by Amy DeMeritt
I have a couple dozen new emails, but the newest is from my manager, requesting to see me as soon as I get in today. I’m really not in the mood for whatever she could possibly want. I knock on her open door, and she waves me.
“Close the door behind you.”
After closing the door, I take a seat across from her, and she makes a few clicks on her computer. I can’t see what it says, but I can tell she’s reading an email.
“How are you looking for meeting your second quarter revenue goals?” My jaw tenses and I have to painfully pinch my thigh to keep myself from showing frustration. “We already exceeded our second quarter goal by twenty-grand.”
“Great. How did you land the Bamboo Spa?”
“I don’t understand the question. You assigned them to me.” Rebecca looks up from her computer, and leans back in her chair to regard me. “Why would I have done that, when they’re not in your territory?”
“Because I was recommended to them by another one of my clients and they requested me personally.”
She places her elbows on the armrests of her chair and holds her hands in front of herself with her fingertips pressed in peaks.
“Which client and how do they know the owner of The Bamboo Spa?”
“Silvia’s Pottery – her cousin works for the spa. ”
“Do you know the cousin on a personal level?”
My heart starts racing and my palms start to sweat.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I didn’t know her before they became my client.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Rebecca, what is this about?”
“You were seen kissing an employee from the spa after leaving from a service call there. The ethics of you having them as a client is being questioned, which puts me in a difficult position. The commission from the package you sold them was pretty steep and the sales rep whose territory the spa falls into feels cheated.”
“The highest valued package Geoffrey has sold this quarter is half of what I sold to The Bamboo Spa. How can he feel cheated when he hasn’t been able to produce the same results with his other clients?”
“True, but the question of ethics is still on the table. You say the relationship didn’t start till after you pitched your campaign. But how do I know that? How do I know this wasn’t a scheme to gain extra territory to increase your commission?”
“It wasn’t, but so what if it was? Do you honestly believe Geoffrey would have pitched the same or a better package? Look, I didn’t ask for them, nor did I put them up to requesting me. You assigned them to me, and I did my job. If he feels cheated, then give him a crack at a brand-new client in my territory.”
She sits slowly rocking in her chair, just looking at me, as if she’s trying to figure out how to handle this. I just really want to scream and throw something. I can’t believe this is happening on top of what I’m dealing from my mother.
“Will this relationship jeopardize the contract and possible renewal with the owners?”
“No. ”
“He wants part of the commission since it’s from his territory.”
I release an involuntary scoffing laugh.
“Aside from the fact that his request goes against the commission policy, that’s bullshit and you know it.” I stand up and straighten my suit jacket. “He has done nothing to deserve a single penny from that commission. He has clients in that shopping center. How about you ask him why he wasn’t able to secure them on his own because as far as I know, he’s never even attempted to pitch them a deal.”
“Brooke, we are not done here.”
“Yes, we are. I’m twenty-grand above goal. Geoffrey is eight-grand below goal. The math and the answer to this is very simple.”
I get my hand on the door handle, and Rebecca actually smiles at me. I wait, and she nods once.
“You may go. I’ll take care of him. Consider this a warning though. If your relationship with the girl effects the business relationship, I will be forced to take action.”
“Understood.”
Felicia is away from her desk, but I am fuming so badly about this that I have to talk to someone about it, so I send Hannah a text explaining what just happened.
Hannah: I’m so sorry. Should we avoid seeing each other when you come to the spa?
Me: No, I’m not going to allow my employer to dictate how I live my life, especially with the woman I love. They have no power over our relationship.
Hannah: I really want to kiss you right now. What if they fire you?
Me: Then I’ll find another job. I have enough money put away in my rainy-day fund to get by for a few months if it comes to that. I’m really not concerned.
Hannah: I love you so much, Brooke. I’m really sorry you had to deal with that today.
Me: I love you too. If that was my mother, I would have been fired before I could sit down in her office. The whole witch-hunt conversation was total bullshit and really ticked me off, but it could have been worse.
Hannah: Is there anything I can do for you?
Me: Just keep loving me. That’s the best gift I’ve ever received.
Hannah: I’ll be continuously polishing and shining that gift for you forever. I have to get ready for an appointment. Are you sure there’s nothing else you need right now?
Me: No, I’ll be ok. Thanks for everything. You’re the very best of all of creation.
Hannah: God, I wish I could kiss you right now. Ok, talk to you later.
Being able to tell Hannah about my stupid meeting and experience her love really helps push the bullshit out of my mind, but my mind is suddenly consumed again by my mother. I start plowing through work, trying hard to get my mind off of her, but it’s just not working. I know I had walked out on her at the restaurant and basically told her I wasn’t talking to her till she spoke to me, but I never expected it to be a forever thing. I figured she would eventually break down and talk to me. But this feels final. The things she said and the way she left Saturday morning feels like my mother told me goodbye forever. I honestly feel like I have become the orphan I always felt like I was. I feel like I’m seven years old again sitting in my closet crying and wondering what I did to make my mother hate me .
