Chapter 17 Victoria #2
Liz lowered her head. Victoria wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her and scream, Snap out of it!
It’s not that hard, it’s simple! I’m not to blame!
But Victoria couldn’t force someone to see things her way any more than she could coerce Liz into being friends with her.
Victoria surrendered in defeat, sliding her seat out from the table to give her pregnant stomach ample berth.
“If you change your mind, or you ever need anything, you know where to find me,” she said.
Liz stared at the deconstructed muffin, noncommittal.
With great effort, Victoria finally turned away.
She drove back to her office and only realized after she had parked that she hadn’t checked to see if Harper wanted anything.
Victoria stopped by the kiosk in the lobby, and though the baked goods were largely picked over by this time in the afternoon, Victoria selected what she could—an assortment of mangy frosted crullers and misshapen scones—and added a hot chocolate because anything with whipped cream seemed like it would be up Harper’s alley.
“The PSLs are going to be everywhere soon,” the middle-aged woman behind the counter said flatly.
“Pardon?” Victoria said, her mind automatically going to P&Ls.
“Pumpkin spice lattes,” the coffee shop clerk explained.
“Right,” Victoria said.
It seemed like every year, the autumnal trends were ferried out earlier and earlier, with holiday-themed everything stepping on the heels of the multicolored autumn leaves.
Victoria collected the hot chocolate and the pastries, trying not to think about the future, or what the holidays might look like for her fractured family.
“Thanks. Have a good afternoon.” It was taking extreme effort to function as a normal human.
When the elevator opened on her office floor, Mark was in the lobby, waiting to go down.
“Victoria,” he said, looking like a cat that had just swallowed a goldfish. She supposed he had, if Mark was making headway signing Nash Winton as a client. Victoria tried to evacuate the annoyed frown forming on her face.
“Hey, Mark,” she said.
“Looks like it’s almost game time. You ready?”
“Is anyone ever ready?” she asked.
Mark laughed, even though Victoria hadn’t meant it as a joke.
Victoria felt sorry for Mark’s sons, three boys all named after dead presidents.
Mark seemed like the kind of father who would fall into the trap of perceiving his kids’ successes and failings as a direct indication of his own parental report card.
“How are the boys?” Victoria asked politely.
“Great,” Mark said. “Reagan’s reading already!”
“How wonderful,” Victoria said. She started walking, not waiting for Mark to expound on any more of his little superstars. “See you later, Mark.”
She tried to shed the image of Mark boasting about Nash to his sons from her mind.
It seemed like an exceptional amount for her to have to endure—Ace’s deception, Liz’s rejection, Mark’s entire existence.
She needed to assert herself, even momentarily, if only to serve as a reminder of what she was made of.
Victoria found Harper scrolling through videos on TikTok, cackling with pleasure. She was thrilled with the hot chocolate and grateful for the assortment of pastries, but her face fell when Victoria asked her to step into her office.
“Did I do something wrong?” Harper asked anxiously. “I was only taking a two-second TikTok break! And I can still hear when the real phone rings.”
“Not at all,” Victoria assured her.
Harper stood up and nervously followed Victoria into her office.
Victoria shut the glass door behind them and gestured for Harper to take a seat on the couch.
Victoria had failed to repair the rift with Liz and her own life was inarguably a dumpster fire, but there were still some things Victoria was good at.
She offered Harper a warm smile, but Harper peered at her across the coffee table like she had knocked over a beehive and the attack was imminent.
“I promise, Harper, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Okaaaay,” Harper said, drawing out the word like it had ten vowels. “But am I getting fired? Just tell me. Wait, no, don’t tell me! Okay, tell me. Is this a sorry-I’m-firing-you hot chocolate?” Harper held up the drink. Her pink lipstick had already left a mark on the white plastic top.
“Actually—yes. But only because I care about you.”
“I don’t get it,” Harper said, crushed.
“Harper, you’re one of the worst assistants I’ve ever had, and also my absolute favorite.”
“Really?” Harper said, brightening like she had exclusively glommed on to the positive, latter half of Victoria’s declaration.
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I could keep you on indefinitely, and enjoy having you as my assistant, but it would be selfish of me. This isn’t what you want to be doing.”
Harper tilted her head in thought. “I like working for you. It’s not not what I want to be doing.”
“I appreciate that, but that’s not the same thing. ‘Not bad’ doesn’t make something good. ‘Not no’ isn’t a yes. And ‘almost’ isn’t enough. What do you want to be doing?”
“I have no clue,” Harper said. “My parents just wanted me to have a job after I graduated. They said they’d pay my rent and half of my credit card bill as long as I had a job.”
“That’s important. But building a future for yourself out of something you’re passionate about is more important.”
“How do you figure out your passion?” Harper asked. She radiated an innocence that almost made Victoria nostalgic, except Victoria had never possessed such a quality. Life had intervened in a way that negated this possibility.
