2
A third barista walks over, sliding the drink across the counter and calling out, “For Monica!”
“Thank you!” I grab it and quickly rush back out the door, the barista’s words playing back through my mind. I didn’t realize how big a deal Monica is. The moment I mention I work for her, it’s like I disappear. But, in some ways, it makes me feel pretty good. Like, for the first time ever, I feel like I’m important, like I’m doing something impressive with my life.
But, right now, I’m just doing my best not to spill Monica’s coffee. In the past couple of months, I’ve been thrust into all sorts of new responsibilities I previously had no grid for. All of a sudden I’m sending thirty emails a day, taking phone calls, picking up lunches, setting up meetings, managing Monica’s calendar, booking flights, and a whole host of other tasks. And the thing is, this is just the beginning. Monica says she’s starting me with the simplest tasks, giving me a chance to get the hang of it all before she introduces more for me to do.
I’m constantly scrambling and making mistakes, but I always tell her when I mess up. I assume it’s better to just be honest and up front rather than trying to hide a mistake she’ll undoubtedly discover later. The first time I approached her with a mistake I made, she made it clear that I should also have some sort of solution prepared for any mistakes I bring to her.
Mistakes…
Crap.
I abruptly stop halfway back to my car.
I ordered from the wrong café.
“Shoot!” I glance down at the time, realizing I won’t make it back with Monica’s coffee in time for her morning meeting. Out of habit, I went to the café across town instead of the one next to the office.
I chew my lip as I begin a mad dash for my car, balancing her drink.
Yeah, no. There’s no solution for this one.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. Monica texted to ask where I’m at, and I really don’t want to tell her I’m across town when her meeting is in seven minutes. As I stare at her message, my stomach growing nauseous from stress, I realize there’s another text below hers.
I tap the screen, revealing the name “Jeremiah.” My brow furrows. Why is he texting me?
Jeremiah is a coworker of mine. He was hired to work as an accounting assistant in Monica’s office just a little before I was brought on, and he’s been ridiculously helpful to me, not to mention the fact that he can relate to my new job stress. He’s gotten me out of a jam several times the last couple of months.
I unlock my phone with that handy face ID and read his message. As I do, my hopes soar.
“Hey Lucy! At the café by the office. Want a drink?”
I bless Jeremiah with everything in me and shoot him a text, explaining my situation and asking him to pick up Monica’s coffee. He agrees and says he’ll drop it off with her when he’s back in the office.
I stop my mad dash through the parking lot and text Monica, explaining what happened. The three dots appear on the screen, and my heart pounds as I watch them. I’ve made so many mistakes recently. I’m always wondering what will be the last straw.
My shoulders sag in relief when a simple thumbs up emoji appears on the screen. Crisis averted.
I resume my walk back to my car at a more leisurely pace, then slide into the driver’s seat and sigh, leaning back against the headrest.
Will this ever get easier, or am I always going to suck at this? I don’t think this is what Scott meant when he said, “Try everything.”
I pause at the thought, then look down at my phone to check the date.
It’s December 10th.
I blink at the screen a few times in disbelief, my heart once again picking up its pace. I’ve been so busy lately I’d almost completely forgotten about our meetup. I think back to the day Scott left, and how enthusiastic he’d sounded about my decision to spend the year honestly trying to discover my “dream.” He wanted me to go wild, to try all sorts of things, to travel, to give whatever I wanted a go and figure out what it is I love to do.
But really, I didn’t do any of that. I failed his suggestion. And now I’m here, working a job I have to try my hardest at just to make it through each day, and I still somehow constantly screw up.
No way. I can’t meet up with him like this. It would just be embarrassing.
I look at my phone again. I don’t want to let him down, and I’d hate to stand him up if he actually goes, but… I doubt he’ll be there. After all, it’s been a long time, and it’s not like he has any reason to want to see me.
