He walked into his building and went straight for his mailbox, but he didn’t look through his stack of mail until he’d walked into his flat. He didn’t want to rush through her note, if it was there, or have to hold in his disappointment if it wasn’t.
He sat down on the couch and dropped the stack on his coffee table. There it was. A wide, empty beach on the front. What a way to lord the whole California thing over him.
Malcolm—I was in a meeting the other day for the new job—I become acting director soon—and someone had brought something they called scones to the meeting. I spent the whole boring meeting thinking about how horrified both you and Julia would be at those terrible, rocklike scones. At least it gave me something to do instead of telling all of those people to stop listening to themselves talk and just get on with it. I should have learned more from you about how to keep a straight face at times like this; there are going to be a lot of meetings in my future.
Vivian
He had to say something. If he were Vivian, she would say something to him about this, wouldn’t she? He smiled at the thought. She absolutely would.
He plucked a postcard off the top of his waiting stack and started scribbling.
V—Do you really want this job? Feel free to tell me to shut up and stop prying if you want to. I know this isn’t any of my business. But I hear the difference in you when you talk about this job, versus the way you talk about your current job. I heard it when you were in England, and I can hear it even in a few lines in a postcard. I’m sure there are many reasons you think you should take it, but will it make you happy?
M
He tore off a stamp from the book in his drawer and ran outside to drop the card into the postbox before he could change his mind. Then he sat on his couch and stared out the window for a very long time.
Vivian sat at her desk at work and looked down at Malcolm’s postcard in her hand. She’d been carrying it around for days now. He’d asked her a question she’d never stopped to ask herself. Would this job make her happy?
He’d asked that question so easily: “Will it make you happy?” Had he realized he’d thrown her entire worldview into chaos?
That wasn’t a question she usually asked herself. In all of her pro/con lists about her life decisions—especially when it came to jobs—that wasn’t a question she ever bothered to answer. Would it improve Maddie’s life, would it make her more money, would it make it easier for her to help her family, would it make other people satisfied, would it make her family criticize her, would it make her doctor approve of her? Those were all of the questions she usually asked herself.
But her own happiness? What a strange, foreign, confusing thing to think about.
“Will it make you happy?”
Her first response to that question was, “What does that matter?” She laughed at herself for that—she was a mental health professional, and she didn’t think her own happiness mattered? But that was all too true.
She glanced over into her open desk drawer. Right there in the front was the hefty gift card for a local spa her coworkers had given her for her fiftieth birthday. It was four years later, and the gift card was still sitting there unused. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to go to the spa; she had, and she’d been thrilled by the gift. She just hadn’t found the time where she felt she could do something like that, just for herself.
Would this new job make her happy?
Why did that question scare her so much? It seemed selfish even to consider it. Her new job was a promotion; it would make her more money, she’d never in her life turned down anything offering her more money, and her happiness wasn’t relevant when it came to work. Yes, she loved her current job, but that was a side benefit. Wasn’t it?
She shook her head. She felt guilty even letting herself think about this. It was an honor, it was a promotion, it was a significant salary bump—a woman like her couldn’t turn that down. Malcolm obviously didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.
Maybe she should go on a walk at lunchtime, rain or no rain. She’d told enough people that getting outside could clear your head; she needed to practice what she preached.
“Vivian!”
She turned quickly and saw her boss standing in her doorway.
“Where were you? I called your name a few times,” he said with a smile on his face.
She shook her head.
“Sorry, just thinking about a tricky case,” she said.
He chuckled.
“That’s one of the things that makes you so good at this: your dedication to your clients. But a break will help; it always does with me. Come on, it’s time for that meeting with the county.”
Oh. Right. She couldn’t take a walk at lunchtime; she and her boss were going to another meeting together. She’d forgotten all about that, even though the whole reason she was in this dress today was because it was her “going to a meeting” dress. If she decided to take this job, Maddie had better find her a bunch more dresses like it.
“I was just thinking that I needed a break, actually,” she said. She stood up and picked up her coat and umbrella.
She’d been to a handful of these meetings before when she’d filled in for her boss, and she had always found them boring but mostly fine. She regularly ran into people she knew at them, which was fun, at least. The same was true today; she saw an old friend from graduate school, and a former colleague, both of whom she’d liked a lot. When they went around the table for introductions at the beginning of the meeting, her boss told everyone this was his last meeting and introduced her as the interim head, with a big wink, and she smiled at everyone around the table.
But then when the initial greetings ended and the PowerPoint began, it hit her: this was going to be her new life. Instead of spending her days walking around the hospital and talking to patients and solving disputes, she’d be going to meeting after meeting just like this one. She’d be staring up at PowerPoint presentations and chuckling at bad jokes and discussing data and categorizing people by their diagnoses. And while all of that was important and necessary—except for maybe the bad jokes—would any of it make her happy?
