Elizabeth
It was almost five p.m., almost closing time for the day, and like many other people, I was happy the week was almost done.
But unlike many people, I dreaded the uncertainty of the weekend. For one, even though I still had a job after my “outburst” against my father over the past weekend, I knew my father could be a ridiculously vindictive man. I would not have put it past him for him to fire me when I got back to the house.
For another, even if he didn’t, even if he kept me on, I was finding myself closer and closer to the real breaking point where I’d just quit on my own. It wouldn’t matter in a couple of weeks if my father fired me or not because there was a half-decent chance I’d just leave on my own.
Steele had shown me that there was life on the other side of the perfectly prescribed path, and it not only wasn’t so bad, but it also had its own rewards and fun. I didn’t have to appeal to my father twenty-four-seven. I couldn’t say things between Steele and I had improved at all since everything from the past weekend—I’d made no attempts to talk to him at his mother’s funeral out of respect for his space—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t value everything he’d done for me.
I had just one more thing to do—a call with my father to summarize everything that had happened this week. With a sigh, I told myself to get it over with. I picked up the phone and dialed my dad’s direct number.
“Elizabeth,” my father said in as dry and professional of a tone as he had with his secretaries.
“Good afternoon, father,” I said. My dad never really told us what to call him in business settings, so I just went with “Father.” It felt more professional than “dad,” but also wasn’t so professional as to ignore what anyone who was around us would pick up quickly. “I just wanted to give you an update on the solar farm.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’re ahead of schedule right now, thanks to the labor force working much more productively than we could have anticipated,” I said. “I believe our initial timeline was about eighteen months, but right now, I feel confident we could get it done in fifteen, and maybe even faster if we choose to bring on more people.”
“Good to hear,” my father said.
That was the equivalent of anyone else jumping for joy at the news I had just given them. Even in private settings, such as when we graduated from Rice and Cornell, my father had given a golf clap and equally blasé words.
“Have you run into budgeting issues?”
“None at the moment,” I said.
“Good.”
I think that made him more excited than the sound of my own voice.
I continued talking with my father for about another five minutes. Though these conversations never lasted that long, they always felt a bit draining. I would have thought a Friday afternoon call would half-mark an occasion to celebrate the end of the week, or at least give a small amount of appreciation for my efforts. Instead, they seemed to remind me regularly about why I would probably need therapy for my relationship with my father someday.
As the call wound down, my father gave me an odd request.
“Call me on the cell when you get the chance, please,” he said. “I need to talk to you about something at the house. It is not appropriate to do so on a work line.”
“Uh, OK.”
My father never acted in a clandestine manner like this. I didn’t think he was about to fire me, but I could see him giving me a warning “off-the-record.” I hung up and called his cell, dread filling me for what was to come.
“Elizabeth,” he said, as dryly as he had on the business line.
“You wanted me to call you on this phone?”
“Yes. I wanted to make a proposal to you that I cannot make officially yet, but one that I wanted you to think about so that when it is official, you can accept without hesitation.”
Accept without hesitation? Are you deciding my future for me right now?I couldn’t decide if it was promising or not for my own sake that my father sounded as hopeful as he could.
“I am pushing the board to give you a promotion to vice president in this firm,” he said.
Oh, wow!
“Such a position would double your salary, provide you with more business travel, build your network, expand your benefits, and provide you with far more opportunities than you have as a senior business analyst right now.”
I felt elated. I could smile since my father wasn’t there, but I tried to keep my voice steady. My father, no surprise, hated when emotion came into business decisions.
“Thank you, father,” I said.
