by Aven Ellis
“I don’t know how I ended up with you,” he says, his voice breaking as he caresses my face with his hands, “but I’m the luckiest man alive to have you. You make me feel safe, Hayley. Safe enough to tell you things I’ve never said aloud to another person, not even Brady.”
He takes a moment to brush away my tears with his fingertips, and then he places a gentle kiss on my brow.
“Thank you for being with me,” he whispers in the darkness.
Then his lips find mine, giving me the sweetest of kisses.
I kiss back the man I love, feeling so proud of him tonight. He faced his past and he let me in, two incredibly hard things for him to do.
I’d like to think that’s because he’s falling in love with me, too.
I know Brody is The One for me.
And I’m willing to wait for him.
However long it takes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Ultimate Modern Girl’s Guide to Self-Motivation, Zen, and Being the Absolute Best You Now!
Today’s Question: Are you achieving zen in the workplace? Are you being your true self at work?
I re-read my blog post article one last time. Well, the last time for real this time. I’ve edited it. I’ve proofread it three times. I had Addison read and proofread it. Now that I’m convinced it’s the best possible article it can be, I hit print.
I get up from my desk, walk over to the printer, and wait for my copy to come out. Tara comes over at the same time, as apparently this big tree-killing print run that is holding my job in the queue is hers.
“Sorry,” Tara says. “Reports for Belinda to pass out.”
I study her. Tara never says more to me than “good morning” unless we have to talk about work, which is weird because we have low-profile walls on our cubicles and we have to stare at each other all day long. If it weren’t for Addison, I’d go insane.
It makes me sad that Addison will leave here as soon as she gets a job with an animal organization. She’s my best work friend, and I adore her, but the silver lining is that I know no matter where she goes, she will always be my friend. For that, I’m grateful.
As I watch the papers continue to land in the tray, I blurt out what is on my mind.
“Why didn’t she email this?” I ask.
Tara shoots me a look like I’m an idiot. “Because it’s Belinda.”
Right. Belinda who hates email and prefers thick reports stuffed in our mailboxes rather than emailing copies we can electronically read and keep.
Ugh.
I decide I’ll be waiting another five years for my one copy to come out, so I decide to kick it Belinda-style and discuss my blog post face-to-face with her first.
She’s reading at her desk when I walk in, her glasses sliding down her nose as she leans forward.
I rap on the doorframe. “Belinda?”
She looks up, her glasses now down near the tip of her nose. How can she stand to not push those back up? That would drive me insane.
“Yes?”
“May I have a minute?”
“Yes, come in.”
I step into her office and sink down in the chair across from her. “You know how you said you wanted the blog for the website written by internal people only?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I went to Jeremy Woodland’s opening this week,” I say.
Belinda stares blankly at me.
She obviously hasn’t seen that I updated that info on our website as well as cross-promoted it on our social media platforms this week.
“Who?”
“Jeremy Woodland, the artist who has dyslexia. He did an exhibit reflecting his journey, and I went to the opening.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
I think it would be easier to give Belinda a dental cleaning than to try and discuss moving the communications of the company forward into modern times, but I continue on.
“Well, it was a powerful exhibit,” I say, “and I wrote a piece about it for the blog.”
Now I have her attention.
She furrows her brow. “You wrote an art review?”
“Yes, I did,” I say, nodding. “I interviewed the artist and the gallery owners, too, and I took pictures. I think it’s an inspiring piece, and I’d like to put it on the schedule to run on the blog.”
Belinda folds her hands across her desk, interlacing her fingers. “No.”
“No?”
She sighs heavily and finally pushes her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “No, Hayley. I wish you would have asked me first so you wouldn’t have wasted your time. We are here to promote services that help dyslexics and their families. Research initiatives. Conferences. Not art.”
I realize I have a choice here. I can apologize, walk out of her office, and try to assimilate like I’ve been doing the past month, or I can continue to try and be helpful and hope someday my efforts will be rewarded.
For so long, I was raised in the shadows. I was the good girl, I didn’t cause problems, I simply wanted to be helpful and make everything easier. I stayed quiet and tried to please. I assumed once I was an adult, I could change who I was. I could be the woman who had ideas and ambition and share my energy with the world.
As I think about the workbook question today, I realize how I’m not being my true self in the workplace by once again, trying to blend into the woodwork. By trying to stay quiet and please Belinda.
This is not who I am any more.
I no longer want to sit in the corner and hope I can eventually make a difference. I need to speak up for my ideas, fight for them. I no longer want to be the shrinking violet. Like Brody said, I need to speak what I believe. He was right about that.
And the workbook question today confirms it.
It’s time to be the new adult me.
“With all due respect, Belinda, art speaks to people,” I say. “It opens doors for conversations. For connections, emotional introspection, and healing. You might not feel that way, but a lot of people do. I found the whole exhibit eye opening and inspiring, and I think a lot of people who come to our blog looking for examples of what people with dyslexia are accomplishing would appreciate this blog post.”
