by Maren Foster
“Or are brainwashed by their families.”
“What?”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “You’re worried what Vi and Ali will think, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think they would be very supportive of me quitting my job right now.”
“They don’t know you as well as I do.”
Really? My mom and sister don’t know me as well as you do? I shrugged.
He continued, “I’m serious. When was the last time you talked to either of them about how you are feeling about all of this?”
God, he knows how to push the right buttons.
I didn’t answer.
“What do you have to lose anyway?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Vi and Ali think I will regret not having my own career.”
“But you don’t even like your job.”
“Yeah, but they think I should have my own income.”
“You have more than any woman could want,” he said. “What do you need? You can have it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I don’t get it,” he said. “You want to have children more than anything. You didn’t have a problem with the idea of staying home before.”
“I know, I just think that maybe Vi and Ali have a point. Just because you can buy me things doesn’t mean I have security. It means I have you,” I said. “What if someday I don’t?”
“Oh, come on, Wyn. We’ve talked about this before. I have a phenomenal life insurance policy, of which you are the sole benefactor. You have nothing to worry about.”
“What if I quit and then I get bored and want to do something else? You know, be my own boss.” What I really mean is, what if I quit and then the con doesn’t pay? Then what?
“Won’t you be your own boss the minute you quit?”
“Funny. If that’s the case, then I’m already my own boss. The boss of the laundry, grocery shopping, cooking dinner…”
“You know what I mean. You can do anything. Why do you want to be a boss?”
“I’m not saying I do, but what if I might?”
“Really, you?”
“Sure. Why not me?”
“I just didn’t think of you as that type.”
“What type is that?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You don’t think I’m smart enough, do you? Or is it about motivation?” I said. “You think Julia is so smart, don’t you? With her little blog and her Instagram followers.”
“I didn’t say that. It’s hard work being a boss. I just don’t think that’s who you are.”
“What if I want to start my own business?”
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a hypothetical.”
“Fine. Sure,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
“That I could start a business, whatever the cost, with some of our money.”
“Well, I don’t know about whatever the cost,” he said. “You’d have to develop a business plan and justify whatever investment you need.”
“Oh, so Shark Tank Home Edition?”
“Come on, you know what I mean.”
“Really? Do I? Did Julia have a business plan when she started her blog?”
“She did that while she was still in school, I think. Besides, what does Julia’s blog have to do with anything?” he asked. “If you want to start a blog, go ahead. You can do that right now if you want, for the cost of a night out with the girls.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Are you going to quit your job or not?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“Ugh, you’re exhausting.”
The Tale
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Greenwich
When I got out of my car at the train station on Wednesday morning, I was surprised to see Julia. She was facing the end of the platform, watching for the train to the city. I waited on a bench near the station house, sipping tea from a to-go cup. When the train pulled up I watched her get on the first car, followed by about five or six businessmen. I followed. She took a seat about halfway down the car. I walked toward her and we made eye contact as I approached.
“Julia!” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for a weekday morning.
“Wyn, hi,” she said. I stopped in the aisle. The train car wasn’t entirely full yet but there weren’t many completely empty benches left either.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she said and reached over to move her large purse off the seat next to her.
“How are you?” I asked as I sat down.
She nodded, but didn’t look up from her phone.
“You’re going downtown early today,” I said.
“Yeah, I have a fitting for an event.”
“Oh, nice. Which designer?”
“Port Azalea.”
I nodded.
“How was the rest of your night at Simon’s?”
“When, Saturday?” She acted as if she’d already forgotten.
“Yeah, did anything exciting happen after I left?”
“Not sure when you left, but no, why?” she asked without looking up at me. I could sense irritation in her voice.
“I mean, I was just wondering,” I said. “You know, I was wondering whether Adam knows.”
She looked up and stared directly at me, so intensely that I wanted to look away.
“Look,” she said. “Adam and I have an understanding. He never expected me to be the kind of wife who sits around at home all the time, waiting for him, and so I’m not.”
“Sure,” I said. “Got it.’
We sat next to each other pretending to have more important things to do for the rest of the nearly hour-long ride into Grand Central Station. I pulled Vi’s diary out of my purse.