I open my contacts, scrolling through like his information will magically appear. Scott and I never exchanged contacts back when we were working together. I never had the guts to ask for his, and it would have been inappropriate for him to ask for mine (with him having a girlfriend, and everything). I tried finding him on social media soon after he left, but I had no luck. Either my social media stalking skills are much less impressive than I thought, or he just doesn’t have any social accounts. The latter is much more likely.
I put the key in the ignition and turn my car on, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to the office. Scott probably forgot anyway. Who knows if he’s even in town? And Cassie would not be happy about us meeting up like that. It’s not fair to her. No, it’s for the best. Scott and I were friends, but we’ve both moved on now.
Although, I can’t deny that the thought of possibly seeing him again made my day seem much brighter than before.
I make it back to the office in good time. The receptionist, Macy, smiles as she buzzes me in. As I hurry by, I notice a gorgeous bouquet of roses on her desk with a card sticking out of them. They’re probably from her new boyfriend, Jacob. Those two have only been dating for a month, but they’re absolutely going to get married someday, mark my words.
I make it back to my desk, then attempt to walk like a stealth ninja by the conference room to sneak a peek through the window. Monica has her coffee next to her on the table as she speaks with the others in the room. I breathe yet another sigh of relief and go back to my desk, where I collapse in my chair.
I spin around once, then sit up to get back to work only to find a coffee on my desk. I pick it up and look at the side. A latte with oat milk, no sweetener; my usual order.
“You made it!”
I jump at the voice and glance up to see Jeremiah looking over the edge of my cubicle.
“Thank you so much!” I stand up so I’m level with him. “You don’t know what a lifesaver you are. Seriously, Jeremiah.” I lift my coffee back up. “Also, did you get me this?”
He looks a little embarrassed. “Yeah, it’s your usual, right?”
“Yeah, it is, and I can’t believe you remembered. Here, let me pay you back for—”
“No way,” he shakes his head, then turns to go back to his desk without another word.
I stare after him for a few moments, then sit back down and open my laptop, checking my emails. Surprise, surprise, there are about fifteen new ones since I left. I move through the motions the rest of the day, tackling as many of my tasks as I can and attempting to improve at each one. The coffee Jeremiah bought for me goes cold as I neglect to drink it with how focused I am.
Finally, five ‘o clock rolls around, the day is done, and my now room temperature coffee is still completely full. I take the to-go cup to the office kitchen and dump the drink in the sink, then turn around to toss the cup in the trash. I jump as Monica turns the corner and walks in.
“Lucy,” she says, her eyebrows rising. “I was about to call you. I thought you’d already left.”
“Oh… No, I’m still here. Is there something you want me to do?” I mentally berate myself. My voice seems to shrink and wobble with nerves every time I speak to her, and it’s embarrassing. I was never this nervous back when she was ordering coffee from me at the café.
“Yes. You scheduled my interviews for tonight, correct?”
I nod a little too quickly. “Yes, your interview with Fred is at five thirty, and your interview with Carol is at six thirty.”
“And both are an hour long?”
I shake my head. “I told Fred you had another interview scheduled at six thirty and would need to end a bit early. His interview with you ends at six fifteen.”
“Good. I’ll need you here to monitor the livestreams from our end.”
I pause, panic setting in. Did I miss something? What does she mean?
“I… from our end?”
Monica looks at me, her features hardening. “Yes, these interviews are being live-streamed from my social pages as well as their pages. They’re joint interviews designed to pull in both of our sets of audiences. And, since I won’t be giving my social login information out to just anyone, you’ll be handling things from our side. Did you forget?”
“No, I’ll go finish setting everything up right now.”
She studies me a moment longer, then nods, exiting the room. I rush to my desk in a total panic.
Crap, crap, crap! What do I do? What do I do? I am so fired!
How on earth could I have forgotten? Did she even actually tell me about this? I don’t remember Monica telling me about this. I don’t even know what streaming program she wants me to use, or how any of it works.
This is really, really bad. I glance at my phone as I drop into my chair. Six minutes past five. I have just twenty-four minutes to figure this out.
