“Say less. Where should I go?” I write down the name of the bar that’s going to do the drink catering for the event and her eyes light up.
“This place is on my list! Absolutely.”
“They make their own spirits and are just starting out. If the drinks are as good as I think they're going to be, it's a perfect fit. You know the drill; save your receipt and Sparks will reimburse you.”
“Thank you for trusting me with the highest of honors.” Viv playfully puts her hands on her chest and raises the other in the air.
It’s a small thing but I’m so thankful for her. Honestly, I’m decisioned out. I don’t want to pick between another thing at this moment. There’s no more mental space available.
A savory croissant stares at me from our plate, so I rip it in half and let the buttery pastry melt in my mouth. It’s filled with bacon and Gruyère cheese, and it’s one of the best croissants I’ve tasted. I let out a moan which has Viv reaching for the other half before I get greedy and eat the entire thing.
"Do you really not know who will be walking the red carpet at the gala?" She gives me a side stare, one I've seen more than once—it's the one she uses to try and get me to tell her something—like she ever needs to trythathard.
"I really don't," I say, taking a drink of coffee after. "Stella is in charge of the guest list and I'm thankful."
With Viv's question, I'm back to the gala. Nervous energy jumpstarts my thoughts, my worries. I want to do anything in my power to make thisa success—it's important to me for so many different reasons. I know that I'm only one person, a small piece of the puzzle, but it's not above me to try and do the whole damn puzzle myself.
I try to quiet my brain, still filling my thoughts with all that’s left to do. I try to quiet the neverending to-do list but I'm unsuccessful. Being mindful is something I’ve worked on for what feels like my entire life. When I can be mindful in situations, both socially and with food, I’m a happier version of myself.
Unfortunately, my busy brain wins and I lean into the chaos.
CHAPTER SIX
Ivy
8 DAYS UNTIL REDCARPET EVENT
"How does this typo happen? Seriously? I need an explanation." Stella says, showing me a few print materials that are clearly incorrect—one is simply the wrong size but the other has the word “galla” instead of “gala”.
My stomach flips. We're basically a week away and things that should be drop dead easy are nothing but problems. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave?” I ask as I flip through a botched order of print materials, the latest on a long list of mistakes. If there was a leaderboard, the rice sculpture is at the top, claiming the spot of most ridiculous and most disappointing of the mistakes.
“That isn’t even an option,” Stella replies, putting her hand flat on the page I was looking at, capturing my full attention. “We’ll be fine here. I’ll get this monstrosity fixed and then we’ll be almost back on track.” She grabs the stack of papers, pulling them to her and out of my reach.
“Are you sure?” My stomach drops thinking of leaving so close to the thing I’ve been planning for months, especially when it seems like anything that could go wrong, would. It’s kind of selfish to leave at this juncture, honestly.
“A thousand percent. I’m also fluent in Ivy and I know you’re convincing yourself that you need to stay and it’s not true. Your brain is telling you lies.”
Damn, she’s good. I also feel like I may have divulged a little too much when it comes to “how is therapy going” because that’s a line straight from my therapist.
Stella smiles, making eye contact. “The plane tickets are paid for. You fly out the day after tomorrow and it’s only for a few days. We’ll see you next week. Remember, we even have an extra travel day accounted for, so you should be back the day before the event.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Plenty of time.” She gives me a little shake.
“But, all of these things keep coming up and who knows what else will?” I plead.
“You’ve done your part, Ivy. And it doesn’t matter whether you’re here or at home, whatever’s going to come up willstillcome up,” she says, organizing the print materials on the desk. "We can only do so much. Plus, what fun would this be if it was easy as pie?"
She’s right. I’ll obviously have my laptop and will be able to assist with whatever I can. We’re in the stage of deliveries and preparations at the venue; it shouldn’t matter that I’ll be working remote.
“I’ll make sure to stay on top of my email and you can call if you need anything,” I say, trying to sound helpful, but mostly I think I’m trying to convince myself.
“I know you will but try to enjoy the time. You’ve been away from home for a few weeks. Do some recharging before the gala.” Stella tucks a piece of her chic, gray bob haircut behind her ears.
I want to ask if she’s positively sure. As the battle of reassurance and being a burden declares a winner, I say nothing. I reach for a hug and smile as she pats my back.
Many people don’t hug their boss but they don’t have a Stella.
Fine, I'll go home. I'll take the gracious gift of time, from my work-life-balancing boss, and enjoy myself. That doesn't mean I can't try and fit in as much work in before I get on that plane.
I walk to Olivia's cubicle, finding the intern dressed in a dark navy blazer with her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, and knock on one of the standing walls. When she turns and sees me, she smiles, something we've been working on. I don't see any tears or a wobbly lip in sight.