Her current job made her happy. She loved joking with teenagers and helping them work with their parents, she got a burst of joy every time she helped patients advocate for themselves in the maze that was their health care, she’d cried happy tears when parents who she’d helped counsel through their babies’ time in the NICU came back to show her their fat-cheeked, giggling, healthy babies. Yes, it was hard, almost every day. Yes, she needed to take more breaks from it, for her own mental health. But it also made her happy all the time.
Could she give up that happiness? For lots of meetings like this, less time for herself, and more money? What if that money could help her travel more, or get a better car so she could go on more road trips, or buy more books? Would she have the time to do any of those things? Would she take the time to do any of those things? Would the job be worth it?
That night, she called Maddie.
“Hey, Mom! I’m so tired of all of this rain.”
Vivian laughed.
“You and me both, girl. I keep daydreaming about sunshine.”
“How was work today? Are you the boss yet?”
She cleared her throat.
“That’s what I was calling to talk to you about. I become acting director next week, but . . . I’m not so sure I’m going to apply for the job.”
She heard Maddie’s big intake of breath, so she started talking again quickly.
“I’m not saying this because I don’t think I’d be great at the job; I know I would be. And it’s not because I have impostor syndrome or any of that other stuff. It’s because . . . I like my job now. I love my job now, actually. Do I want to give that up, just for more status, and more money, and to be an example for other people? Part of the reason I wanted to do this was to help young social workers of color see they could succeed, but can’t I do that just as well by mentorin
g the ones I work with? The job means more money, but it’s also a lot more time. Will the extra money make me happy?”
She hadn’t realized she felt this strongly until all of that came bursting out to Maddie.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a while.
“I’m so glad you’re thinking about all of this, Mom,” Maddie said. “I’ve been worried about you for a while, but you seemed so set on this job, it didn’t occur to me that that was why you were so stressed.”
Tears came to her eyes at the tone in Maddie’s voice.
“I feel guilty saying all of this—I feel guilty even thinking it,” Vivian said. “But I realized today I’ve dreaded starting this job ever since I first found out about it. But I felt like of course I had to take it, so I was going to. But now”—she shook her head—“I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, Mom.” Maddie sounded so contrite. “I didn’t realize you felt like this about it. When you first told me about the job, it was right when we got to England, and I was so busy and distracted by work I didn’t ask you enough questions about it. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Vivian sat down on the couch.
“No, don’t feel bad. I didn’t realize I felt like this about it, either. Someone said something that sort of . . . made me adjust my worldview. And I was thinking about the job today in a whole new way.”
She’d been thinking about everything in a whole new way since she’d gotten that postcard from Malcolm.
How had he listened to her—and heard her—so well? About wanting to see a tiara, about why she hated surprises, about the job—there he’d heard what she didn’t even say.
“Well”—Maddie had her businesslike voice on—“I’ve known plenty of people who have turned down well-paying jobs, or quit jobs in favor of ones where they made a fraction of that salary, and it was always because they wanted more balance in their life that the job with more money wouldn’t give them. And, if you’re having any issue with money, I can always pitch in. You know that, right? No matter what.”
Tears rolled down Vivian’s cheeks.
“Oh, girl, thank you, I know that,” she said. “But it’s not that; I’m doing just fine. More than fine, actually. But what if . . . I don’t know, there are so many what-ifs. What if I get sick like Aunt Jo? I have excellent insurance, but there’s so much insurance doesn’t cover, and I don’t want to be a burden on you. What if, I don’t know, my house burns down? Or . . .”
Maddie cut her off.
“Enough with the what-ifs, Mom. You have to live for today, for now, not what you might think could possibly happen, years down the road. This job . . . if you take it, you’ll probably stay in it until you retire, right?”
Vivian took a deep breath.
“Yeah, I probably would.” She thought about that. The rest of her working life, in that job. A job that wouldn’t make her happy. She’d known that, as soon as Malcolm had asked her the question.
“Don’t you always tell me that life is too short to do something you hate?”
Vivian laughed.
“Don’t throw my words back at me! And I won’t hate the job, it’s not that, it’s just . . .”
“I know,” Maddie said. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do. I know you know that. But I’m really glad you’re thinking about this. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, Mom.”
Vivian wiped her face with a napkin.
“Thanks, girl.”
Vivian hung up the phone and put her head in her hands. Then she stood up and went to her file cabinet. She looked through her financial records: her retirement account, her savings, what her health insurance postretirement would guarantee her. Finally, she took a deep breath.
She didn’t need this money. She could use it, no doubt, but she would be just fine without it. She could pay her mortgage, she could keep putting money into her savings, her retirement account was healthy, thanks to that corporate secretary job she’d had years ago, and she’d have excellent health insurance for the rest of her life—which was one of the reasons she’d taken this job in the first place.
