by J. J. R.
“But, you know I rushed in and out of my hometown in Jersey, thinking oh, I’ll just see my Ma in a few months after work slowed down. And then I got a call from Aunt Cecil saying she was gone.”
I watch his face fall and I literally want to walk up to the captain and ask him to fling me out of the emergency door to fall further into my pit of shame.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble and press my forehead against his strong shoulder. “You’re right.”
“Look, Mel. We had that nice long talk this morning about the job changing you. And I know you physically heard every word. But I’m not sure you really heard me. Because the Mel I know, would never ditch her family for some last-minute email from her Ice Queen of a boss.”
“She’s not like that. Clearly there’s something important she needs to talk about.”
“You didn’t even try. How do you know she would have made you rush back? You could have at least asked if it could wait until Monday. Whatever, I’m beating a dead horse.” He leans his head back in frustration. “I just hope this phase passes soon and that it’s only a phase, not the rest of our lives.”
I close my eyes and think about the last time he saw his family. His Ma was all he had and to think, he had all the great intentions in the world to go back soon, but it was too late. I almost start crying, thinking about if this is the last time I saw my sweet Mom and Dad. Mom with her big wedding book, eyes wide with excitement about her only daughter, her only child getting married. She had been waiting for months to share that with me.
I didn’t have the heart to tell them until after dinner at three that I would be leaving in one hour. My Mom had been baking just about the entire week and here I am, bailing out before pie. My Dad’s face said it all. He tried to say how proud he was to the rest of the family, even made a toast in my honor of being truly dedicated to a once in a lifetime job, but his face said a very different speech. He was heartbroken and disappointed. And that, I just can’t handle.
She needs me, I think as I watch my home slip from my window. It is important.
* * * *
As I enter the office, bleary-eyed from two five-hour flights in less than twenty-four hours and less than four hours of sleep, I’m shocked to see the lights are dimmed and not one soul is in any of the offices. I tiptoe out of respect for the silent halls and make my way down to Queen Bee’s office. Dark. Empty.
I can’t help it. I stamp my foot like a toddler and let out a little scream.
“Are you kidding me?” I hear echo. “I rushed back for this! For no one!”
I furiously get out my phone and scan through my email, desperate for some sort of misunderstanding. How could I have been this wrong!
I read the email over and over. No, she expected me here. That was clear. I crumble to the floor and let the tears come.
“I’m failing. How can I win?” I sob and just when I’m about to lay flat on my face on her plush orange carpet to bang my fists, I clear the click, click, click of shoes down the empty halls.
“Melanie? Is that you? Are you crying on the floor?”
I raise my sad, swollen, exhausted face to see Puppet Master, dressed impeccably, clutching an espresso.
“I thought you went to home? What are you doing here? And why are you crying?”
I try to speak, but my voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “I feel so foolish. I changed my flight, left my family and rushed back to meet with Queen Bee. She said it was important we meet today.” I put my hands over my face, extremely aware I look even more like a child having a tantrum.
“Oh Melanie.” She kneels down beside me. “She wanted you to come, but I told her she was being unreasonable. She didn’t email you back?” She looks down upon me with genuine concern.
“No.” I sniffle.
“Here.” She sets down her coffee and reaches her long, slender arms out. “Let me help you up. You poor thing. I’ll talk with her and tell her she needs to make it up to you.”
I take her hands and shake my head. “Please no, don’t say anything. This is all my fault. I’m such an idiot. But wait…why are you in today?”
“I have a ton of work to do.” She smiles. “And the holidays can’t get in the way of business.”
Taking Puppet Master’s lead, I head down to my office and proceed to work nine hours straight. I am mortified at my little—okay—large outburst. I blame it purely on exhaustion and believe that Puppet Master will see it as such. Surely, she has had days like this. Days of defeat. She is a good friend to sit with me, encourage me, and offer to stand up for me. I owe her tremendously and today, the only way I know how is to work hard, show my dedication. I wait until I hear the clicking of her heels out the door before I close down my laptop for the day. I’ve emailed Queen Bee eight times on various topics. She never replied once.