We were supposed to have a mother-daughter tea-party at school and I was the only girl in the class who wouldn’t be there. My mom made up an excuse about work and told me to grow up – it was just a silly tradition that didn’t mean anything. It meant plenty to me, but she didn’t care.
“Hey, are you ok?”
I look up from my computer to see Felicia is standing in front of my desk with a stack of papers. I wipe away the few stubborn tears that refused to stay locked in my eyes.
“No, but what’s up? Is that stuff you need me to sign?”
“It is, but it can wait.” She sits down across from me and leans forward. “What’s the matter? I’ve never seen you cry before. Did something happen with Hannah?”
“No, Hannah and I are stronger than ever. Something happened with my mother, but if I talk about it, I’ll probably turn into a mess.” She frowns and reaches across my desk, taking my hand in hers. “You know I’m here to listen if you need to talk, right?” I nod and swallow back the raging river of tears that wants to gush forth. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to get lunch today? Or just go sit somewhere private so you can talk and cry or whatever you need to do?”
“Probably not today, but maybe tomorrow. I have two appointments tomorrow. Can you see if they’ll reschedule for later in the week?”
“Yeah, of course. Anything you need, just holler.” I nod once and she squeezes my hand before standing up. “Whenever you get to them.”
She sets the stack of papers down on my desk and walks away. I take a deep breath and mentally scold myself for allowing myself to be seen crying at work. Then, I scold myself for thinking that way. My mother always said, crying is weakness and is unbecoming. She said, I should avoid
crying in front of anyone at all costs. I used to think she told me that because she wanted to appear strong and successful and was teaching me how to do the same. But now, I feel like she told me that because she didn’t want to be bothered with witnessing my emotions. She wanted a stone child that she didn’t have to interact with.
So many insecurities and worries were made truths in her confession, like a hot iron stake piercing my heart and soul.
My phone vibrates with a new message. I smile when I see it’s Hannah checking in on me. I send her a quick reply to let her know I am still holding it together, for the most part.
Hannah: Ok, babe. I have another appointment in a few minutes. I just wanted to see how you were and let you know I love you and I miss you.
Me: Your message did make me smile, so thank you. I love and miss you too. Have a good day.
Hannah: Awe good. I love when you smile. You have a good day too.
I look at my computer and see at least a dozen new emails have come in since I got here. Then I look at the stack of papers Felicia left for me. Well, if I can’t have her love, I can at least use some of what I learned from her to get through this. My mother was a strict preacher of never allowing your emotions to affect your work – no matter how upset you are about something, you have to push through to get the job done, just as level headedly as you would have if you were not upset.
I shake my head in frustration and start skimming and signing the stack of contracts Felicia left for me. Something looks off about one of them, so I shoot her a quick email and then continue through the rest.
After a few hours of hammering through my mountains of work, my stomach painfully churns and growls, reminding me that the only thing I’ve put in it today is a bottle of water. I take a deep breath and push back from my desk with determination to maintain this level of strength and levelheadedness. I walk out to Felicia’s desk, and as soon as she sees me approaching, she turns to face me.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
“Have you eaten?” She shakes her head. “Nope, where are we going?”
“I think I want soup. Do you know a good place?”
“Yup, are you ready now?”
“Yeah, let me just grab my purse and lock up.”
The rain has stopped and the sun is starting to peek through a crack in the clouds. We get in Felicia’s car and she looks at me as she starts the engine. She looks like she wants to ask me about what happened with my mom, but she doesn’t, and I’m grateful for it.
The drive only takes a little more than five minutes. Felicia parks in front of a bookstore and I look at her confused.
“Trust me, they have the best soup.”
I smile as soon as we walk in the door. The front of the shop is a small café, and just past the cold food display is a cozy looking bookstore. There are shelves stacked wide with tons of books and a couple little reading nooks with tables stacked with books. If I had found this place when I was a kid, I never would have left.
We get in line at the register and I read the chalk board menu on the wall while we wait our turn. They have a small assortment of sandwiches, soups, and salads. The cold display also has some delicious looking desserts that I decide to treat myself with one of. When it’s our turn to order, I get the Italian chicken noodle soup and a slice of peach pie.
We take a seat at a small round table in the corner and Felicia looks at me like I’m a wounded animal she wants to adopt and nurture back to health. I surprise myself and laugh a little as I shake my head in amused appreciation for her level of concern.
“Felicia, stop looking at me like I’m a baby duck that was caught in an oil spill.”
“I’m sorry. It’s hard not to when I know you are hurting inside and I don’t really know how bad it is.”
“Well, I’ll tell you quickly, but then you have to change the subject or I might bawl like a child in here.”
She nods and waits. I take a deep breath and try to distract my mind from the words I’m about to speak. I try to think of Hannah instead so that I don’t lose it. Felicia already knows the ordeal with my mom and her “wedding” and she knows I have been giving her the cold shoulder, so I’m grateful I don’t have to go that far back to explain.