She even had enough to cover some of her what-ifs. Not all of them, of course. But at least one or two.
She would be fine without the new job. She would be happy without it.
She went over to the drawer where she kept all of her stationery supplies and pulled out a postcard.
Malcolm—Thank you. You made me think about myself and my own happiness more than I have in years. I love my job. It makes me happy and fulfilled in a way I don’t think I truly understood until this week. I’m not going to apply for the new job. I just decided this thirty seconds ago, and I’m so happy about it. You’re the first person I told.
Love,
Vivian
Chapter Sixteen
Malcolm usually got a response from Vivian to his postcards within a week, eight days at the most. At least, that’s how it had been for over a month. But this time, while he got a postcard a few days after he’d sent his—this one with a story about one of her neighbors and his passive-aggressive battle against the dogs on their street that made him laugh and laugh—he knew she’d sent that postcard before she’d received his.
He had no real idea how Vivian would respond to what he’d said. She’d always been so direct with him, but would that translate into wanting him to be direct with her? Would she be offended by him bringing up her finances? He knew he never should have said that. But he’d been so worried about her, he hadn’t been able to think clearly.
He’d spent too much time talking to Miles; this was the problem. They’d hashed and rehashed out his whole “we have to follow our passions” justification for dumping Oxford, and it seemed like the boy had somehow convinced him of the importance of all that. Only partly, though—he’d also convinced Miles to wait to make a final decision until he’d made another visit to Oxford and talked to his tutors again. Luckily, he’d remembered how excited Miles had been when they’d been to Oxford together, so he thought there still might be a chance.
He shrugged. And, if all failed, Miles could always apply again. Oxford would always be there. And Miles’s high grades and impressive A levels would be there, too.
Finally, as he rifled through the mail in the elevator—he no longer had the self-control to wait until he got into his flat—he found a postcard with a picture of a waterfall on the front. He turned it over and read it as soon as he walked into his flat.
She wasn’t going to take the job. And she’d told him first.
He read the card over twice more. Not only was she not angry at him, she was grateful to him. She’d thought about what he’d said, and it had made a difference to her.
He leaned against his door and smiled. Joy, relief, and affection for Vivian spread through him. He was so pleased she wasn’t going to take the new job. And he was so happy his words had made her rethink something so important to her.
He wanted to send her a gift to celebrate this decision. Something momentous, something worthy of Vivian.
He remembered something he’d seen the week before and had talked himself out of buying. He knew just the thing.
Vivian drove up to her house and smiled at the bouquet of yellow and orange and pink flowers in the passenger seat of her car. Their bright colors had cheered her up immediately when she’d seen them in the grocery store, and she’d bought them on an impulse. Why didn’t she ever buy flowers for herself? Just looking at them made her feel content and helped reassure her that no matter how much it rained, spring would come.
It hadn’t been the best week at work—her boss had been hurt and angry when she’d told him she wasn’t going to apply for the job, even though she’d told him she’d be happy to stay in the interim job for however long it took to hire someone else. She’d been more or less prepared for him to be upset, but she hadn’t expected so many of her coworkers to stop by her office to try
to get her to reconsider. But she knew she wouldn’t—as soon as she’d sent Malcolm that postcard, she’d felt as if a load had been lifted off of her shoulders. The next day, she’d been happy as she walked into work for the first time in over a month. Despite everyone at work trying to change her mind, and despite how guilty and selfish she still felt, she knew she’d made the right decision.
And that very day, she’d called the spa to make an appointment to use her gift card.
She pulled a stack of catalogs out of her mailbox when she got home and sighed. Both Maddie and Jo had been happy for her—the three of them had celebrated together the day she’d given her boss the news—but she’d been waiting to hear back from Malcolm. It seemed like she wouldn’t hear from him again today.
But when she dropped the catalogs on her coffee table, a postcard with a castle on the front skidded across the table. She snatched it up.
V—Congratulations! I know this must have been a very hard decision on your part, and I’m thrilled for you. I’ve never met a person so full of joy and warmth as you are. It makes me happy to know you’ll keep stoking the fires of that joy. I’m so glad I could play even a tiny part in this decision. I hope you’re drinking champagne right now. I wish I was drinking it with you.
M
P.S. Watch the post for something else to help you celebrate.
A glow spread across her whole body. He’d never met a person so full of joy and warmth? He was thrilled for her? She grinned. Yes, thank you, he should be thrilled for her! Everyone should be thrilled for her! She was tired of others trying to make her feel guilty! For once in her life, she’d decided to prioritize herself and her happiness; not her family’s or her ex-husband’s or her daughter’s or her job’s, but her own.
She looked for just the right postcard from her stack and sat down to write him back.
Royal Holiday Page 20