carly if Willa got that summer job.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Tell Carly congratulations about Willa’s grades.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One note from years earlier asked whether my back had improved after I’d strained it moving a client’s dining table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
THESE WEREN’T THINGS MRS. WHITAKER’S FAMILY COULD HAVE KNOWN UNLESS SHE’D TOLD THEM.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I found another card and froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Is Thursday still Carly’s day? I know you like having someone there.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What does that mean?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker’s eyes dropped to the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“WHAT?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“This.” I tapped the sentence. “Mara knew what day I cleaned?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“She knew you came Thursdays.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I suppose I mentioned it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mrs. Whitaker, your daughter knew when my kid learned to drive.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE FOLDED HER HANDS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“After George died, she called more often.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered that time immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
George had died during my fourth year cleaning there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Afterward, his shoes disappeared from the mudroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His coffee mug vanished from beside hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
BUT HIS CHAIR IN THE LIVING ROOM STAYED EXACTLY WHERE IT WAS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For months, I dusted around it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker had changed too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before George died, she often went grocery shopping or met someone while I cleaned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Afterward, she was home most Thursdays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d assumed she simply had nowhere she needed to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“She worried about me,” Mrs. Whitaker continued. “Mara wanted me to move closer to her even then. I wouldn’t.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“SO YOU TOLD HER I WAS HERE?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sometimes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She hesitated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Carly, there were weeks after George died when you were the only person I knew for certain was going to walk through that door.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The house suddenly seemed quieter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I THOUGHT OF ALL THOSE THURSDAYS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker making coffee at 1:30 when I was almost finished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her appearing in whatever room I was cleaning to ask something she could easily have asked later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How is Willa liking high school?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Did your car ever stop making that noise?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Are you working over Thanksgiving?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’D ANSWERED WHILE FOLDING TOWELS OR WIPING COUNTERS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had never thought of those conversations as anything important.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t know,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t want you to.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked almost surprised by the question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“BECAUSE YOU WORKED FOR ME.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“So?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“So you had to be here.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I started to answer, then stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She continued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You were supporting a child. You had other houses after mine. You watched the clock because you had school pickup. I knew that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“WILLA GOT OLD ENOUGH TO TAKE THE BUS.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Eventually.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I smiled despite myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Eventually.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker touched one of the cards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“There were plenty of Thursdays when I wanted to ask if you’d sit down and have coffee with me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“YOU COULD HAVE.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Could I?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Of course.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Would you have said yes?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then closed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE GAVE ME A KNOWING LOOK.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Exactly.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I might have.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You would have looked at the clock first.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was probably true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And then,” she continued, “you would’ve wondered whether saying no would offend me. Or whether I thought you weren’t friendly enough. Or whether it might somehow affect your job.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“IT WOULDN’T HAVE.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“How would you have known?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t have an answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She leaned back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I was lonely, Carly. But that didn’t give me the right to make my loneliness part of what I was paying you to manage.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Something tightened behind my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
FOR EIGHT YEARS, I’D BELIEVED OUR BOUNDARIES WERE SIMPLE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I worked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She paid me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We liked each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I couldn’t stop remembering details I’d filed away as meaningless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
ONCE, DURING A STORM, MRS. WHITAKER HAD INSISTED I WAIT BEFORE DRIVING HOME.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d hovered near the kitchen while rain hammered the windows, watching the clock as we talked about Willa wanting her ears pierced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another Thursday, Mrs. Whitaker had baked too much banana bread and somehow had a loaf wrapped for me before I left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After George died, she sometimes seemed disappointed when I finished early.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d thought I was imagining it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING?” I ASKED.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I just told you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“No. Why didn’t you tell me I mattered to you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her expression softened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Because I didn’t know whether I mattered to you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That almost made me laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“MRS. WHITAKER, I KNEW YOUR GUEST TOWELS.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s your argument?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I knew you hated lemon-scented cleaner. I knew the left kitchen drawer had to be lifted before it would close. I knew you kept George’s chair exactly where it was for months after he died.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her smile disappeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I knew when you were having a hard day before you said a word.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“THEN WHY DID YOU ALWAYS EAT IN YOUR CAR?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The question caught me off guard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You brought lunch. You’d finish downstairs, go outside, eat in your car, then come back in.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I needed a break.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You couldn’t take your break at my table?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I LOOKED AT THE PLATES BETWEEN US.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t want to get too comfortable.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time it was my turn to hesitate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When I started cleaning houses, I needed every job I could get. Some people are funny about boundaries. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was helping myself to their food or sitting around on paid time.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“But you knew I wasn’t like that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“AFTER A WHILE, YES.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yet you kept asking before getting water.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You noticed that too?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Carly, I wasn’t unconscious for eight years.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed, but my eyes were burning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I rubbed one thumb against the edge of Mara’s Christmas card.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I guess I didn’t want you thinking I was taking advantage because you were nice to me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MRS. WHITAKER NODDED SLOWLY.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And I didn’t want you thinking I was taking advantage of the fact that I paid you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We stared at each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the ridiculousness of it hit me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For eight years, we’d been protecting the same boundary from opposite sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d mistaken her restraint for proof that I was only an employee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE’D MISTAKEN MINE FOR PROOF THAT I WANTED TO REMAIN ONE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s why Saturday?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s why Saturday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She gestured around the nearly empty kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You finished Thursday. I paid you. The movers are coming back Monday for the table, the chairs, and the last few boxes. You don’t work for me anymore.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sentence hurt more than I expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MRS. WHITAKER MUST HAVE SEEN IT ON MY FACE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I needed one day when there was nothing for you to clean and nothing I could pay you for.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the plates she’d refused to let me stack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sandwiches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The chair she’d made me sit in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My cleaning supplies at home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
EVERYTHING HAD BEEN DELIBERATE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“So what did you want?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the first time all afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker looked nervous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She folded the corner of a napkin between her fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When I move, would you call me sometimes?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s it?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SHE LOOKED EMBARRASSED.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Well, not every day. I know you have a life. Maybe once in a while. Or I could call you, if you’d prefer.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mrs. Whitaker.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And if you’re ever near my new place, perhaps we could have lunch.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mrs. Whitaker.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I STARTED LAUGHING.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She frowned. “I don’t see what’s funny.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I emptied my entire backseat.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her mouth twitched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I wore my good blouse.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I noticed.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GIVING ME HALF YOUR KITCHEN.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That did it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She laughed too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the time we stopped, I was wiping tears from my cheeks, and I wasn’t entirely sure they were from laughing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’ll call you,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her face changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not dramatically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MRS. WHITAKER WASN’T DRAMATIC.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But something in it loosened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Because you want to?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That question mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I answered carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Because I want to.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
WE SAT THERE ANOTHER HOUR.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For once, I didn’t check the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I finally stood to leave, I reached into my purse and found the key she’d made me keep on Thursday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I placed it on the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker looked at it but didn’t touch it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That little brass key had let me into her house for eight years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
LEAVING IT BEHIND FELT LIKE CLOSING SOMETHING.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I noticed a blank notepad near where her kitchen calendar used to hang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I picked up the pen beside it and wrote my personal number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Whitaker watched me tear off the sheet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You already have my work number,” I said, sliding it toward her. “That’s the number you call when you don’t need your house cleaned.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’LL TRY NOT TO ABUSE THE PRIVILEGE.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Good.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I reached for the cookies I’d brought, then slid them toward her instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Keep those too.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You’re leaving me quite a lot.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the empty box on the floor, the family cards spread across the table, and my old key lying between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“NO,” I SAID. “I THINK YOU’VE ALREADY GIVEN ME ENOUGH.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Outside, I opened my car and looked at the empty backseat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d cleared it because I’d been so sure Mrs. Whitaker wanted to give me something before she left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had been right about that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I just hadn’t understood what she was giving me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For eight years, I’d walked into her house every Thursday believing I knew exactly where I stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew where the guest towels belonged and how to close the stubborn drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I KNEW WHERE EVERY PICTURE FRAME WENT AFTER I DUSTED IT.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What I hadn’t known was that somewhere along the way, my name had found a place there too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And for the first time, I understood why Mrs. Whitaker had asked me to come back without my cleaning supplies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She needed me to walk through her door once when neither of us owed the other anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So whatever came after could be something we both chose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do you think Carly and Mrs. Whitaker were right to keep such firm boundaries, or did those boundaries keep them from understanding each other sooner?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Ispent eight years entering Mrs. Whitaker’s home with a key of my own, but I still asked before taking a glass from her cabinet. That boundary always… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16127,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16143","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16143","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16143"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16143\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16144,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16143\/revisions\/16144"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/16127"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16143"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16143"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nykmedia.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16143"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}