Chapter 17 #2
I’m so, so sorry, she repeats. Pressing her face into her hands, she begins to sob.
Of all the potential responses I’d imagined, this was at the very bottom of the list. I thought she might get angry, deny everything, and maybe even go into attack mode.
I’d already taken off my earrings just in case.
But no, instead, she’s standing in front of me, shoulders jerking, and before I know it, I’m offering to go get her a glass of water.
Shaking her head, she looks at me with a faint smile. I completely fucked you over and you’re offering me a glass of water?! she says. You’re seriously way too nice. And with that, her sobs become even louder.
Hey, how about you sit down. I gesture awkwardly at a chair, not sure of the best way to get this downpour under control.
When Patrice finally reaches the end of her tears, she looks up at me with bloodshot eyes.
Why, Patrice? I ask again, sounding much calmer this time.
She shifts in her seat, brushing a hand through her hair.
I’m pregnant, she mumbles. Karen promised me I could do that party.
I’ve been busting my ass here for years, working overtime, pretty much neglecting my marriage, all for the chance to take the lead on a major party for a major client.
A Christmas party. She shakes her head. The day before you got here, my morning sickness was brutal.
I was in the restroom throwing up—for like the eighth time that morning—and when I was done, I ran into one of my work friends washing her hands at the basin.
Scared the crap out of me. She lets out a shaky sigh.
She asked me what was wrong and she seemed really worried, so I decided to just tell her I was pregnant.
A moment later, I hear another toilet flush and Karen comes out of the stall.
She didn’t say a word, but she gave me this calculated look and I . . . I just knew she’d overheard.
Oh shit, I mutter. I have a feeling I know where this is going.
The next day, Karen called me into her office and there you were.
She’d originally told me that I’d be introducing ‘the new Dutch girl’ to party planning New York City-style.
Instead, she gave you the job and there was nothing I could say about it.
Bye bye, promotion. Bye bye, raise. With this little one on the way, I was really counting on that extra money.
Oh Patrice, I whisper. Isn’t that against the law? Do you think you could sue her?
If I’ve learned anything from Donald Trump, it’s that suing someone is always an option in the States. That, plus the fact that a great hairstylist is an essential investment.
What proof do I have, though? Patrice sounds defeated. It’s my word against hers. I just don’t see how it could work.
She touches a hand to her belly and I realize she’s done an incredible job hiding her pregnancy behind flowy cuts and fabrics.
As her hand smoothes her outfit against her body, I spot the outline of a bump that clearly has nothing to do with over-indulging in Chinese takeout.
In fact, it looks like she might be pretty far along already.
I’m so sorry you got caught up in this mess, she continues.
I was taking the whole thing out on you and you didn’t deserve any of it.
When Karen gave you the lead, it kind of felt like the two of you were conspiring against me.
I blamed you for stealing my promotion, when really I was just being discriminated against. I was so wrong and I’m truly sorry.
Flopping down in the other empty office chair, I rub my face.
I have no clue what to do with any of this.
I feel awful for Patrice, I really do: a pregnancy should never be a reason to take someone’s promotion away.
Nature just decided that women are required to carry babies for nine months at a time—while putting up with all the side effects, from stretch marks and nausea to pelvic floor instability and incontinence, as Mariana so graphically expressed a while ago.
And then the entire world just writes them off.
Coincidentally, the ideal timeframe to have children fully overlaps with the prime years for career-building.
It’s just so unfair that women have to take the hit for something men should carry equal responsibility for.
But men don’t need to use sick days when they’re dealing with morning sickness and they don’t have to physically recover for six weeks after squeezing out an entire human being. It’s just deeply . . . deeply unfair.
On the other hand, Patrice pulled some pretty egregious stunts. How can I be expected to trust her moving forward?
Thanks to her, we no longer have a venue or a live band. I still haven’t asked Rudy about taking the gig. I don’t even know what his band is called. All I know is that they’re amazing.
As Patrice watches me rack my brain, her expression grows more hopeless by the minute. You’re going to tell Karen, aren’t you? She’s whispering and her voice is unsteady. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. God, I’ve made such a mess of everything.
Her eyes flood with tears again and she looks so defeated that I need to stop myself from putting my arm around her.
What do I do now? What on earth am I supposed to do?
My gaze shifts from her slumped shoulders to her round belly and I notice a sudden movement under her loose fitting sweater. Her hand whips down to the spot as a faint smile appears on her face.
The baby’s kicking, she says, stroking her belly. Her face is so full of love for her unborn child, that I’m getting emotional, too.
Shit.
I can’t have her fired, I just can’t. I let out a deep sigh and clear my throat. Patrice is startled out of her daze and gives me a look that’s almost desperate. There’s a brief moment of silence between us.
I won’t tell Karen, I finally say. But if you ever pull anything like that again . . . Well, you understand what I’m saying. This can never happen again.
Patrice bites her lip. I should probably cancel the ice sculptures, then, she says quietly, her eyes darting around the room.
What do you mean?
Sooo . . . they offer these kind of Chippendales-style ice sculptures. They’re completely customizable. Like, you can ask for a Santa hat instead of boxer briefs to cover their . . .
I can’t help but giggle as I picture what she’s describing, but just as quickly, my expression turns serious again. Jesus, Patrice.
I’ll fix it right away! she adds in a hurry, clearly worried I might change my mind.
I sigh for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Fine. Now we just need to find a new location and a new live band. I don’t know New York the way you do, so can you start scouting locations that might still be available this late in the game?
Sounds good. I know a few people who might be able to help out . . . It’s going to be okay, I promise. But what are we going to do about a band?
I have an idea. There’s a really good band that plays all the time at the bar on my block .
. . Are you free on Friday? Maybe we can invite Sebastian and Lewis along to see what they think.
We still need to break the news that Ed de Vries .
. . cancelled on us. I make sure to add air quotes for that last part.
I actually have something scheduled on Friday, but I’m sure I can still cancel. Let’s do it. Alright, I’m going to update that Crystal Creations order now. She gets up and walks to the door before turning back to face me with a genuine look of gratitude in her eyes.
And, Emma . . .? Thank you.