When I’m at home by nearly eight o’clock, I make myself a large, warm mug of green tea and snuggle in my bed with Oliver and my favorite worn version of Little Women.
It was written in a time when women were supportive, loving, and only saw the best in one another. I read for hours, letting myself become consumed with their long past, simplistic and cozy world. Their worries were over lemonade stains upon their gloves and how to impress the neighbor boy, Laurie. What I would give to slip into such secure life. Everything is complicated now. Everyone’s out to prove something. Work eighty hours a week? No, make it one hundred.
It’s around midnight that Oliver has long since fallen asleep and my phone starts to ding with the sound of emails. Ding. Ten minutes later. Ding. I reach over and turn my phone off. Just for tonight. I flew back home for an alleged emergency, only to work all by myself. I deserve this time to myself.
And it’s only as I switch my phone off from the frustrating reality I’m living in when I read a page I’ve long since forgotten. How could I forget? I remember Beth’s precious dolls, Meg’s burnt hair, Amy’s limes and Jo’s dismissing of Laurie, but not this. I sometimes feel that I read books precisely at the time they are meant to teach me a much needed lesson or be a support for me when I need it most. This is one of those moments.
For it is at my wits end with the reality of life that I read of Meg overhearing gossip at a friend’s house. The March family is being accused of the most heinous thoughts: using Mr. Lawrence and Laurie for their money, teaching their girls to fish for wealth, mocking her dress. And it hits me.
Even in this magical, safe little world created in these pages it still exists. The gossip. The pain. The never truly feeling good enough even though I know with every fiber of my being that I’m cut from the good cloth. I let people cut ahead of me in the grocery store. I pay for the person’s coffee behind me at Starbucks. I mail a check every Christmas, regardless of how much is in my bank account, to St. Jude’s because whatever pair of boots I was considering pales in comparison to the wretched, unfair little life of those babies. I’ve gone on mission trips. I’ve served food to the homeless. I always…ALWAYS…say the right thing, do the right thing. Smile and nod politely when people are straight bitches right to my face. I’m starting to wonder if Finn is right. Square peg. Round hole.
I read and re-read the story of Meg, being dolled up at a party, paraded around like she is just for beauty and show. No one cares of her substance as she wears fine silky gowns. They only truly care about how she looks and how much money she has. Oh, Louisa May Alcott, my feminist friend, how wise you were.
I fall asleep with my favorite book across my chest, hearing Finn’s words echo in my mind, “The Mel I know, would never ditch her family for some last minute email from her Ice Queen of a boss.”
* * * *
I wake up feeling a renewed sense of self. I’m a good person. I work hard, and it’s good enough. It’s Saturday and I don’t have a single thing on my agenda, seeing as I was supposed to be back home. Finn has accepted a last minute invite to go to a football game, and I’ve got every bit of this morning to myself.
I pull myself out from
under Oliver’s soft white paws and stretch. I’ve slept like a woman who’s worked herself into a coma. Wait, it’s true.
After coffee and a long hot shower, I pull on a thick wool sweater, black leggings and a pair of grey booties. My feet have been aching for this kind of comfort since the day I committed to the core to wear stilettos. I loathe high heels. Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit what they’re meant to do for my calves. They pinch and bite in all the wrong places, not to mention the excessive amount of sweat that pours out from my delicate toes smashed into a point. Loathe.
But not today. Today, I’m as free as Jo March, listless and wild in New York. The city is my oyster and I will put away all my common, everyday frustrations and focus on the positives. I will dwell on the beauty of my life and the hundreds, nay thousands of blessings.
