Page 37 of Ten Christmases Without You
Emmy gritted her teeth. Charlie’s voice echoed in her mind:You’re better than sushi pickup.
Four years Emmy had been working at The Moreau Agency, and she had almost nothing in her portfolio. Vivienne hadn’t given her a single chance to show off her talent, and now, when she was trying to ask outright, Vivienne was distracted. Emmy had gotten the woman’s lunch and dinner orders for the last time. Her boss was clearly hoping she’d quit. Well, she’d had enough.
Emmy stood up.
“I’ll make this easy on both of us,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear with a trembling finger. “I am quitting. I’m giving my two weeks.”
Vivienne finally looked up. What was that look in her eyes? Sadness? Disappointment? It still wasn’t what Emmy had expected to see.
Then, Vivienne smiled gently, which was weirder than the first expression. “What are you going to do after you leave The Moreau Agency?”
Emmy lifted her chin. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll start my own company.” It was the first thing she’d thought of as she had noidea she’d have to answer that question. She braced for the scoff that never came.
“I hope you do,” Vivienne said.
Unbelievable.Vivienne didn’t try to convince her to stay or, at the very least, ask to see Emmy’s ideas. She’d basically said goodbye without even having the decency to say it properly.
Fighting back the lump in her throat, Emmy turned to leave Vivienne’s office, wondering what she’d just done.
“Emmy?”
She blinked away tears and faced Vivienne.
Vivienne’s jaw clenched, her expression heavy with thoughts. “Before you leave, could you head up the Media Landscape and Opportunities briefing this week?”
Emmy stared at her. “Sure.”
Vivienne had never asked Emmy to head up the briefing. In all the account status meetings, the brainstorming sessions, the team check-ins, the reporting reviews—never had she asked Emmy to lead a single one. While Emmy wanted to be overjoyed that Vivienne finally asked, it had taken her quitting to prompt it. She probably wanted Emmy to do it so when everyone asked why she’d quit, Vivienne could claim she had no idea. She’d probably say that she was building Emmy’s upward trajectory in the company just as Emmy had decided to leave.
“Thanks.”
Vivienne went back to her emails and Emmy walked out of the office feeling utterly deflated.
When she gotto her apartment, she dropped her things at her feet, locked all the latches on the door, and then fell onto the sofa, burying her face in the pillow as a sob rose.
Now what was she supposed to do? It was true that she was qualified in PR, and she needed to do more with her life, but thanks to her rash thinking, she’d lost the only job she had.
On the cold walk home, she ran through the conversation with Vivienne. What if Vivienne really had been planning to ask her to do more in the company? What if Emmy had blown it?
How was she going to pay rent next month? She’d graduated from college with all these big dreams of getting a great job, moving to the city, and spending her weekends sipping cocktails and soaking in the New York nightlife. Four years later, she was no better off than when she’d started.
She rolled onto her back. A tear slid down her temple. She wished she could talk to her mom.
Anne Brewer was always the one Emmy went to. Her mother would sit on the sofa and pat the cushion beside her, but Emmy would lay down and put her head on her mom’s lap. Her mom would gently brush her hair out of her face—even as a teenager, as if she were still five years old.
“Tell me what happened,” her mom said one afternoon when Emmy, age thirteen, came home from school.
“Adrienne and Beth used to eat lunch with me every day, but today, they sat outside together, and I couldn’t find them. They didn’t even bother to find me. And they’re going to the movies tonight without me. When I asked if something was wrong, they brushed me off with ‘Oh, we just figured you were busy.’”
That moment had hit a nerve because it made her feel invisible.
“It makes sense that you feel left out,” her mother said. “That would hurt anyone’s feelings.” She wiped a tear from Emmy’s cheek. “What do you say we do something fun and relaxing together—just you and me—to take your mind off it?”
Emmy sat up. “Want to design a new dress with me?”
Her mom’s eyes widened with her smile. “Absolutely.”
Would Emmy have been in a different place in life if her mother were alive now?