February 17, 1989
Shreveport, Louisiana. It’s been more than three months since my last period. I went to the library and read everything I could find about what to do when you’re pregnant. I didn’t dare check out any of the maternity books because then the librarian would know and God knows who she might tell. First, she would tell a friend, not because she meant any harm, but because she was bored, and then it would spread like wildfire in this small town. Then Mom would know. Well, she’ll know eventually I guess. There was one book tucked away behind the others in the small maternity section that didn’t have a barcode or the library stamp on it. The book said my stomach is going to start getting bigger soon. It’s already starting to get harder to suck my stomach in. It won’t be long before I’ll have to start wearing my frumpiest dress around everywhere to hide it. It also said that there is a way to not be pregnant anymore. It’s called an abortion.
February 24, 1989
Shreveport, Louisiana. I told her. I’m pretty sure she already knew even though I’m just barely starting to show, but she nearly killed me all the same. I’ve never heard her utter a swear before and tonight she produced some of the ugliest I’ve ever heard in my life! And then some. In some weird, backwards way, I think I thought it might make her happy since Dad is gone. I thought maybe she would be happy to have more family. She wasn’t. She just regurgitated everything I’ve ever heard in Church: sex before marriage is a sin; an unwed mother is a shame…a whore. “You’ll go to hell!” She said that! She knew immediately who the father is and that made it even worse. She called him awful things like Cracker, White Trash, Scumbag, and Son of a Bitch. And then she said the most outrageous thing…she said that we should be married before the baby comes. I told her that’s the last thing I want right now. She said I might as well be a prostitute then because it’s the only way I’ll be able to provide for the little bastard, and slammed the door in my face. She can go to hell. I hate her anyhow. I can’t wait to get out of here.
I did the quick math in my head. Ali was born on August 25, 1989. It’s Ali! So that’s how Ali was conceived. I wonder if my origin story is in
here somewhere.
The train rolled slowly into the station. We gathered our things and joined the crowd queuing to disembark. I turned back toward Julia.
“Look,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be nosy. I won’t say anything to Adam.”
She didn’t respond but I noticed her nod her head almost imperceptibly. Just as we stepped off the train, about to go our separate ways she said, “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” I stuttered back, caught off guard by the pleasantry.
My direct boss, Ethan, had put a meeting called “Annual Review” on my calendar at ten-thirty. I went to the office kitchen to get some more caffeine. I selected the least offensive flavor from the assortment of little plastic coffee pods, just as two of the newest additions to our marketing team walked in.
“Congrats on your promotion,” the young woman said.
“I only got ten percent,” the young guy, who had been assigned to the sexy new marketing campaign, said.
“I heard that only two people got promoted this year.”
“Jeez, that sucks,” he said. “But I could be making way more somewhere else.”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s the other promotion?” he asked.
“Not sure. You were the first to meet with Ethan, right?”
“I guess so.”
Could it be me? Mike joined the company after me. If he got promoted, I must be the other promotion.
I walked to Ethan’s office, clutching my coffee mug, and full of anticipation.
“Hey, Wyn. Please sit.”
I complied.
“So, Wyn, you were up for a promotion this year, along with quite a few other Senior Media Planners. Your case was very strong, but there was a lot of competition. In the end only two staff at this level were promoted because our earnings as a group were a little below plan.”
I nodded.
“Unfortunately, your case was not the strongest. You were not promoted this round, but I expect that next year yours will be the strongest.”
“Thank you.” I said. Why am I thanking him for not promoting me? “What were the differentiators that separated me from those who did get promoted?”
“Well,” he paused, as if thinking about it for the first time. “You have only been here for two years. Most people don’t get promoted in their first two years.”
“Mike joined after me and he just got promoted.”
“True, but he came in last week with an offer from a competitor and he is assigned to our most important client, so we couldn’t afford to lose him.”
“Speaking of client assignments, why was he assigned to that client over me?”
“He expressed interest.”
“You assigned him to that client, right?”
“I did.”
“How were my sales numbers compared to the other Senior Media Planners?” I already knew the answer.
He studied the sheet of paper in front of him that had our team’s performance measures and my numbers.
“Above average.”
“So, I’ve been part of the teams that brought in the most new business this year, but I’m not getting promoted?”