I scroll through my emails, my hands shaking as I search for the email that started this whole mess. I see a new email, this one from Fred, asking for a link to join the stream. My heart continues its quick pace as I look for Monica’s original message to me, but I can’t seem to locate it, and for a split second I nearly start to cry. Then I see it. I’d been so nervous, I had scrolled past it.
I open the email and see the words I’d failed to notice at the bottom.
Underneath the initial note about scheduling interviews with Fred and Carol, the proposed topics of discussion, their contact information, etc, was a single sentence:
“Set up these interviews through StreamieBin. Will be joint interviews between our pages.”
For the next twenty minutes, I fly into a frenzy, somehow trying to get everything set up and ready to go with a program that’s entirely foreign to me. With just a minute to spare and my nerves at their frazzled end, I shoot off an email to Fred, profusely apologizing for how late I am and explaining my mix-up. At the bottom, I include the link to log in and join the stream.
I lean back in my chair. The stream is going to be late for sure. Fred won’t be able to get everything linked in one minute, unless he has a preexisting account with StreamieBin.
I close my eyes and whisper a defeated, anxious prayer, waiting on Monica to call me and ask why Fred is late. But then, my eyes fly open when I hear Monica’s voice from her office.
“Hello, Fred. Are you ready?”
I jolt and lean forward, staring at my laptop screen. Sure enough, both Monica and Fred are present in the call.
Fred nods and smiles. He’s an older gentleman with thick rimmed glasses that make him look a bit ridiculous. “Yes, all ready to go!”
“Did you have any problems with the stream setup? Usually you’re on much earlier.”
My stomach churns. Here it is. Fred is going to out my stupid irresponsibility right now, and Monica is going to know, and if I’m not fired, I’ll at least be in major trouble.
“Oh, I apologize,” Fred says, his tone jovial. “I had some other meetings I had to attend to. They ran a bit long.”
I blink at the screen a few times. Fred is covering for me.
God bless Fred and his beautiful, ridiculous glasses.
“Lucy?” Monica calls me from her office. Everyone else has cleared the building by now; it’s just the three of us. Well, two, since Fred isn’t really here. If he was, I’d be hugging him. “We’re ready to start,” Monica continues. “Go ahead and begin the stream.”
“Okay!”
With a few clicks, Monica and Fred are live, and yet another crisis is averted. I sit back and take a deep breath as I watch the interview, though my eyes are glazed over and I’m not really paying attention. Soon enough, the conversation ends and I close out the stream in preparation for the next one. Monica goes to the bathroom to freshen up. I spin in my chair once, then pause, staring down at the keyboard on my laptop.
After a few more moments of hesitation, I write a new email to Fred.
“Thank you so much for covering for me. I’m new to this job and trying my best, but most days I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Thank you again.”
I send it, then stare at the screen, chewing my lip in worry. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that. That was too personal. It was unprofessional. Fred is nearly as big a deal in the marketing world as Monica. I shouldn’t be talking to him for any reason other than to communicate on her behalf.
Then, a response lands in my inbox.
“None of us really know what we’re doing. We’re just good at pretending we do.”
I blink a few times, reading over Fred’s response, then a smile breaks out on my face, accompanied by a short, sharp laugh. If that’s true, then maybe I’m not such a lost cause after all.
“Ready for the next interview?”
I startle at Monica’s voice, but she’s already walked past me and into her office, so she doesn’t notice.
“Yes,” I nod, clicking away at my screen.
“Good. Once Carol is here, we’ll get started, even if it’s a bit early.”
“Okay.”
“Did my makeup look alright?” I can’t tell if Monica really wants me to answer that. “I thought I looked a bit too shiny.”
“I thought you looked good,” I answer. I mean, really, what else am I going to say?
“Hmmm.”
Before the conversation can continue, Carol joins the call. The stream goes (thankfully) without a hitch, finishing at seven thirty. As I’m packing up, Monica starts to leave. She stops by my desk.
