Chapter 5
Lark
Tiny’s big ears flop behind him. His large, mastiff-like tail stretches out. Each time the Great Dane’s big paws hit the ground, it feels like the earth trembles. I’m sure I’m having a flashback to a few hours ago when he almost ran me over.
The difference is that he’s straining at his leash which is held by a very tall, broad-shouldered man with his now-familiar thunderous features.
"Tiny, sit," my boss snaps.
Instantly, Tiny lumbers to a stop and parks his big butt down on the ground a few feet in front of me.
"Hello?" I ask warily.
"I wasn’t following you. But this dog"—my new boss glares at the mutt—"had different ideas."
"Oh." I look down at the happily panting Tiny, and honest-to-God, the pooch seems to be wearing a big joyful smile.
"He got absolutely restless after you left. I barely got any work done. Then he began pacing my office with his leash in his mouth, whining, and would not let up, until I brought him to the park. At which point"—he gestures to the dog who woofs happily—"he made a run for you."
"Hey boy." I eye the panting Tiny.
He has that permanent please-love-me look, with his big soulful eyes and those wobbling jowls. And then his eyebrows, which tilt in ways that make him look like he’s mildly concerned about his life choices. I love it when dogs have discernible eyebrows.
The mutt is so adorable, I can’t help but smile. Some of that tightness in my chest unravels. Instantly, I feel better. Thank you, Tiny! I think I might be in love with a dog for the first time in my life.
I move toward him. Except for his panting, he stays completely still. I tickle him behind his ear, and he makes a purring sound.
I laugh. "You’re adorable."
"He made sure I couldn’t get any work done this morning." My boss glowers at the dog. “I should have realized when I offered to dog sit that this was a possibility.”
“He’s not your dog?”
“He belongs to Arthur, my grandfather, who’s on a short break with his girlfriend. He asked me to take care of Tiny. I couldn’t refuse. The pooch does have a regular dog sitter, who’s sick today. I had no choice but to bring him in to work."
My boss tugs on Tiny’s leash.
"Up, Tiny."
Tiny doesn’t budge.
"You dragged me out. Might as well do your business now," Brody snaps.
I sense my boss’s growing irritation.
Tiny, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care. He continues to stare up at me.
"Tiny," Brody warns.
No response from the Great Dane.
"Tiny, up boy," I croon.
Instantly, he pops up to a standing position.
"What the—" My boss’s jaw firms. He glares at the mutt.
I laugh. “Well, he’s up now. I’m sure he’ll follow your orders from now on.
His brow grows even more thunderous. He looks less than thrilled. Then he squares his shoulders and stalks forward. Tiny follows.
“Bye then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call out.
Tiny turns back toward me, hesitating as if he expects me to follow. Instead, I wave at the departing man and dog.
My grumpy boss doesn’t bother to wave back. Big surprise.
And now, I need to call my parents. I’ve been putting it off for days because there’s never a perfect moment. But I’ve landed the perfect job, so I finally have a good reason to pick up the phone.
I can’t wait to hear how proud they are of me, but I don't want to do it in a public park. My mother will complain about the background noise, and I don't want any distracting questions about the weather. I want this to be as perfect as possible.
So, I head to the tube station and take a train home. Stopping to pick up some groceries on the way, I’m in my one-bedroom apartment in the leafy borough of West Hampsted in less than an hour.
I head inside, unpack my bags, then pull out my phone and call my parents. As the ringtone sounds, I picture them in Sunnyvale, California, where my father works in construction and my mother teaches at the local school.
I get my ethos of hard work from them. The being an overachieving, people-pleasing, perfectionist thing, though?
That’s all me. Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to make them proud.
It’s what led to my excelling at school and in my undergrad years.
And when I won the scholarship to study for an MBA at the London School of Economics, no one was prouder than them.
“Lark, honey how are you?” My mom answers the phone.
It’s seven a.m. for them.
“I’m good, are you guys having breakfast?”
“I am.” She balances the phone on the table in the kitchen where I remember having rushed breakfasts before dashing to school. “Your father had to leave early. The new construction site he’s working at is two hours away. So, he leaves before dawn most days.”