“In some cases, trial and error,” Victoria told Harper. “But you should also think about what interests you. What do you do when you’re not at work? Or, when you are at work?” Victoria flashed Harper a knowing look. “What are you looking at all day on your phone?”
“Not all day!” Harper giggled. “But—Betches and Deuxmoi and Who What Wear and TikTok, obviously, so I can stay up-to-date on current events. Stuff like that.”
“You love fashion and pop culture. Not finance.”
“I think it’s cool that you do, though!” Harper said. “I’ve just never been good with numbers. I suck at math and I wish I could care about hedge funds, and I try—I do!”
“I know you do,” Victoria said, wondering if Harper thought she worked for a hedge fund. This was a distinct possibility.
“It’s just so boring and confusing to me,” Harper said apologetically.
“Finance doesn’t have to be your thing. Look at you.”
Harper looked down at her asymmetrical lilac miniskirt, cutout button-down, and stacked heels. She smiled with satisfaction, like she had aced the GMAT. “I’m kinda serving up a look today,” she said.
“You always do,” Victoria said. “Which is why you should be working in fashion, or PR, or marketing, or maybe some combination thereof. You have style and you’re great with people, and while I appreciate you learning orchid maintenance tips and doting over me, your talents are being wasted here. I want to see you flourish.”
Harper fluttered her hand in front of her eyes. “Boss! You’re going to make me cry!”
Victoria thought she had been kind, yes, but she hadn’t necessarily said anything to elicit this intense of an emotional reaction, until Harper said what she did next. “No one has ever told me I’m talented before.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is. I’ve been called pretty and fun and stuff like that, but no one has ever told me I’m good at anything. You really think I’m good with people?” Harper asked shyly, like a girl confirming a boy had pushed her in the sandbox because he had a crush.
“I know you are,” Victoria said. “You’ve taken on someone who isn’t—me—and carried me, especially these last couple months. I’m grateful for you, Harper, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, but I know I have to figure it out. For your sake, I have to let you go.”
“I’m going to miss you so much!” Harper said.
“We’ll see each other,” Victoria said. “We’ll still be part of each other’s lives.”
Harper made a show of exhaling in relief. She and Victoria smiled at each other, and then Harper’s eyes flared with alarm. “My parents are going to be so mad.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Victoria said. “Or you can quit, but it’s better this way, for severance. Insurance and unemployment—all of that.”
“I don’t know what any of that means. Adult stuff is so complicated,” Harper said.
“It is,” Victoria said. Harper likely wouldn’t know the half of it for years to come, if she was lucky.
The wisdom accrued from experience didn’t always nullify how complex life could be, how clarity gained could be an elusive prize.
“It really is,” Victoria repeated, “but you’re going to figure it out. ”
Harper beamed. “Because I’m more than a pretty girl with my parents’ platinum card.”
“You’re a lot more than that.”
“I didn’t feel that way, until I met you,” Harper said. “And just so you know, you said that I’ve been taking care of you, but it goes both ways. There are a lot of times I’ve thought, ‘Wow, Victoria knows me better than my own mom.’ ”
Later, Victoria went back to her suite at the Bel-Air and replayed those words in her mind.
She wasn’t speaking to her husband, her best friend didn’t want anything to do with her, maternity leave and its unavoidable consequences loomed before her, and the plunge into the great unknown awaited her in mere weeks, with all its uncertainties.
Victoria knew this was why people nested—so they could latch on to some semblance of control before their lives were knocked off-kilter for the indefinite future, so they could tell themselves that preparation would serve them well, as if they were outfitting their kit at REI for a wilderness trek.
But parenthood was a summit that one could never adequately equip themselves for.
Despite the terror this presented, and the laughable precariousness of the current state of her life, Victoria held on to Harper’s words like a talisman.
As she ordered room service, cued up The Catch, and wrapped herself in a fluffy bathrobe, ready to lose herself in Kylie’s and Kelsie’s and Kelly’s capers, Victoria thought, I can do this.
No matter what, regardless of what our family looks like, it will be okay.
I’ll put my son first. I’m going to be a good mom.
A few days later, Victoria walked into Dawn’s class, remembering why she had signed up for it in the first place—not solely for the tips and tricks of the trade, but for the village that everyone told Victoria she would need to support her.
The women filtered in, murmuring hellos to each other, gravitating towards their usual spots on the Crayola-hued rug, and offering jittery smiles to Victoria without letting their gazes linger too long.
Victoria waited, one eye peeled on the doorway, but Liz never showed.
The person-sized space where she usually sat remained between Victoria and the next woman for the whole class, like the hole in a child’s mouth after they had lost their first tooth—an awkward void.
Liz’s absence distracted her so intensely that Victoria couldn’t have said what the topic was that had been covered. Her only answer would have been: loss.