“I’m really sorry aboutall that yesterday, Gem.” Lizzie grimaces as we make our way out to my garden patio with Winnie. She sets down the two plates of pasta she hastily whipped up as an apology.
“It’s fine,” I grumble, not convincing either of us. “I just don’t know what the hell is happening to me lately.”
I flop into one of the wicker chairs as Lizzie pours us glasses of white wine. “Work’s been a mess. For the first time in my career, I feel unhinged, like I can’t cope.”
She looks at me with those big, worried eyes. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”
“It’s not. Well, maybe just the poo part. But I’m the one who obviously hasn’t been handling the pressure well.”
We fall into silence, watching the stars in the night sky, as we take our first sips of wine. It’s Saturday evening, and I had to force myself not to work all day. Trying to have a real weekend feels like a foreign concept.
“Gem . . .” Lizzie says after a few moments. “I think your body and mind are staging a rebellion. You can’t keep shouldering this much stress without eventually snapping.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real fight behind it. “I’ve been doing it for years and been fine. This is just a blip. I’ll get back on track.”
“You’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore, love.”
I scoff. “I’m thirty-three, Lizzie. Not exactly one foot in the grave.”
“Exactly, hovering right at the edge of middle age. And you have your first cat. Who knows how many you’ll have next year.”
“Oh, fuck right off. You’re in the same boat. Or are you conveniently forgetting that we’re the same age?”
“Yes, but I’m not the one who spends every waking hour surrounded by stressed-out employees. All you do is listen to their bitching and moaning, day in and day out.” She leans forward, her expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. “But who’syourhuman resource, hm? Who’s taking care of you for a change?”
I give Winnie an affectionate rub. “You and Winnie.”
Both of them fix me with an unimpressed look. “A cat is not a support network, no matter how many little bells you put around her.”
“Well, most of my other so-called mates are too busy with their own families and kids to make time anymore,” I counter with a casual shrug, like it doesn’t bother me. “They always give the whole ‘ooh, I haven’t seen you in forever!’ spiel until I suggest actual dates and plans. Then it’s always back to ‘let’s just play it by ear.’ And I’ve learned the hard way that ‘play it by ear’ means ‘play it by fucking never.’ So if I didn’t have you and my folks calling, I’d be stuck talking to a cat and about a hundred finance people and it doesn’t feel healthy, does it?”
Lizzie hums in contemplation. “I don’t have that problem with the theater crowd,” she muses. “It’s full of free spirits who are always down to hang out and just . . .be, you know?”
I tamp down the urge to roll my eyes. Winnie just gives a single, slow blink. She knows too.
“I want to support you more, Gem. You’ve been there for me in my life more than anyone else, even my own family. You have to let go of all this pent-up stress and anxiety before it eats you alive.” She sits up. “Okay, let’s try this. As an example, what’s your biggest fear?”
I shrug. “My parents dying, I guess?”
Lizzie huffs. “Besides all the standard deaths and end-of-life terrors.”
“All right, fine. Maybe . . . losing my job?”
Lizzie nods, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “There. That’s the problem, right there. You’re so focused on work and success that you’ve forgotten how to live. I’ve been fired twice already and look at me. I’m fabulous. A little broke, sure, but fabulous as fuck. That should not be your biggest fear in life.”
I mull this over, taking a swig of wine. I’m the head of HR at a prestigious private equity firm in the city, a position I’ve worked my ass off for. My parents, a humble butcher and a shop assistant, couldn’t be prouder. And neither could I. It’s a significant part of my identity, so the thought of losing that . . . it’s daunting, is what it is.
“So, what should be my biggest fear, then? Enlighten me, oh wise one,” I ask, my voice drenched with sarcasm.
Lizzie leans back in her chair, a smug grin plastered on her face. “Not finding a great love. Not seeing all the places in the world you want to see. Making yourself sick with stress and keeling over at your desk before you even hit forty.”
I feel a sudden tightness in my chest. “Fair point.”
“Ask any seventy-year-old.” She nods wisely. “They’ll back me up. They’ll be like, ‘I wish I spent more time chasing dick not slaving away in my dumbass office job.’”
I snort-laugh, nearly choking on my wine. “I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly how they’d phrase it. More like, ‘I wish I spent more time with my loved ones, nurturing deep and meaningful relationships.’”
“Semantics. The point is, you need to loosen up before you turn into a shriveled-up husk of a woman, haunting the office with your sensible pantsuits. And I, your fabulous fairy godmother of fun, am here to help you do just that, whether you like it or not.”