My father's a construction worker, who's worked his way up to being construction foreman. I remember him as always being on site, sometimes even picking up weekend shifts.
“Does he have to work so hard?”
“The more he works, the more he makes. You know that.” She butters a piece of toast.
“I wish he’d slow down a little.” I firm my lips.
“We have a few more years’ work left in us.” She laughs.
“Both of you could retire early.”
She sighs. "We're not that old, and we're both perfectly capable of continuing to work.”
“I can send you what you need. With my new job, I’ll be making more than enough to help.”
Her forehead furrows. “You have a new job?”
“It’s with Davenport Capital. And I’m the executive assistant to the CEO. Which means, I’m on track to possibly make CEO myself, at some point in the future.”
It feels so good to be able to say that. I’m practically glowing. I wait for my mother to acknowledge my accomplishment and tell me she’s proud of me.
But all I get is: “That sounds interesting.” She bites into her toast and crunches through the mouthful.
“But remember, you're about to get married, so you may need to readjust your focus. Your husband should be able to take care of you while you start a family. And if you need extra money, once the kids get a little older, you could always be a teacher. Teaching is the perfect career for moms.”
I deflate a little.
Sure, I understand the importance of a balanced life. And I do want to get married and have a family.
But I want to carve out my own identity and not follow in the footsteps of my mom.
I don’t think she means to be hurtful when she glosses over my career achievements, but sometimes, I wish she’d take them seriously.
While she’s never overtly expressed her expectations for me, they’ve always loomed in the background. Sometimes, I think that if I don't marry and have kids, she'll think I’m rejecting her life choices.
It’s why I’m obsessed with leading the perfect life. I want to please myself by having a career that’ll make me proud. But I also want my mom to approve of the person I’m marrying. And, I’d love to give her grandchildren. Eventually. For now, I want to build a solid career.
I want to have it all. So, I've built my life around checklists and achievements.
My need to get everything right—the job, the fiancé, the perfect life—is really about proving I can have it all. The dream career. The dream marriage. And the dream family. On my terms.
I want her to see that I can follow my own path and be happy and provide a good life for my children.
On the other hand, I can’t forget how hard my parents worked to give my sister and me a comfortable life.
I don't want my mom to ever feel like I think her choices are inferior to the ones I'm making. And because I want to show my appreciation, I feel this constant need to make things easier for them now.
“I’m making a lot more. I can help you to afford a few luxuries here and there.”
"Oh, we don't need luxuries, Lark. You know that."
“Really, Mom. Let me do this.”
She purses her lips, looking uncertain.
“You know, if you agree to it, so will Dad. Then he won’t have to take on additional jobs. That’ll help with his ulcers.”
Her features soften.
“You’re a good daughter, Lark.”
Warmth squeezes my chest. I’ve spent so much of my adult life striving to gain my parents’ approval. It feels good to have my mother acknowledge as much.
“I am so proud of you. You’ve always been so ambitious, I was worried you might turn out to be one of those women who’d focus on her career to the exclusion of everything else.
But thankfully, that’s not the case. I’m so looking forward to attending your wedding and meeting your fiancé.
You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”
I curve my lips, unable to muster up a real smile this time. I wish she were happy for me because I met someone who I’ll be happy to spend the rest of my life with. And not because she’s relieved that I’m settling down.
I suppose…it’s, in part, her belief that a woman is incomplete unless she gets married that made me accept Keith’s proposal.
It’s also because he’s a good man. He’s boring. Safe. I mean, he’s safe. Nothing like the brooding alpha male I met this morning. Uh-oh, what if the reason I can't muster a smile is because I'm not actually excited about my upcoming nuptials?
“Lark, are you listening?”
“Yes.” I shake out of my reverie. Why are my thoughts veering to Brody? He’s my boss. I don’t know him at all. And I need to keep our relationship strictly professional, too. “I can’t wait to see you here too.”