Belinda sighs. “It’s not our message.”
“What is our message?” I ask. “I thought our message was about expanding the world of dyslexics all the way to the bookshelf. I thought we wanted to help people cope with dyslexia and help their families understand them, all while fighting for more research dollars. While you might hate my ideas, that doesn’t mean they aren’t valid. You might not like social media, but it’s the way some generations are growing up communicating. If you don’t want to learn it, you are going to be left behind. Our newsletter message shouldn’t be that we recycle old pieces, either. That doesn’t show you care. People will quit reading. If you refuse to write current pieces, and refuse to use the avenues people go to for information, you are going to leave behind the very people you were hired to communicate with.”
Then I get up and walk out.
I’m shaking as I turn the corner. I want to puke. I’m sure I’ll be fired before the end of the day. Crap. I don’t know how I’ll pay my bills next month if that is the case. Maybe Katie can get me a job at the coffeehouse.
But while I’m terrified and sick, there’s also a sense of pride surging within me. I stood up for myself. For my ideas.
I was me.
And that part feels amazing.
I go back to my desk, retrieve my phone, and head outside. I need to call Brody. It’s ten thirty now, so I know he’s in the process of making his oatmeal and eggs.
I exit the building and stand next to it. I call Brody and wait for him to answer. One ring, two rings. He picks up on the third.
“Hey, my beautiful Cherry Blossom,” he says. “Good morning.”
“I think I will be unemployed by the time you are on the field for batting practice,” I blurt out.
“What?”
“Brody,” I say, exhaling, “I told Belinda she was out of touch and not communicating well with the younger generation. I outed her on her repurposing articles, too. I told her she would be leaving behind the people she was hired to communicate with if she didn’t get with social media and provide new content.”
“You did?” Brody asks, shock resonating in his voice.
“Yes, so if there are any openings in the team store, would you mind if I applied?”
“Hayley, she’s not going to fire you for saying that. You weren’t being insubordinate. You were expressing your opinion.”
“Still.”
“You did the right thing. You did her a favor by telling her the truth, and that took balls. Serious balls. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”
Despite my situation, I find myself smiling.
“You helped me see this,” I say. “Brody, you were right. For so long, I just tried to be good and helpful and hope that someday it would be rewarded. It doesn’t always work that way. You were right about that.”
“It takes a strong person to speak the truth,” Brody says. “I admire you so much, babe.”
I love you, I think.
“I should probably go back to work,” I say.
“I’ll text you when I get to the clubhouse. Is Katie coming with you tonight?” Brody asks, as tonight is one of my scheduled games.
“Katie and Addison,” I say. “Speaking of whom, I should drop by her desk and give her a ticket just in case we get split up and can’t ride the Metro together.”
“Okay. I’ll look for you.”
I smile. Brody always looks for me in his seats when I go, and there is nothing I love more than seeing his face light up when he sees me sitting there.
“I’ll look for you, too. You’re the one with the hot ass wearing thirty-three, right?” I tease.
Brody laughs, which sends a tingle of happiness down my spine.
“Yes and yes,” he says, chuckling.
We hang up, and I head back inside. My stomach feels queasy, but I know I would be just as sick if I continued this charade with Belinda for months on end, too.
I go back to my desk, and Tara is typing away. Belinda’s door is still open, and I see her typing, probably a write-up to HR for my file. Ugh.
I open my drawer, take out my purse, and pull out the envelope with Addison’s ticket in it. Then I head over to the fundraising department, where I find Addison talking with Mariah at her cubicle.
“Oh, are your ears burning? We were just talking about you,” Mariah says cheerfully.
“We were talking about the Jeremy Woodland exhibit and how you went with Brody on Monday night,” Addison says.
“It was incredible,” I say, shoving the drama with Belinda aside for the moment. “Brody really connected with the art, and he said it gave him a better understanding of the world through dyslexic eyes.”
“Hayley, are you sure he wouldn’t want to come on board for the gala?” Mariah asks softly. “He seems like a really nice guy and he’s popular in DC. Brody would be such a presence for us. Even if it was just for a photo for a Twitter or Instagram ad.”
Once again, I’m conflicted because I know Brody would do it, even more so after seeing that powerful exhibit, but I don’t want to use him for my own work success, or worse, have Brody think I was trying to ride his celebrity coattails.
“I’m sorry, but he’s really busy,” I say, feeling horrible that I’m not even giving him the chance to say no. I convince myself it’s better this way, keeping business and romance separate.
“I’m sorry,” Mariah says, wincing. “I just can’t help myself. He’s such a natural interview on TV, and I think he’d be great for public service announcements. I promise, I’ll never ask you again.”
Relief fills me knowing the topic will die now.
“It’s totally okay,” I say, smiling at her.
“Well, I have to head into a meeting,” Mariah says. “Did you know gala tables are almost sold out? We only have three left!”
“Ah, that’s amazing!” I say, thrilled to hear this news.
