“Right.” I drew out the word to imply how wrong she was. “We’re both trying too hard to impress everyone to let up on the gas. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how difficult it was to get here. I’ve got plans to make Apex more diverse.”
“You’re the first woman CEO, right?”
“Yes. And there’s never been a nonwhite or openly LGBTQ+ CEO, either. Like I said, I plan on being in the role for a while, but I’d like to make the path to the executive suite more welcoming to members of marginalized communities. I’dlove to hear your perspective as a Black woman. Let’s plan on discussing your thoughts in one of our upcoming one-on-ones.”
She made a note. “Sounds great. Anything else?”
I took a deep breath. “I’m planning on arranging a tour of our various facilities starting next month. You know, meet-and-greets, sitting down with local leadership, getting a better understanding of life outside HQ.”
“That sounds amazing,” she said. “And exhausting.”
“It’s the job.” I shrugged. “Will you be able to keep an eye on things while I’m away?”
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“Thanks, Gina.”
There was a knock on the door.
“My next appointment,” she said apologetically. “Robert from logistics.”
Standing, I shook her hand. “I’m so excited to see what you do in this role.”
“Me too.” Her handshake was firm.
After greeting Robert, I walked back down the hall, feeling at least five foot five. I was making a difference, and I had plans to do so much more. Imagining my plans to turn Apex into a utopia where everyone felt welcome and recognized for their contributions, I grinned.
Until I remembered my officemate.
Iwalked into my parents’ kitchen in San Ramon that night to find my mother standing on tiptoe on the top step of her stepstool, straining to reach something in the upper cabinet.
I dropped my bag on the counter. “Mom, get down from there. I’ll get it.”
She dropped to her heels. “You’re not any taller than I am,” she said with a lift of her chin.
“No, but I don’t have osteoporosis, and I’m much less likely to break a hip if I fall. Come down.” Grumbling, she stepped down and waved her hands in a flourish toward the stool.
I toed off my heels and ascended the steps to peer into the cabinet of little-used serving items my parents had accumulated over the past thirty years. “What do you need?”
“The gravy boat.”
I spotted it behind the soup tureen. My upper cabinets were also difficult to reach and organized on a last-in, first-out basis instead of a more orderly pattern.
“Here.” I lowered the heavy tureen, and she took it from me. Gripping the edge of the cabinet to stabilize myself, I leaned in to grasp the handle of the gravy boat. I tugged it out and handed it to my mother. Then, I took the soup bowl and replaced it in the cabinet, leaving space for the gravy boat, which she’d want in a few weeks at Thanksgiving.
“Hey, Bridge. Why didn’t you guys wait for us?” My much taller sister, Megan, walked in, followed by her even taller husband carrying their baby, and finally, her two other kids ran in. With barely a hug and kiss for their grandma, they beelined for the backyard swing set my dad had built for us girls and meticulously maintained over the years.
“You weren’t here. I was.” I clambered down and put away the stool. “Why are you so late? I figured you’d already be eating. I got stuck at?—”
“Work. We all know.” She huffed. “We figured if we showed up an hour late, we’d get here the same time as you.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“Take it in the loving way it was intended. We didn’t want you to miss out.” Megan hugged me for an extra beat. “Congrats on the promotion. Such great news.”
“Thank you.”
“What are we having for dinner?” My eight-year-old niece, Ashlyn, ran in, trailed by her mother, my next-youngest sister, Denise.
