2
PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, Clara! cried the alarm bells going off in my head. It’s happening! She’s about to promote you in front of the entire office.
The realization was so thrilling that my fake smile transformed into something genuine, proud even. I quickly puffed up my chest and tucked a loose strand of hair—the same stick-straight, bark-brown strand that would inevitably fall right in front of my eye in approximately thirty seconds—behind my ear.
All eyes were angled in my direction, and the two most important ones in the room were gazing down at me with such affection that I instantly felt guilty for totally tuning out what she’d been saying before.
“From intern to assistant to almost every other job in between, she’s worked her way up to project manager, where she’s juggling some of our biggest accounts. Clara, we all see how hard you bust your ass here at Four Points. How many of us have left to go home for the night, only to see the lights still on in Clara’s office?”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“Girl, you are an example to all of us.” Grabbing her glass back from Abe, Amaya pointed it in my direction as she pressed her other hand against her chest, creasing the creamy silk blouse that looked both entirely effortless and perfectly put together.
“Thank you,” I said with a polite nod. It was an attempt to be humble in front of a crowd, but inside I was full-on glowing. I’d dangled the fantasy of this promotion in front of my own face like a carrot, and it had been the only thing keeping me slogging along in the wake of this bleak, depressing year.
Charles can have his swan boat engagement, I thought. I have this.
“An example,” she drew the words out slowly, seriously, “of burnout.”
“Wait, sorry. What?” My chin practically dropped off my face in shock as I rewound her speech in my head, desperately trying to process exactly what was happening.
“She wants you to take a micro-sabbatical,” Lydia hissed in my ear. “Like a vacation.”
“Clara Millen, your Four Points, Five Days micro-sabbatical starts now,” she said, bending forward, hands on her knees to look at me, as my colleagues laser-beamed their eyes onto my face. “Because you need it more than anyone else here.”
Every drop of moisture exited my mouth until all that was left were dust and some teeth. All the grinding, and late nights, the years I’d spent following her instructions to a T, and the last twelve months of foaming-at-the-mouth devotion to my job and she was…
… diagnosing me with burnout, like she’d run me through some sort of internet quiz? Which, I recalled with a flush of shame, was something I had actually taken a couple of months ago thanks to an Instagram ad and which had, indeed, suggested that I might be kinda fried at work.
“But the Alewife pitch,” was all I managed to squeak out as my hair slid—as predicted—right back into my face.
“Can wait,” she said, chipper. “I want you to focus on you first.”
Landing a major account like Alewife had been on my goal list for years, and I was mere days away from being able to put a giant check mark next to it. What the hell was happening?
“She was supposed to go to New Hampshire this week!” Lydia blurted out next to me, and Amaya’s face lit up.
“Perfect!” she replied with a clap of her hands, tossing her empty cup on the floor below her.
“But I can’t actually take a whole week off right now,” I protested, trying desperately to keep a calm look on my face, even though inside, panic reigned. Sure, the pitch wasn’t in the greatest shape, but I’d get it there. I always did.
Amaya thought for a moment, index finger tapping at her painted lips.
“Clara, tell me, in your own words. How are you feeling? Right now.”
Exhausted. Confused. Like I wanted to cry and throw up at the same time, and then hide in my bed for approximately forty-eight hours.
“Fine,” I countered.
“You know what a synonym for ‘fine’ is?” she asked.
“Good?” I ventured, my voice pitched and hopeful, like a kid desperately guessing on the final word of a spelling bee.
“No, Clara,” she continued. “Fine” is code for terrible. When someone says they’re fine, what they really mean is they’ve been working around the clock on something and getting nowhere but stressed out.”
“Well, yeah.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh, desperate to salvage this conversation. “But that something still needs a lot of work. That’s why I can’t just take time off next week.”
“In order for the pitch to be better, I need you to be better,” she said, and it was clear from her tone that Zen Amaya had been replaced by take-no-prisoners Amaya.
I swallowed hard, willing the tears that were rushing to the corners of my eyes back where they came from.
“Okay,” I said quietly. If I could just keep my face emotionless and steady, then no one would see the mortification that was bubbling up just underneath the surface. But I caught Delilah’s face out of the corner of my eye, and the pity etched across her brow was enough to send my shoulders clenching. I pressed my lips tightly together in a futile attempt to quell the panic that was overtaking me.
“This is going to be so good for you, Clara.” Amaya summoned me toward her with a wave. “Healing, even.”
The Mikes and Marks parted as I awkwardly stepped forward until I was face-to-face with her waist. She bent down and wrapped her arms around me.
“Can’t this wait until after the pitch?” I pleaded, stiffly leaning in to her embrace.
“Clara, we just announced it in front of the entire office,” she said, her voice low. “It’s official.”
Because I wasn’t already humiliated enough, her diamond tennis bracelet snagged in my hair as she pulled away. All I could do was stand there, cheeks flushed, as Abe rushed forward and gingerly yanked us apart.
“See, everyone?” she said, once we were separated. “This is how I want you to support your teams, the people you manage, and your managers. I expect my inbox to be inundated with time-off requests. I can’t wait to hear all about your plans. And now, we celebrate!”
The room exploded in giddy applause, and soon everyone was grouping off into their collective work cliques, Rihanna thumping from a nascent desk speaker somewhere.
I rushed back into my office before someone could corner me in conversation about my newly announced vacation and plopped down in my chair, dumbfounded. My eyes settled on my trusty spiral-bound notebook. Aside from Lydia, this thing was my best friend. I’d spent weeks agonizing over the cover color (sea-foam blue) and paper style (dotted) alone.
The notebook was flipped open to my current scribbled to-do list from hours earlier. The words taunted me with their ignorance of what was to come. This morning I’d titled it “Clara’s Friday To-Do List: Get It Done And Go Home!!!” which now seemed a bit on the nose after Amaya’s proclamation. I plucked my favorite pen off my desk and pressed its round point against the paper with an exasperated, emotional huff.
Directly underneath “Print budget PDF for review,” I drew a small square and wrote, “Have life thrown into a tailspin” next to it, practically carving the words into the paper.
And then I checked it off.