“My mother showed up at my house unannounced Saturday morning to let me know I was re-invited to her wedding with my girlfriend. But only because it would help her senator fiancé’s ratings in the polls to appear ‘pro-gay’ by having me there. We had some words and she admitted to me that she doesn’t love me and never has and never will. When my father left her, he took her heart with him, and when she looks at me, she only sees the pain she felt when he left. She never even wanted children and would have given me up for adoption after he left if it wouldn’t have reflected poorly on her and hurt her career goals.”
Felicia is looking at me with a mixture of shock and disgust. Her eyes flash with rage and she blurts out, a little too loudly, “The bitch said, what?” A few people look over and I shush her. She looks around and quickly apologizes to the people around us. “Brooke, I don’t even know what to say to that. I am so disgusted right now.”
“You don’t have to say anything. There is nothing to say. It’s just the way it is. Now before the tears start, how are things going with Belinda? ”
Her face immediately splits into a wide cheesy grin.
“She told me that she loves me. It was really cute. We were just laying on her couch watching TV. I was playing with her hair and she looked up at me and said, ‘I want to tell you something, but please don’t think you have to respond.’ She sat up and then told me. Do you know how cute and sexy those words sound in her accent? Oh, god, it melted me.”
I smile and laugh a little. This is actually the perfect subject change. I needed to hear some good, beautiful news like this.
“What did you say?” She grins, and even though she has dark chocolate skin, I can make out a faint blush on her cheeks. “I told her that I love her too. Which I do.”
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you.”
“I just hope it lasts. Every time I’ve told a guy I love him, even if he has said it too, it didn’t last long after. Those three words are supposed to be the best three words to hear, right? But in my previous experience with them, they were the death of my relationships.”
“Like the death of my barely existent relationship with my mom. Yeah, those three words can either be magical or poisonous. This soup is amazing by the way. How did you find this place?”
Felicia is looking at me like a wounded puppy again. I clear my throat and she quickly shakes her head and corrects herself.
“I was looking for a book that the larger chain bookstores didn’t have. Not only did they have the book I was looking for, but they had this amazing little café that became one of my favorite places. If you go through the back, they have a back door that opens up to a wooden balcony where they host live music and poetry readings. It’s pretty neat. I’ve come a few times. ”
“Oh, that’s awesome. I’ll have to come check it out sometime with Hannah.”
Thankfully, Felicia keeps the conversation going on various non-mom related subjects and I actually have a good time and laugh quite a bit, which is exactly the medicine I needed today.
I wish Hannah could have met us here, but she only takes half hour lunches so she can get out early in the evenings and miss rush hour traffic.
After we finish eating, I grab one of the “balcony stage” schedules and we head back to work.
When we get out of her car, Felicia stops me and asks, “Can I give you a hug or would that totally screw you all up?” I smile and shake my head. “A hug would be fine.” She smiles and wraps her arms around me for a moment. “Thanks for today, Felicia. I actually enjoyed lunch today.” She laughs and nudges me in the arm as we start to walk towards the building. “You say, ‘actually’, as if you’re surprised you enjoyed yourself in my company.”
“You know what I mean.”
<
br /> When I get back to my office, I start going through some emails and making some final tweaks to a presentation I need to make on Friday.
“Hey, those tear sheets you requested for Greggo’s Landscaping came in. All three newspapers in one day; that’s a miracle. Here you go.”
Felicia plops three express mail envelopes on my desk and heads out of the office. I open the envelopes and pull out the papers to check the ads. Greggo’s Landscaping is a pain in the butt customer, but I have a huge contract with them, so I try to bear with them. Tear sheets are actual copies of the newspaper to show how the ad ran in the paper. Pretty much all newspapers have gone digital now and don’t send out hard copy tear sheets. Greggo’s is old school and won’t hear it and insists on hard copies, regardless of the fact that we have to charge him for them, whereas the digital tear sheets are free. To cover their costs to procure and mail them, the papers charge six dollars per paper. Since we are the customer the paper is dealing with, they won’t mail the tear sheet directly to Greggo’s. I have to review them and then reship them out express mail to him, which is an additional charge he has to pay. In all, he ends up paying ten dollars per newspaper, when he could just go get them at a newsstand for a few dollar’s total. It’s ridiculous.
I flip through the paper, looking for his ad, and when I hit the local section, my blood runs cold and I freeze.
“Oh, no.”
Chapter Seventeen
I’m pacing back and forth in front of my front door, waiting for Hannah. She’s supposed to be coming straight from work, but it seems to be taking too long for her to get here. I’m twisting my hands together over and over again so much that they’re starting to feel raw.
I hear a car door outside and quickly open my door. Hannah comes rushing up the driveway and takes my hands.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Why was it so urgent I get here as soon as possible? Are you ok?” I nod and pull her inside. “Come here. You need to see this.”
I pull her to my dining room, where I have the newspaper splayed open. She looks down at the paper and gasps. She quickly sits down and starts reading the article. She looks up at me with wide eyes and her hands shaking.