“Look Wyn, you are one of our best young employees, but it was very competitive this year and many deserving Senior Media Planners who joined before you didn’t get promoted either.”
“So that’s it. I have to wait another year?”
“I’m sorry. The decision has been made,” he said.
“Great, thanks. So has mine.” I stood.
He looked up at me.
“I quit!” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I quit. I’ve wasted enough time here already. I’m not going to sit around for another year, fetching Alan’s coffee, just to be disappointed again.”
“Wyn, success in a large company takes time. You need to have patience.”
“Mike didn’t need patience. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need this. I quit.” I left before he could say anything else.
My head was spinning. Did I just make a huge mistake? Did I let my ego and emotions get the better of me? Doesn’t matter. I can’t go back in there and ask for my job back. It is what it is. I will just have to get Nate to pay up. That will give me some time to figure out what I really want to do in life.
I deleted all the passwords, cookies, and history in my web browser along with the one folder on my hard drive where I had kept personal documents. I shut down. I threw the few personal items on my desk into my purse, and took a deep breath. What else? Don’t forget anything when you leave this place. You don’t want to have to come back, even momentarily. I grabbed an old Tupperware from the kitchen that had my initials on the bottom in faded permanent marker. That’s it. Done, I thought as I pushed open the heavy glass door that led out to the elevators.
As I waited for an elevator, I heard Noreen call behind me, “Hey! What the hell?”
I turned around. She was walking toward me quickly with a big smile on her face.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving, but good for you!”
She gave me a hug.
“Thank you!”
“And don’t come back!” she yelled dramatically, smiling. “Call me next week. I want to hear all about how fabulous freedom is!”
As I walked to the train doubts turned to relief. No regrets. I hated that place! Plus, this could help when I finally divorce Nate.
I usually timed my arrival at the train station perfectly, but leaving in such a hurry I hadn’t considered that the next mid-day train was almost an hour from scheduled departure. I considered going back out to a tavern across the street from the station to kill some time and celebrate with a mimosa, but suddenly felt exhausted and just wanted to get home. I sat on a bench near the platform and tried to relax. Staring blankly at the tracks, I could hear the low rumbling and feel the vibrations caused by engines starting up. The station was relatively empty, but a few people still scurried up and down the platforms to board other trains.
At home I texted Nate, “ETA tonight?”
His answer came immediately, “Late.”
“How late?”
A few minutes later my phone vibrated, “Really late, sorry”.
Hopefully you’re late because you’re having an affair with Julia! But how am I going to catch you in action? I need proof!
I tried to watch t.v. but could barely sit still. I had just quit my job in the most dramatic way I could have imagined, I wanted to celebrate but instead I was alone.
I texted Adam, “What's up?”
“Nothing. You?”
“Home. Alone. Nate’s working late tonight.”
Adam didn't respond. I went for a run and then got in the shower. I stood under the showerhead and closed my eyes. The water was so hot that it gave me goosebumps. When I opened my eyes, Adam was standing on the other side of the glass, naked. I practically jumped.
He opened the door and stepped in. He was thinner than Nate, but fit. He stepped toward me, pressing his warm body against mine. This shouldn't be happening. Not like this. There have been so many opportunities over the years that were so much more romantic than this. There had been so many moments when we were younger when I’d wanted him to kiss me, to undress me, to make love to me, but I’d stopped him. I was scared of what it would mean, and I was scared of losing what we had, but now I wasn’t sure. We weren’t as close as we’d been before. No, things are too complicated right now! To get Nate to pay up in a fault divorce I have to be the virtuous one. I can’t risk getting caught cheating right now. That could ruin everything.
Adam put his hands on me and pulled himself closer. But Nate is working late tonight. What do I really have to lose? What are the odds he’ll come home now? I didn't resist. He kissed me and it sent a wave of electricity coursing through my body. His kiss was wet, sloppy, and energetic in a way that Nate's never was. I wanted more but all I could think about was how much I’d invested in conning Nate. If I slipped-up now and Nate f
ound out, the last two years would be for nothing. I’ve sacrificed too much to throw it all away now.
“We can’t,” I said and pulled away.
He looked at me with a sadness in his eyes that I had only seen once before, when I’d rejected him on prom night.