I send Finn a loving text, assuring him that not an ounce of my precious day will be spent in my work. In fact, just to prove a point to myself more than anything, I give myself full permission to take this one day. Today, I declare, I will be free from all work obligations and just be Mel. I wait for his sweet, supportive text to receive, “Good, Mel. Now turn your phone off and focus on you. I’ll see you at your place at seven.”
I grin. Boy, does he know me.
I press the off button and feel the freedom leak from the phone into a swirling, tornado of peace around me.
I. Am. Free.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my job. Okay, I really like it. I love the work I’m doing. We’ve just about finished our game plan, hammered out our budget and are ready to truly take off the training wheels. There is some impressive stuff in there, if I do say so myself. Such as, major PR plans, social media viral campaigns, target email blasts, gorgeous practice displays. I know that it’s good and promising and even more so, I believe in my team.
But, no. Stop it. I promised no work today and that is exactly what I am going to do.
Warm boots on my feet, hair in a ponytail with only a swipe of mascara on, I’m out the door. Let’s be real, no makeup on this chick would scare children. But I’m simplistic. I’m real. I’m peaceful.
I skip down the stairs to the fresh, foggy air. I close my eyes and breathe in all of the beauty of New York like the first day I arrived. I loved everything. I remember stopping traffic to skip across the street to hug a tree. Call me a hippie, but it was the cutest little blossoming New York tree and it literally called out, “Mel, hug me, you darling little Missouri girl!”
So there I was, big dreams, much longer hair and less crinkles around the eyes, hugging a tree. Honking horns and screaming cabbies couldn’t have stopped me from squeezing the life, the love out of this city. I loved her the first moment I saw her.
I wasn’t jaded back then. And shh, keep a secret for me, I had a dream other than marketing. But isn’t that the case with everyone? After all, aren’t we all just picking the second runner up in this so called game of Life? When I stepped off that plane, I knew I was going to be Carrie Bradshaw. Yes, make-believe characters count. And yes, I was that naïve and cliché. And yes, I may have told a little white lie in my interview about knowing since day one marketing was for me.
A big time newspaper, like the New York Times was going to scoop me up instantly after grad school and let me run wild with my imagination across the sweetly scented papers.
I started Grad School at NYU, always in a bulky sweater and too tight jeans—not because I was trendy—because I was chubby, and had the biggest, most ambitious smile on my face. My major? An MBA, per my parent’s advisement.
“You can always write, Mel! After all, your undergraduate is in creative writing. It is very clear that you can write, but you need this to fall back on,” Dad said with sincere eyes.
I’ll admit it. At first I resented the hell out of them. How could they not believe in me? How could they think for one second that my writing wasn’t good enough to start writing for a major publication?
I ignored their request and set out on the job market for exactly six months. On the fifth month, my rent check arrived in the mail with a little yellow Post-it,
Time for Grad School, sweetheart. Major in whatever you want. We support you.
—XOXO Mom
I stomped my foot and glowered at that little note. I set it on my coffee table and paced back and forth arguing with them out loud.
Sensible? Check. Exciting? Fail. Way to pay the bills? Check. My dreams? Washing down the freaking toilet.
After one last month of pouting, I enrolled in the MBA program at NYU and marketing became my life. Surprisingly, I was good at it. I nailed all my classes and my communications professor was the one who gave me the lead for the role at LEP. And there it is. Settling for a good, fortunate second best. It wasn’t the dream, but it paid the bills and like I said, I was good at it. And when you are good at something, it tends to be easy to like it.
So I lied in my interview at Allure. Just a little bit. Just a little tiny baby white lie.
I love marketing now.
I do!
Yes, I still dream about writing the gorgeous, mind-altering, impressive, game changer of a novel buried deep inside me, but I’m more than content. I’m happy with my choice.
But dang it, I said no work talk today!
I close my eyes, breathe in the refreshing foggy air and head down the street to my old friend. A friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Years, maybe. She’s always there and always faithfully waiting for my return with her sweet smelling cappuccinos and endless stories to warm my heart.
Yes, today is the day I will be with my very best friend...the local bookstore.