“We booked a red-eye into Heathrow.” Her expression is giddy. “I can’t wait to finally visit you in London. I am so excited.”
I can’t help but smile at that. It’s nice to see my mom so looking forward to the trip. They work so hard, they do deserve a great holiday.
“Oh my, look at the time. I’m going to be late. See you in a few weeks, Sweetie.”
“Bye.” I hang up the call and place the phone aside, feeling deflated.
I was so excited to share my triumph with my mom. I was thrilled about landing the perfect job and embarking on the next stage of my perfect career. I wanted to share that with her but somehow, the focus shifted to my future as a wife and mother.
The conversation with my mother was another version of her ‘I'm never going to be successful until I'm married’ lecture. It’s something she and I have never seen eye to eye on.
And now, I’m even more stressed about this wedding.
My phone vibrates with an incoming call.
It’s the pub where Keith and I are having a reception after the wedding.
It had crossed my mind to have the reception somewhere a little more memorable. But it made more sense to save the money for buying our perfect apartment. Naturally, he agreed.
Keith is as practical as me. It’s one of the reasons we are so well suited.
Only, I didn’t realize that I do have a romantic streak in me.
It would have been nice to have a ring. And have the reception at a more memorable venue.
But hey, I'm getting married. I'm not going to end up an ambitious spinster who has her career and nothing else, as my mother often warned me. Everyone is happy, right?
I’d be happier if Keith were more present and involved in the details of the wedding planning.
I shove aside my misgivings and answer the call. It’s to confirm the details of the menu for the lunch. They ask me to confirm the number of guests. So, I check the RSVPs of the friends I invited to the wedding.
It’s my closest girlfriends, and my family.
Keith said he’d invite his family and friends. But he hasn’t confirmed numbers to me. I call him, get his voice mail—big surprise—and leave him a message.
The next morning, I bounce out of bed at dawn. I’ve put the call with my mother, and the stress related to the wedding organizing, out of my mind.
It’s my first day of work at my dream job. And it’s another day closer to Ch-r-iiii-stmas. That’s enough reason to be happy, right?
I dress carefully and make it to the tube station an hour early, but the tube trains are running late.
Then the train gets stuck in a tunnel. And a pregnant woman faints.
I jump in to help her, because there’s no way I can sit by and not.
When she insists that I stay with her until the paramedics arrive, of course, I do.
I don’t have the heart to leave until they check her out and confirm that she’s fine.
I’m hyperventilating at the thought of not being, at least, an hour early for my first day on the job. But her effusive thanks once the medics check her out and confirm she’s fine, makes me feel guilty at being so selfish.
By the time I make it to the office and knock on his door, I’m exactly on time. I gulp a few breaths and tell myself it’s going to be okay.
When my boss growls, "Come in," he doesn’t sound okay. In fact, he sounds even grumpier than yesterday. Ugh.
I steel myself and enter his den—I mean, domain—and am instantly struck by the clouds of anger which seem to emanate from him.
He’s seated behind his big desk, and he seems pissed off.
The perfectionist in me hates that I am not early on the job on my first day. But no way I could have left that pregnant woman upset and alone.
Only, I’m facing the consequences of my actions.
My boss’s thunderous expression confirms that I have not made a good impression on my first day at all.
I take a step forward, pasting a smile on my face.
A nerve pops at his temple. The very air between us thrums with the force of his disapproval. It presses down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
"I’m sorry, the tube was delayed and then I helped this pregnant woman who was not feeling well, that’s why I wasn’t early.” The words come out in a rush.
The grooves in his forehead deepen. He seems to forget whatever he was about to say. “You stopped to help a stranger on the train, that’s why you’re”—he glances at his watch—“on time?”
I nod. “I was hoping to get in an hour earlier, to be honest. It’s my first day, after all. I wanted to get in and orient myself, to get in the zone, you know? But I couldn’t leave when she, clearly, needed help.”
A strange expression crosses his face. Then he squares his shoulders. "Get me the revised financials for this quarter in the next fifteen minutes. Cancel my morning schedule. Reschedule every meeting for tomorrow.”