“I have some new tasks I’d like to discuss you taking on tomorrow morning. Stop by my office first thing.”
In these moments, it’s extremely difficult to resist the urge to say “Yes Ma’am,” but I doubt Monica would appreciate me calling her that. She’s only thirty-six, and the title “Ma’am” coming from her nineteen-year-old employee would probably make it sound as though I think she’s ancient. So instead, I settle for an “Okay.”
I follow after Monica as she’s leaving, allowing her to set the alarm to the building and lock it behind her.
“I’ll get you the alarm code and a key to the building tomorrow,” she says. “Should have had that done already. Good job today.”
In the two months I’ve been working here, Monica has never praised me. For some reason, her simple “Good job” makes me feel ten feet tall.
Monica hops in her car and pulls quickly out of the parking lot, leaving me alone. I shuffle to my car and climb in, the tension in my shoulders and neck releasing in a throbbing pain. I sigh, once again leaning my head back against my headrest in a position that’s becoming all too familiar. I’m totally exhausted and completely worn out from the stressful events of the day, and pretty soon I’ll be waking up and doing this all over again.
This has to get easier, right?
I turn the key in the ignition to drive back home. My car chugs to life, the dashboard lighting up and letting me know my gas tank is as empty as my stomach. The glowing clock states that it’s seven thirty-six p.m. Lately, I’ve been trying to make
a habit of visiting the gym each night when I get off work, but tonight, picking up a cheeseburger and fries and vegging out sounds like a much better option.
I completely forget about Scott until it’s much too late.
Four Years Later
I glance at the clock on my laptop. Friday, two o’clock. This is the earliest I’ve ever clocked off, especially on a Friday.
I came to work early today to make sure I was able to take care of everything, and, even with the numerous unplanned tasks Monica always sends my way, I managed to finish just in time. I smile, looking forward to this evening as I push aside my notebook and shut my laptop, standing to slide it in my bag.
The door to Monica’s office creaks open. I’m already around the corner of my cubicle when she starts to speak.
“Lucy, may I see you for a minute?”
“Of course.” I set my laptop bag back down and grab my previously shoved aside notebook. I keep my expression neutral, but I really hope she’s not about to ask me to stay. I made sure to request the afternoon off months in advance, as soon as I received Macy’s wedding invitation, but Monica is prone to forget these things. Her schedule is nuts enough without trying to keep track of mine as well.
“A few things,” Monica says, looking at her laptop as she speaks. “For some reason my email has been spotty lately. Some aren’t coming through. I need you to get someone to fix it. Then, I need you to contact Fred for me. He’s coming into town Monday and I need lunch scheduled with him.”
I smile to myself as I jot the note down. Ever since that day Fred covered for me, he’s always been my favorite of Monica’s regular associates.
“I also need you to return this for me,” Monica continues, shoving an Amazon package toward me, along with a few envelopes. “And deposit these check before the bank closes this afternoon.”
“Got it.” I nod, taking the package. “Anything else?”
“Yes, is the interview set for tonight?”
“Mhm.” I point to her laptop. “I sent you an email with all the details. Everything is set up and ready to go, and I made sure Gina knows what to do on her end. All you have to do is click the link, and she’ll make sure the livestream starts.”
Monica looks at me, her features hard. “Why is Gina running the livestream? She’s the guest.”
My heart picks up from nerves, but I keep my voice even. “I requested this evening off for Macy’s wedding, so I needed to find someone else to run it. However, I sent in the request a few months ago, so you might have—”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” Monica opens her laptop and searches for the email I sent. “Alright, that’s fine.”
“I’ll take care of everything else, and you can text me if you have any problems with the stream. I can access everything from my phone.” I say, holding it up. “Oh, how many will be at your board meeting tomorrow?”
Monica pauses, blinking, then answers. “It should be five.”
“I’ll have catering ready for six people at six o’clock, then.”
She nods, her eyes still on her laptop. “Have a good evening.”
