Page 48 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

Though she’s a mostly even-keeled boss, an eleven thirty a.m. meeting with Daniella can get dicey. A slave to efficiency, she regularly exercises during lunch, relying on juices and powders for sustenance. On cardio days, she fasts until one p.m. to avoid reflux, and at eleven thirty a.m., she’s not always at her cheeriest. But today is a strength-training day, so I enter with a little extra confidence.

“Patty mentioned you have reservations about moving into her role with private developer accounts. Now, I don’t have much time before Pilates, so forgive me, I’m getting right down to brass tacks.” Daniella takes a long slurp of her green juice. Her dark hair doesn’t move from its severe, sleek pony. “When you were a young girl in STEM, dreaming of your future, what did you imagine?”

I sink into the modern chair in front of her desk and shrink by approximately a foot. “I think I wanted to build trains.”

Her forehead creases. “Hm. I didn’t expect that. The rest of this speech works better if you wanted something more enterprising.” She sits up in her chair, waving her hand like she’s testing the wind direction. “It’s fine. I’ll pivot. When I wanted to level up in my career, I identified where the money was coming in, and I put myself at the center of it. That’s where I want to see you, Alison. At this firm, local government contracts aren’t keeping the lights on. Do you want to be the one poring over spreadsheets and modeling transit plans or do you want to be managing the people doing those things?”

I like and admire Daniella, but I’m also vaguely terrified of her, so, under her scrutiny, I grab on to my cushioned seat, feigning a more assertive, powerful posture. Adam’s words from yesterday about focusing on what I want—or at least avoiding the things I don’t want—buzz in my mind. “I’ve never seen myself as the corporate-ladder type.”

“Then maybe you should reevaluate the way you see yourself. Dream big, Mullally! The sky’s the limit.”

Behind Daniella’s right shoulder is a motivational typography art poster that says exactly that. I wonder if she bought it because she’s always been able to say “The sky’s the limit!” without irony or if this poster has incepted her over time. The one to her left reads do the needful, and I thank the god of corporate jargon she didn’t incorporate that particular catchphrase in our one-on-one.

“I don’t want to pressure you, but I want this tied up by the end of Q-four.” She nods, and I’m dismissed.

I check my phone on my way to my desk like a woman possessed, and to both my delight and terror, I’ve missed a phone call from Adam. Not even my close friends call me unless something’s terribly wrong, but something about Adam’s no-nonsense persona tells me he might be the kind of guy who uses the phone.

I wanted to hear your voice, I imagine him saying in his low, gruff way and instantly shiver.

I, on the other hand, am not the type of woman who calls, due to modern socialization.

11:38 AM

Alison:

Sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting.

11:43 AM

Adam:

Didn’t mean to call. Sorry.

My mouth raspberries as I deflate into my office chair. What was I thinking? Giving in to “happiness” and nursing a crush on a man I met through my ex-boyfriend—an ex whom, despite his death, I’m somehow dating? Again?

My phone illuminates on my desk in my peripheral vision.

11:46 AM

Adam:

What was the meeting about? How to make your job more appealing to Hallmark writers?

I snort. Warmth floods through me almost like our historic building’s heat is working properly.

11:47 AM

Alison:

No, that’s my presentation on Monday.

11:49 AM

Adam:

You have way more presentations in your line of work than I do.

11:51 AM

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