“It’s so exciting,” Mariah says. “I’m close to getting Premier Airlines to donate two roundtrip tickets to anywhere they fly, too. Speaking of that, I should go follow up with their charitable donations rep. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She walks off, and I turn to Addison, extending the envelope to her. “One ticket for the Houston vs. Washington baseball game, just in case you run late or anything.”
“Oh, I won’t be late,” she says excitedly. “I’ve already told Mariah I’m going, and I’m allowed to leave early if I promise to get a picture of AJ Williamson for her.”
“We could meet him after the game and get him to say something on your phone for Mariah,” I say, grinning.
Of course, Katie will beg off and insist on waiting for us in a bar on the concourse level, but hopefully, I can convince her to come down with us. She can’t avoid AJ forever. He’s Brody’s best friend, so we are bound to all be together at some point. Katie has sworn up and down she will not see him for at least the rest of summer, until he’s forgotten the whole thing ever happened.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her fainting on someone usually falls into the unforgettable category.
“Oh, Mariah would die; let’s do it,” Addison says gleefully.
“Done. I’ll text Brody and ask him to ask AJ,” I say.
Addison’s office phone rings. “Gala duty,” she says.
“Go ahead, I’ll see you later,” I say, smiling at her.
I walk away, and now I realize I have to face going back to my desk.
If there is a big cardboard box on it, I’ll know it’s time for me to take my wannabe Mary Tyler Moore show on the road.
I steel myself and turn the corner, heading back toward the communications section of the office. It’s quiet, as usual. As I approach my cubicle, Tara glances up at me, but then she quickly looks back down, which is normal.
If I was fired she might have more of an expression on her face.
Or maybe not.
I sit down and the queasiness comes roaring back. I check my emails, and there’s nothing from Belinda. The light on my phone for messages is off, too. So far, I have maintained meaningful employment.
I get busy with my routine tasks: updating social media, tracking numbers, organizing received material for the next newsletter. I don’t feel hungry for lunch by noon, so I continue to work.
I’m jarred from my thoughts when my office phone rings.
I glance at it, and my stomach rolls over when I see it’s Belinda.
I draw a breath of air for courage and pick it up. “Yes, Belinda?”
“Please come to my office,” she says.
“Okay,” I say, wanting to puke.
I hang up the phone and stare at it. She’s going to fire me. If she doesn’t fire me, she’s going to yell at me. She’s going to make my life hell. Belinda will make me update conferences listings until I quit in frustration and boredom.
There is no way this is going to end favorably for me.
I push my chair back and stand up. My heart is hammering in my ears. Blood is rushing to my head. For being a strong woman with balls, I sure don’t feel like one at the moment.
I hear Brody’s voice in my head, that beautiful, raspy voice, telling me to breathe, to find calm, and to know that being true to myself is the only thing that matters. I close my eyes and breathe, drawing strength from Brody’s words. Strength from knowing I have him on my side.
And knowing that I do have this man, this man I love, brings me peace.
I head over to Belinda’s office. Her back is to me, and she’s typing. I steel myself and rap on the door.
She turns around. “Close the door, please.”
Shit.
I do as I’m told and then take a seat.
Belinda stares at me for a moment. She takes off her glasses, setting them on her desk, and to my complete su
rprise, bursts into tears.
“You’re right, you’re right, you’re right,” she sobs, her frail frame shaking as she cries. “I don’t understand social media. I’m too old! I don’t get why things are the way they are, I don’t understand why we have to twitter things and what this chat snap thingie is. I can’t keep up, I can’t. I feel paralyzed when I write, wondering if I sound outdated. That’s why I recycle stuff. You’ll have my job within a few months; don’t think I don’t know that! You get it. You’re bright and young. You can do so much more than I can. I’m useless!”
My hunch was right. Belinda is terrified, and her fear is rendering her incapable of changing.
“Breathe,” I say, going full-on Brody on her.
“Wh-what?”
“Breathe,” I say, using Brody’s calming voice. “In and out. Deep inhale. Deep exhale.”
I wait a few minutes for her sobs to begin to subside, and then I take the tissues that are sitting on the desk and set the box in front of her.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking a tissue and blowing her nose.
“Belinda,” I say calmly, “nobody is taking your job. I’m not qualified for your job. I don’t want your job. My job is to help you. That’s all I want to do. I want to bring the message of Expanded World to the world. We can do that if we modernize our communication efforts. You can learn everything you need to know, Belinda. I’ll teach you, and together, we can build an amazing platform and relaunch the website.”
“I’m techno stupid,” Belinda says, resisting me.
“No, you let your own fears and doubts cloud your thinking,” I say. “You can learn this. I think you can have fun with it, if you allow yourself. Once you are comfortable with the basics, we can try some new things. If an idea fails, we can try something else, but we can’t stay stuck in the past if we want people to take us seriously.”
“No,” Belinda concedes. She exhales loudly. “I do need your help, Hayley.”
“You have it,” I assure her.
Belinda manages a weak smile. “You’re the only person who has ever told me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear.”