Some Good. Some Bad.
Bitch Problem:
No support system? Maybe you’ve tried everything you can think of; confrontation, documenting, building a group of allies, silent treatment, etc., but you know the only thing that is guaranteed to work is if your CEO got a backbone and stood up for you?
After spending the weekend nestled between the pages of some of my favorite works, I feel refreshed. It’s within the words of Alcott, Jane Green, and Kristin Hannah that I find respite and rejuvenation. The reality is that I truly am lucky to have my job. It doesn’t matter where I go. There are always going to be disappointments. I was just tired, exhausted really from working exceptionally hard.
When I eventually turned my phone back on, I saw only a few emails and nothing from Queen Bee. She went dark for the weekend, perhaps sensing my frustration. And I must never forget how she took a chance on me. Oh, and the fat salary she has given me. Finn is wrong, money talks. It screams, in fact.
As I head into the office, I feel good. I’m thankful for my quality time with me, myself, and I, along with my sweetheart. Everything feels right again in the world. I have slipped into my favorite red pumps after a morning workout and am determined to make this a great day.
I am greeted by Assistant immediately with my schedule for the day and a wide smile. She is always so cheerful and today more than any other day I am filled with gratitude.
“Queen Bee wants to meet with you first thing,” she says, handing me a stack of agendas and reports. “And your three o’clock with Dr. Schmidt has been pushed to four. Marketing Manager has some mock-ups to go over with you when you have a moment. And last but not least, there is a special gift on your desk.” She can’t help but let a sly smile slip through.
“For me?” I ask.
“Yep! A little something from your team. You have really been a breath of fresh air, Melanie. We all think so. We love working for you and want you to know that. We meant to give it to you before Thanksgiving, but time got away, and before we knew it, you were on a flight to Missouri! Did you have the best time with your family back home?”
“The best,” I say and pat her on the arm. “You guys are the best. I should be the one getting you things. I am the one that’s so thankful for you guys.”
“Nope! Don’t do that! Don’t feel guilty.” She beams. “Just take our gif
t and our gratitude and know how much we love working for you. Things are so much better than before. Well, see you after your meeting with Queen Bee!” She turns on her heels.
I have to consciously stop the negative thinking immediately as I make my way down to her massive suite. Today is going to be a great day!
Before I even step one foot into her office, she is racing toward me, arms open wide.
“Melanie, darling. I am so sorry.” She wraps me in a tight, perfume-laced hug and squeezes me tight. I am reminded of the first day we met.
“Sorry? For what?” I ask innocently. Rule of thumb, never ever tell a boss why they should be sorry. Let them admit it.
“Puppet Master told me everything about your little breakdown. She said you were sitting right here on this very carpet crying about how you aren’t good enough. I tell you, Melanie.” She turns her back from me in a whirlwind of dramatic effect, leaving my face to twist up into a picture of betrayal. I am so embarrassed!
Why did she have to tell her every pathetic, grave detail!
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say. “I was just utterly exhausted from flying.”
“Are you rested now? Can I make it up to you with the girls tonight? A little liquid apology to make everything right as rain?” She smiles sweetly and I can’t help it, I melt.
“It’s okay really, I know you were just trying to take care of business. It’s all my fault, I should have called you and talked about it, told you the situation. You aren’t a mind reader, after all!” Without realizing it, I’ve completely and totally accepted the blame. Oh well, what does it matter anyway? She is sorry.
“That is true, I didn’t know. I completely blanked on your hometown. As far as I knew, it was merely Brooklyn, darling! A little hop, skip, and a jump away. So we are all good? You should know I’ve been bragging on you to the Board! And CEO? Well, he told me about your little run in and how desperately hard you are working to please us all. You need to know this and listen good, we are all delighted at your progress. We see how hard you are working and wouldn’t change a thing!” She rushes up to me once again to give me a warm hug and all is forgotten. Today is going to be a great day.
