Page 4 of Fake It 'til You Make It

Now though, he shuffles back like a withering flower to stand next to me, seeming as anxious as I am for what we are about to receive.

‘I sent the final audit report to the client in Texas last night,’ Cassandra begins. ‘He sent the report directly on to his major stockholders. Thanks to you jokers being late, I didn’t have time to review the entire report, so I skimmed the narratives and expected that two professionals like yourselves would have the basic figures correct.’

What?I checked those figures, over and over, relentlessly. I asked Greg to check my calculations and he made no changes.

I have a sinking feeling in my gut. I was so concerned with getting the report back from Greg and to Cassandra quickly that I must’ve taken it from him before he had even had a chance to finish his review.

Not for the first time today, I want to vomit.

‘So, which one of you got the figures wrong?’

If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a liar. I hated liars before last night, and now I hate them even more. ‘Cassandra, they were my figures. I don’t understand how they could be wrong, but Greg made no changes to the report. This is on me.’

It’s not like I’m a big fan of Greg, I barely tolerate him, but I won’t let somebody pay the price for my mistakes.

Give him his due, he starts to protest, but I shut him down. ‘No Greg, it’s okay. You were doing me a favor reviewing the work.’

‘You can go,’ Cassandra snaps in his direction. He eyes me apologetically, but his relief is evident.

Once the door is closed behind him, the only thing I’m grateful for is that my peers can’t hear what my boss is about to say.

‘The client fired us last night. Fired us, Abbey. One of my biggest clients. So now I have to grovel to get him back on side, or if I can’t, I’ll have to explain to the other partners why we’ve lost such lucrative business.’

‘I’m sorry, Cassandra. I don’t know how?—’

‘Save it, Abbey. You’ve been needing to step up for a while now. I’m pissed and disappointed, a toxic combination.’

I know what’s coming. The job I love, the only job I’ve known, the only thing I’m good at, it turns out, I’m not good at. With quick realization, I beat Cassandra to the inevitable and tell her, ‘You’ll have my resignation letter on your desk within the hour.’

Then I run from the office toward the restroom, unsure of the primary reason I’m going to throw-up – excessive alcohol consumption, betrayal, incompetence, or fear of not having a clue what I’m going to do next.

In the space of twenty-four hours, it feels like my entire existence has been obliterated. My checklist-perfect life is a gigantic hot mess.

3

ABBEY

Three weeks later

‘Dee, please tell me this isn’t a huge mistake.’

I’m standing next to my younger sister on the sidewalk outside my new home, apartment 7B in Blake House, Brooklyn Heights. A brown box full of clothes is starting to feel heavy in my arms, but I pause, staring at the glass front door I used to dream of walking through.

‘This isn’t a huge mistake,’ my sister replies.

Her smile is as bright as the sunshine-yellow dress she’s wearing but I know that behind her shades, her eyes will be mocking me.

‘Only say it if it’s true. Is this the worst idea I’ve ever had, honestly?’

‘This isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had, Abbey Mitchell. It can’t be, since it was my idea.’

She’s teasing me again. I’m no stranger to my sister trying towind me up; she’s done it since the day she was born. But today, I really need encouragement and reassurance, instead of the sarcasm and wit I’m receiving.

I realize I’m chewing my lip, like I do when I get stressed. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill me, aren’t they?’

‘All you’ve done is blow your life savings on six months’ rent; it’s not like you’ve shattered Mom’s hopes of you marrying a model man, who happens to be the second son she always wanted, and ticking off everything on her checklist of things you must do before you’re thirty. Oh, wait?—’

‘Dee! You’re not helping here. Mom still isn’t really speaking to me since the break-up. Not without an undertone of disappointment, anyway.’

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