I stand to exit her office, stopping in the doorway.
“Open, or closed?”
She glances up momentarily. “Closed is fine."
I nod and shut the door to her office before passing by my desk again to grab my laptop bag and prepare to leave, this time taking my notebook with me. The wedding starts at 4 p.m., giving me about an hour and a half to take care of these remaining tasks for Monica and get ready before I need to head to the venue.
A wedding on a Friday evening certainly isn’t common, but with how expensive it was for Macy and Jacob to put a down payment on their new house, they can’t really afford to take time off work right now, much less pay for an extravagant honeymoon. So, instead, they opted for a wedding on a Friday evening, allowing them to take a short weekend trip out to the coast and still be back for work Monday morning. Macy was a little disappointed, but Jacob promised her they’d save up and go on a “real honeymoon” soon. I think he’s really sweet.
I slide into my car and drop my bag on the passenger seat as I shoot Fred a text asking for his availability for lunch with Monica next week. Just as I send the text, my phone lights up with an incoming call from Macy.
“Macy…?” I stare at the screen in confusion for a few seconds before answering. She should be busy getting ready with her bridesmaids or taking pre-ceremony photos or something; the wedding starts in just two hours.
I tap to answer and lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, Macy! What’s up?”
“Luuucyyyyyy bwaaaahaaaaa!"
I wince and pull the phone away from ear, switching it to speaker. Macy is bawling two hours before what should be the happiest moment of her life.
“Macy, what’s going on? Did something happen? Is Jacob alright?”
“It’s-it’s-it’s-”
“Slow down,” I try to speak gently, my worry building. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll help however I can, okay?”
Macy takes a shuddering breath, then speaks, her voice still shaky but more controlled. “My wedding coordinator. She didn’t show up, so my mom called to find out where she was, but she’s dodging our calls. She was supposed to be here two hours ago getting everything set up. Lucy, nothing is ready, everyone is asking me questions, I don’t know what to do… What am I going to do?”
Macy starts to sob again, her breath hitching. A sharp spike of anger rises in my chest towards the wedding coordinator. Macy is one of the sweetest people I know. She’s like everybody’s big sister. Today is supposed to be perfect for her.
“Who is your coordinator?”
“Um…” Macy sniffs, taking another breath. “She’s not really a coordinator. I mean, she is for our wedding, but she’s just a friend of Jacob’s sister. She’s only eighteen, but I guess she wanted to get into being a wedding coordinator, so she offered to do it for us at a discount. She was so much more affordable than anyone else, so we decided to take a chance, but…”
“Okay, can you send me her contact information?”
“Yes, but what are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, pulling out my notebook. “So, what was she in charge of that hasn’t been done?”
“She was supposed to oversee pretty much everything, but my mom and my bridesmaids have been helping with that. The biggest problem is the catering. When we realized she wasn’t coming, we called the restaurant she was supposed to place an order from to double check the details of delivery, but they said no order was ever placed.”
Shoot. I wince. Catering for an entire wedding? Fixing that this last minute is going to be tough. My mind races as I tap my pen on my notebook, thinking through our options.
“How many people are attending?”
“Only sixty,” Macy says weakly, both nervous and embarrassed. “It’s not a huge wedding…”
“What time do you want the food ready?”
“We had planned it for six o’clock.”
I purse my lips. “Would it be possible to push it back to seven?”
Macy pauses, then her mother’s voice chimes in from somewhere nearby. “We can make that work, sweetie.”
“Yes, seven is okay,” Macy says.
I make a note. “How do you feel about Italian food?”
“That’s fine. Anything is fine.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of it,” I say. “Send me the coordinator’s details and don’t worry about anything else, alright?”
“Are you sure? I don’t know what else to—”
“Macy, go get ready, you goof! You probably cried off all your makeup already! It’s your wedding day. Leave this to me, okay?”
She’s quiet for a moment, then there’s another sniff, and with a sob, Macy thanks me.
“I should have had you in my bridal party!” she cries.