Chapter 7
JAMIE
I spend Monday morning waiting for an email from HR about my slip-up. I don’t have my project assignment yet, but neither does Lily, so I don’t think it’s a punishment.
Our manager—a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a kind, cheery personality—assures us the assignment will come soon. “Enjoy the calm while you can. You’ll be plenty busy before long.”
He’s a little wry when he says it. I wonder if the hours are longer than advertised. But if they’re less than eighty a week, it’ll be better than grad school. It’s not like I have anything else to do.
Maybe I should hold off on getting a cat until I know my hours. Mom would counter: I should get a cat so they can’t crank up my hours. I scroll the local shelter webpage in between refreshing my email.
One listing immediately stands out—a bonded pair, an orange tabby named Bacon and a tuxedo named Eggs. Their description reads, Age is just a number. We’re kittens at heart! Take home these sweet boys today!
They’re four. I guess that’s pretty close to thirty-one in cat years. Not old, for sure. But not quite young either. It kind of feels like if nobody’s picked me yet, they won’t ever. I wonder if they feel the same way.
I swipe through their pictures. There’s a video of Egg chasing Bacon’s tail. They’re fucking adorable. But I’m only ready for one cat, and it says they’re inseparable.
At least they have each other.
I have no one.
I sigh, chalking my mood up to the lingering come-down from my heat. It’s too early for lunch, so I go grab a snack. It’s going to be a long day.
#
In the early afternoon, my manager finds me at my desk.
He’s chipper. “Got a sec to chat?”
My stomach flips. I’m sure this is about me forgetting my suppressants as I follow him into the closest meeting room, one of many glass boxes that line the wall of the open office.
He slides the door shut behind us.
I brace myself.
“I have great news!” he says.
“Oh?” My shoulders slide back down from my ears.
“About your project assignment. Ish. Apparently, you’re the top pick to go on a press tour with Morgan herself, isn’t that amazing?”
“Oh… what?”
“You’ll get to go to each of the offices and some major cities along the way. I hear Morgan only eats at Michelin star places. Oooh, I’m so jealous!”
Michelin stars seem like a made-up thing for food TV. Those are real places that real people go? It doesn’t seem possible.
“Why? Why me?” is all I can think to ask.
“Well, all the tenured folks are tied up on projects. We’ve got a big deadline coming up, and nobody can be spared.
Your publication record is impressive—we try to pass around papers from the new folks.
Turns out Morgan reads them too! And you’ve done omega advocacy work before?
That’s really cool. I didn’t even realize you’re an omega. ”
I feel way too perceived right now. People are reading my papers? My cheeks heat with a blush. And omega advocacy work? What could they possibly… oh.
Too late, I remember that stupid interview for the school paper. I only did it because my friend was a journalism major and wanted to do an omega piece. I bet they only had to google my name to find the article. Shit.
I didn’t specifically intend to hide my omega status. But I was also hoping it just… wouldn’t come up.
I force myself to swallow. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for a… what did you say? Press tour?”
“Morgan said you might be worried about that, so she told me to assure you that you don’t have to do any public speaking if you don’t want to.
But there’s a coach available for you, any time.
Plus, I’m not sure if I should add this, but you’re new so…
you should know that Morgan travels like a movie star.
This is like a free five-star vacation.”
“Really?”
“Seriously. If you look her up on social media… well, I’ll leave it at that. It’s okay if you need a little time to think it over, of course.”
I sigh with relief. “When does she need to know by?”
“End of today. Or, well, start of tomorrow. As long as they have your decision by the time folks get in tomorrow, that should be fine. You’d fly out Friday.
Morgan said your work made such an impression, it was worth a last-minute change to the itinerary!
Isn’t that amazing? You inspired Morgan Hunter! ”
I’m panicking. That’s no time at all! But a little voice says, it’s not like you have anything better to do. I’ve hardly unpacked and haven’t even bought a plant yet.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Great, I’ll forward you the email with all the details. Just let me know if you have any questions. This is the kind of opportunity people would kill for. Figuratively, I mean. Don’t let impostor syndrome get in the way. You’re brilliant.”
That last bit is the company motto. It’s painted on the walls and printed onto stickers scattered on the kitchenette tables. You’re brilliant.
What’s that even supposed to mean? But my manager seems to take it seriously. He clasps my shoulder, then leaves me in the meeting room.
