CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
January is frigid and dreary, a mixture that doesn’t do much for my general outlook. I managed to keep it together through Christmas and New Year’s, all spent with Bridget, David, Marla, Celia, and Fiddlesticks. Even though I miss Hugh, I wouldn’t say I’m pining over him. We talk most days, but between the five-hour time difference and our jobs, plus the fact I think we’re both trying to keep things low pressure, it’s been hard.
Celia starts college the second week of January and I start working with Piper one or two nights a week, going over ideas to bring in new customers. Those evenings, when I get to let my creativity out to play, become the highlight of my week. I’m not sure if it’s the January blahs or the strange transition feeling I’ve had since Hugh left, but everything seems dull and colorless. I miss Santa’s Village—the people, the action, the color, the excitement. Every day was something new, unlike my job at Quest. I’m running on autopilot because there’s so little variety in the work.
One afternoon, I’m sitting at my desk waiting for the coffee I had at lunch to kick in when I realize the office is almost empty. A quick glance at the calendar on my desk reminds me there’s a staff meeting today…and it started ten minutes ago. “Shit,” I hiss, jumping up from my chair and snatching a notebook and pen.
I dash to the conference room at the far end of our floor and burst through the closed door. I’ve made far more noise than intended, which, of course, means all eyes look to see what idiot is arriving late.
“Sorry, sorry,” I murmur, closing the door quietly and slinking into the nearest empty seat at the long rectangular table. Bridget is standing at the head of the table, frozen as if in pantomime with her reading glasses in one hand and a folder in the other. She shoots me a concerned look and I shake my head, opening my notebook to a blank page.
Bridget starts speaking again. I hear her voice, but I’m not processing the words. People around me nod along and take notes, occasionally interjecting with ideas of their own. It all sounds like the adults from Charlie Brown to me—wah wah wah. I stare around the bland room, taking in its beige walls and brown carpet. Outside the huge window behind Bridget, snow falls on the already gray city below.
“What do you think, Ivy?”
The words break through my stupor and I come back to a reality where everyone is staring at me. Again. Bridget’s brows are drawn together and her mouth is turned down at the corners. After a moment of studying me, she sets her folder down and claps her hands.
“Okay guys, great work today.” Her voice is overly bright. “Let’s all take a break and then head back to work.” She speaks to a few people as they leave. I stay put, avoiding eye contact with my coworkers. When the last person has left, Bridget sighs and gathers her things. “My office in ten, please,” she says as she leaves the room.
Well, crap. This is one of those times when it’snotso fun having your best friend as your boss.
Wanting to avoid the break room, where I know I’ll likely have to field questions and concerned looks, I hop in the elevator and ride down to the cafeteria. I change my mind about coffee at the last minute, deciding on herbal tea instead. I think I’ve hit my caffeine quota for the day, as dozy as I currently feel.
Ten minutes later, with two take-out cups of tea in hand, I push open Bridget’s slightly ajar door. “Knock knock,” I say. “I can’t actually knock without spilling tea.”
Bridget rises from her chair and comes to take one of the cups from me. “Thanks for this. And thanks for coming. Have a seat.”
While she closes the door, I take one of the two cushy chairs in front of her desk. I expect her to sit in her own desk chair, but she plops down beside me instead, angling her body toward me. “Are you okay?” I’m still formulating a response—I’ve been asked that question so many times in the last few weeks, I’m tired of my usual automatic answer—when she barrels on. “I’ve been so swamped lately with work, we haven’t seen each other as much as I’d like. I know what a difficult time this must be for you, and I’m sorry for failing you.”
“Failingme?” A disbelieving laugh tumbles out of me. “Bridget, you’ve never failed me. I don’t think you could, even if you tried. You’re busy. You have a crazy job and a boyfriend and—”
“None of that is an excuse,” she interrupts. “I feel like you…you’re…well, you’re not yourself. And I should have noticed sooner and spoken to you about it. Is something going on other than the obvious?”
Bridget’s words ring in my ears.‘You’re not yourself.’I’m not even completely sure who I am anymore, so I guess I shouldn’t expect her to know. I inhale deeply. My brain plans to tell her how off I’ve been feeling, but my mouth takes over and blurts, “Did you pass me over for the Ruiz project because you’re afraid choosing me would seem like favoritism?”
Bridget’s mouth pops open. “I…what? Why would you think that?”
“I’ve been passed over for a number of projects lately and I can’t understand why. I was worried maybe you thought giving me some of the higher profile accounts or even a decent selection of other projects would look like you were choosing me because I’m your best friend and not because I’m good at my job.”
“Ivy.” Bridget sighs. She pulls the lid off her cup and blows on the liquid without taking a drink. “That’s not it at all. Even if people did think that, they’d be wrong, so it wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t give you a project I felt wasn’t a right fit, and that was the case with the Ruiz project. Since you already have a full caseload, I didn’t want to give you more accounts unless I thought it was something that would genuinely interest and challenge you. Since you’re doing well with the accounts you have, I didn’t think it would matter.”
We’re both silent after that, staring into our tea so we don’t have to look at each other. Several moments pass before Bridget sets her cup on the desk and stands. “I’m sorry you’ve felt overlooked,” she says, beginning to pace. “That was honestly never my intention. Sometimes I wish I could go back and not accept this job. I miss my old job, the creativity and freedom of it. I miss being friends with my coworkers and having people treat me like an equal and not as the boss. I know everyone likes and respects me, but I’ve lost a certain closeness with a lot of people, and it hurts. I hate the long hours and the stress and the pressure. I hate running the staff meetings, and even more than that, I hate the meetings with the other higher ups.”
The words pour out of her like she’s been bottling them up for a long time and the stopper has popped free. I watch her pace in a tight circle across her office—a few steps forward, pivot, a few steps back, pivot, repeat. She’ll wear a hole in the carpet in no time.
“I had no idea you felt that way.”
“Yeah, well.” She sticks her hands in her hair and leaves them there. For a minute, I think she’s going to yank on the strands.
I hop up and dart in front of her, stopping her pacing. With gentle fingers, I pry her hands loose from her hair and hold them in mine. “Talk to me.”
She sighs again. “I’ve been seriously considering seeing if there’s a way I can go back to my old job. I don’t know if anyone has ever done that before, and I know it would be crazy because it’s a huge demotion and pay cut, but…I’m just not happy being the boss.”
My heart hurts hearing her say that. MaybeI’mthe one who’s failedherbecause I didn’t notice she was unhappy. Although to be fair, she’s put up a good front. “Can you talk to David about it? See what he thinks?”
“I have.” She bites her lip. From her guilty expression, I’m guessing she’s worried I’ll be upset she talked to David about this before talking to me. “He wants me to do whatever makes me happy. I made good money before in my old position—well, you know that, we had the same salary. And David seems to pay for most things these days, so it’s not like it really comes down to money…” Her cheeks flush and she lifts one shoulder. “The perks of having a rich boyfriend.”
I laugh. I got a taste of that myself with Hugh, so I can imagine.
