Please, please, please.
It’s just impressions of words, but they set my eyes to watering.
Regret to inform…salary is insufficient…would need to meet this minimum threshold…would still require mortgage insurance…
“If I may interject…?” Anthony cuts off a soft-spoken woman from APAC, and I slam at the mute button on my phone before I groan.
There’s a pause, and then, “I’m sorry. Did you say something, Penelope?” Anthony asks. I’m not on video, but to my horror, Zoom has illuminated my name like a Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. My audio is still on.
I straighten. “Ah, no, sorry. Just stretching. I did want to make sure that we get to the other items—”
“And we will. However, I must object to the definitions as set out in slide five. If someone could…” The Professor lectures some more, a roadblock to all progress.
A little while later, I knock on Rochelle’s door. She waves me in and lifts a brow when I nervously close the door behind me.
“Hey, Rochelle… Something has come up, and… Remember how we talked about a raise?” I force myself to sound confident, authoritative. “I think I’ve proven myself even before this whole project, and I’ve never said anything about putting in the occasional night or weekend, but now it’s an every night kind of thing. This stuff is intense, and some of the personalities are…tough.”
She frowns.
“And I’m totallynotcomplaining. We’ll get there. It’s just… I want to buy my apartment, and I need the extra income to qualify—”
“Penny, I’m going to cut you off there. An off-cycle raise is going to be tough, but if you get this framework hammered out—at least the first iteration that we can present to leadership—I’ll have the ammo I need to try and make it happen. Your target timeline for the proposed framework is when?”
I swallow. I’ve got seven-and-a-half weeks to have a shot at buying my place at a price I can just aboutreachto afford. “Not thefinalframework, right? Just the first stab at the framework?” At her nod, I say, “Another month?” Which is actually doable, if Anthony can shut his yap long enough to let anything get worked out.
“Okay, so let’s revisit this then. Sound good?”
My stomach sinks. I want to say no. I want to slam my hands on her desk and say that I more than deserve one based on past performance alone, and the new responsibilities I’ve taken on—which, by the way, are above and beyond my job description—shouldn’t be the thing that tips the scales. But I don’t. “Thanks, Rochelle. I’ll get back at it then. Do you want your door open or closed?” I give her a small smile and walk away before my mask falls.
The rest of the day is an uphill slog, and by the time I insert my key into the building’s front door, I feel as if every person I passed on the sidewalk on the way to and from work hitched a ride on my back. Each step jars my aching joints, and I nearly weep when I finally step into my apartment.
The dam to the reservoir I’ve built up fails. I look around my apartment and remember sitting in the middle of the empty living room floor the day I moved in. At the time, I couldn’t afford new furniture, but piece by piece, I filled this space with the proof of my hard work and independence. It might look like a white sofa, bookshelves, and gauzy curtains to someone else, but to me, this apartment—thisone—adds up to freedom. It adds up to me.
I toe off one shoe and then the other and step onto my area rug. My apartment pulls me in, hugging me tight.
This is my home. Ineedthat raise. Ineedthis global project to take off, and Ineedroadblocks to move so I can get that raise. I suck in a deep breath through my nose and release it slowly through my mouth. My home is my happy place, and I’m not going to worry about losing it until I have to. I’ll figure out a way.
With that, I announce, for emphasis and not because I’m unhinged, “The day’s stresses are over!”
The insistent knock at my back disabuses me of that notion immediately.
I open the door to a towering, angry, fresh-from-work Jack. “What the hell did you do?” he growls.
“What?” I back up a step.
His face—handsome, if you’re concussed—changes from enraged to a slightly constipated consternation. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s none of your business.” I raise my chin and, to my horror, my eyes well once more.Don’t cry in front of the enemy.
“Hey! What…” Jack runs a hand through his dark hair and takes a step toward me. He reaches out.
I rear back. “What are you doing?”
He lets his arm drop, and he snaps, “Clearly, I’m comforting you.”
I laugh out loud. The thought of Jack comforting anyone, me especially, is so outlandishly stupid, I can’t help myself. “And you’re really good at it, I see. But I don’t need you to comfort me. Also, don’t vampires have to be invited in?” I look pointedly down at his feet, standing just inside my door.
Jack’s nostrils flare like a bull seeing red. “There she is, all piss and vinegar. Fine. No comfort. How about you tell me why you scared the shit out of my appraiser instead?”