I text Mom immediately.
#
I should have known Mom would talk me into it. She spent the whole afternoon sending me posts from Morgan’s social media. They look like magazine photos: incomprehensibly fancy restaurants, the leather-lined interior of a private jet, bottles of wine that must have cost a fortune.
I’m still pretty sure it’s a terrible idea. I don’t even own a working suitcase—the zipper of my old duffel had finally split irreparably over the move.
Go out and buy a new one, duh, Mom texts back, with a tongue sticking out emoji. I wish I’d never taught her how to use emojis.
After work, I stop by one of those trendy suitcase places where they have the chargers built into them. But they are insanely expensive. I mean, really, for a suitcase? I’ll stick to the charging bank I already have.
Luckily, TJ Maxx is across the street. If I strike out here, I’ll hit a department store—they’re always running a sale on suitcases.
I walk around the pile of drab black, grey, and beige. Any of them will work, I guess. They’re suitably professional, practical.
But then I see it, tucked back in the corner—a burst of florals in pink, cream, and sage green. Not quite tropical, closer to grandma’s curtains. And it’s gigantic.
It’s perfect. I don’t pack light.
I brace myself, hoping it’s not ridiculously expensive…
The tag is bright orange. It’s been marked down three times. Eighty percent off!
It’s like a nudge from the universe.
I’ve always had a thing for flowers. I’ve got a whole tattoo sleeve of them, all medicinal plants. Botany was my first love. Not that you need to love botany to love floral prints—they’re just pretty.
I can see myself pulling this bag through a beautiful European airport, scarf over my sweater, running to catch my next flight. It’s exciting. Adventurous.
Am I really going to turn down a chance to rub elbows with a CEO?
Someone who can really launch my career?
An old tingle of ambition returns, one that I’ve been trying to ignore for the past couple of years.
I may be an omega, but I don’t actually hate public speaking when it’s about something I care about.
I’ve given a talk at a conference before, albeit a small one, but…
There’s actually not much I care about more than there being a safe place for omegas in the world. I have a chance to do something, however small, to get life-changing medication into the hands of thousands more people—people who can’t afford it now.
So, I make my decision.
I’m doing this.
#
After my talk with my manager, I received a formal invitation to the campaign with more details. On Monday night, I reply with my confirmation, and by Tuesday morning there’s already a hold on my calendar for ‘PR Coaching’ with one other attendee—a woman named Jayda.
As I tentatively venture into the meeting room on the calendar invite, I’m greeted by a flurry of motherly warmth.
Jayda is older, plump, mid-brown skin, button nose, with a dated haircut. She’s a sweetheart, and I easily get her talking about herself, which is my preferred way to test the waters with new people. She gushes about her grandkids and mentions she’s Puerto Rican.
“Alright, let’s get to business,” she finally says.
I nod, already feeling more at ease.
“The format Morgan has in mind for this campaign is what we like to call a ‘fireside chat.’ The idea is that it’s like an interview, but very informal—we want the audience to feel like they’re eavesdropping on a warm, intimate conversation.
So, you don’t need to have anything specific prepared, but we want to make sure you feel comfortable with each of the questions. How does that sound so far?”
“That’s all making sense. I’m glad I don’t have to memorize anything.”
Jayda offers a warm smile. “Yes, none of that!” She opens a binder on the conference table behind us and hands me a printout.
“This is the first draft of the questions. We can tweak them, cut any out that make you uncomfortable. To start, let’s just go through them and have a conversation, one-on-one. ”
I’m a little nervous to start, but it’s easy to talk to Jayda.
It helps that none of these things are small talk—they’re things I actually care about.
A bit personal, but… when I stumble, Jayda assures me I’m doing great.
She tells me that she’s certain other omegas have felt the same way, that it will mean a lot to hear it from me.
She’s a beta, but given her lived experience in other areas, I believe her.
We wrap up for the day, and she says we’re right on track. “Did you see there’s an omega support group? There should be at least one meeting before you head out. It’s not an official ERG—employee resource group,” she clarifies, seeing the question in my eyes. “But I’ve heard good things.”
“I didn’t, actually. I don’t think it was on the wiki.”
“Must be out of date,” she says with a good-natured shake of her head. “I’ll take care of it and ask someone in the group to give you an invite.”
#