A moment later, we’re standing in the kitchen, each with a glass of wine, me leaning against the island and Kirstin leaning against the counter. Outside the window, my sister’s neighborhood glitters with Christmas lights and icicles, the roads paved with a perfect sort of precision that arrives with a higher tax bracket.
“Your house is gorgeous,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Did I tell you that already?”
“Yes.” Kirstin rolls her eyes, bringing her wine glass to her lips. I know she’s been frustrated with me lately, so I made coming to the birthday party today a priority. I even arrived early to help put up decorations.
But, according to the look on her face, it still doesn’t make up for the fact that I missed their housewarming party. And their New Year’s party. And that I had to leave our mom’s house before dessert on Christmas for an early work meeting the next day.
Technically, our mother lives in Denver like us, but she’s hardly ever here. Kirstin comments frequently on the ways I’ve been following in her footsteps.
“Now that you’ve seen the house,” Kirstin says dryly, taking a quick sip of her wine, “does that mean you’ll actually come to a dinner party?”
“It’s not about the house. It’s about time. You know I want to,” I say, working hard to maintain my composure. It should be easier than this. After law school, nothing should be able to get under my skin.
But this is a conversation Kirstin and I have been going around and around with since I decided to go back for an MBA, and then after I switched to this job and started working even longer hours than I put in during school and with internships.
“When are you going to start living your life?” she presses, shaking her head, eyes narrowing at me.
“I’m living my life,” I return, taking a long sip of my own wine before going on. “My career is important to me, Kir.”
Now it’s Kirstin’s turn to look like she’s holding back, probably not liking my insinuation that her career isn’t important to her.
She got her degree in accounting and was working for a prestigious Denver firm before deciding to take time off and focus on being a full-time mom. Her husband, Greg, is a civil engineer and earns more than enough to support their family without her at work.
It made sense for them to organize their lives this way.
But I don’t have a Greg, a guy she met and clicked with while at college. I never fell in love, which means that now, when I want to find a guy to settle down with, it’s going to become another entry in my agenda, another thing on the long list of tasks I haveto complete. We can’t all be so lucky as to have a perfectly decent man fall in our laps.
“I know it is,” she says carefully, letting out a sigh, some of the harshness melting away from her features. “I just worry that someday you’re going to look up from your desk and realize it’s too late for you to pursue the other things in life that are worth having too.”
“Kir, I—” My words die away on my lips when the watch on my wrist starts to buzz gently, my eyes darting down and taking in the name before I have a chance to check my reaction.
Don.
I’ll have to answer it. Even though it’s a Saturday. Even though I’m with my family and this is the first weekend I’ve had “free” in over a month. For just a second, my heart starts to skip uncomfortably, a precursor of anxiety. It’s fine, I tell myself, forcing in a deep breath through my nose. The image of calm.
Kirstin stares at me, clearly having seen the name that popped up on the screen, too. She knows all about Don, all about the boss who has little care or regard for the concept of business hours.
“This is all veryDevil Wears Prada,” Kirstin mutters, rolling her eyes at me and finishing off her glass. “Well, go ahead. I know you’re itching to answer.”
“I’m not,” I lie, even as my hand twitches toward my back pocket where my phone sits snugly in my jeans.
I’m already thinking through a game plan for whatever Don needs. If I’m coming into the office, I’ll have to use my go-bag inthe trunk, with slacks and a blouse, the professional outfit I keep ready at all times for a situation like this one.
If he doesn’t need me to come into the office, I can stay in this outfit—jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt.
When Kirstin gives me a look, it’s like she can tell I’m already doing the mental gymnastics, figuring out exactly how best to submit to Don’s beck and call.
But she doesn’t understand.
“Sorry,” I whisper quickly, more because I know it’s going to upset her than because I think I’m doing something wrong. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I step out onto the front porch for privacy, wrapping my arms around myself against the frigid January air.
“Amy!” Don booms my name like he always does when he answers the phone, like he’s presiding over a boys’ club and I’ve just swaggered in. “I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy?”
“I’m at my niece and nephew’s birthday party,” I say, guilt creeping in as I think about the inevitable sadness on their faces when they find out I’m leaving early. Again. “So?—”
“Perfect!” He cuts me off like he always does, seemingly without even realizing that’s what he’s doing. “Meet me down at the office. I’ve got a great new opportunity to discuss with you. Big one—we’re talking, after we pull this off, we might be looking at some promotions for anyone involved.”
It’s the same carrot he’s been dangling in front of my face from the moment I started at McKay Capital Management. And even though I’m ashamed to admit it, it’sstillworking. What Iwouldn’t give to have my own team, to be able to lead projects how I see fit.
