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I’m quiet and shaking inwardly. I should have expected this—who doesn’t prepare for failure?—but I didn’t. I hadn’t. I never attempt anything that doesn’t have a chance of succeeding. I never doubt my ability to succeed. It doesn’t make sense to think anything but positively.
“You had some good ideas, great ideas, but the general consensus was that Z Design doesn’t have the resources to get Freedom Bikes where we need to go.”
I’m still silent. I’m holding my breath, trying to take it all in. I’ve thought of nothing but Freedom for weeks. I’ve worked, eaten, slept, dreamed this deal. I wanted this deal.
“It wasn’t personal,” Frank adds even more gruffly.
I suppose I’m silent because I’m afraid I’ll blurt out something stupid, somehow make things worse. I’m silent because a little part of me hopes that this isn’t happening, that it can’t be true.
“If anything, Marta, we respect you tremendously and admire the passion and vision you brought to the meeting.”
“I’m sensing a strong ‘but’ here,” I finally say, finding my voice and gratified it sounds almost normal.
“As I said, you have some fantastic ideas, and obvious energy, but the overall feeling was that you’re pulled pretty thin and we need someone who can give Freedom their all.”
“I can. We can.”
“Marta . . .” Frank’s deep sigh is audible, and I can almost picture him rubbing his salt-and-pepper-speckled beard. “You’re a single mom.”
“I am.”
“Most of us are married. Most of us have kids.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We know what it’s like to juggle work and home.” He pauses, and the silence lengthens. “Marta, I don’t know how to put this.”
“Frank, just say it. Get to the point.”
“Leaving the meeting early hurt you. I know it had to be important for you to walk out in the middle of the presentation, but for the management members riding the fence, it cast the deciding vote.”
This is not what I want to hear. I want to have a family and a career. I don’t want to have to make a choice between them. Men aren’t forced to make these choices. “I didn’t leave in the middle. I left near the end.”
“Regardless—”
“You said, and Chris said, that the rest of the presentation went well,” I protest, clamping my elbow to my side. I’m trying to keep my teeth from chattering, as I’m shivering from cold and shock. Glancing into Tully’s, I can see my coat hanging on the back of my chair.
“It did. But Chris isn’t Z Design. Chris isn’t a bike enthusiast. Chris isn’t you.”
“And you have me.”
“Then you should have stayed till the end.”
“Despite Eva throwing up like Linda Blair?”
“Kids throw up. It’s what they do.”
And he doesn’t say this next part, but I sense it, hearing the unspoken: Daddies don’t race home from the office just because Timmy has the stomach flu.
I shake my head, my teeth gritted. My throat feels raw from swallowing so hard.
This is ridiculous. This is so unfair.
“Marta.”
I can only shake my head silently. I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m too hurt, too disappointed.
Frank sighs tiredly. He doesn’t like playing the bad guy. It doesn’t help that we’ve known each other for years. “It would have been better if you’d had someone else pick her up from school,” he says flatly. “It would have looked better, Marta. Would have solved a lot of problems.”
I don’t think he’s reprimanding me, but I do know he’s disappointed, maybe even feeling let down.
“I had high hopes,” he adds. “I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.”
“It’s fine, Frank,” I say, eager to just get off the line.
But after I hang up, I know it’s not fine.
It’s not fine because men aren’t penalized for working and being a father.
It’s not fine to have a man criticize me for going to pick up my child when she’s ill.
It’s not fine to assume that just because one day I drop a ball, I can’t juggle my commitments.
It’s time corporate America realized that working moms offer our companies the same thing we offer our families: ethics, integrity, and loyalty. Just because we love our children doesn’t mean we don’t love our jobs.
Still shivering, I go back to the class auction project meeting, sink into my chair, and wrap my coat around me, but I sit catatonic for the rest of the meeting.
I wouldn’t say I’m shattered. But I’m certainly not all here.
The next day is hard. I’m working the same long hours, but now the time seems to crawl by, and before it’s even lunch I’m aching to cut loose, leave the office, and do something else.
I think about calling Luke back. It’s been two days since he left me a voice message, and while I want to call him, I’m not sure what I’d say now. He’s not who or what I thought he was. He’s far wealthier, far more powerful, and I don’t know that he’d even understand just how bad I’m feeling right now about losing the Freedom Bikes account. With his company and success, could he relate to my disappointment?
I don’t call him. And I finish the week at work knowing that everyone’s walking on tippy-toes.
By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, I’m just glad it’s Friday, although everyone’s staying late today to cope with four deadlines that have all hit at once.
Eva, not knowing that my bad mood has infected the rest of the team, trips happily through th
e studio door. “Hey, Mom,” she sings as the door bangs open. “Look what I have!”
Chris, who’s on the phone, looks up irritably and hushes her even more irritably. Allie sighs, rubs her temple. Even Susan frowns at yet another interruption.
Poor Eva, I think, shutting the door quietly and drawing her toward my desk. It’s got to be tough enough having a mom who works from home without being made to feel as if you’re a nuisance in your own home. “What do you have?” I whisper.
“What’s wrong with everybody?” she whispers back, rummaging through her backpack. “It’s like somebody died or something.”
“It’s just work.” I smooth the wispy brown black hair from her pale oval forehead. “Everyone’s really stressed.”
“Why?”
“It’s the end of the month, and it means everything’s got to wrap up or roll over.”
“Crunch time,” she says wisely.
“Exactly.” A better answer, I think, than explaining to her that I laid out a fortune to land Freedom Bikes and we still didn’t get it, which means we’re in the hole, and people will be mad if there aren’t holiday bonuses.
Eva finds what she is looking for, retrieving a small square orange envelope from the front pocket of her backpack.
“An invitation,” she says triumphantly, opening the envelope and pulling out the card, which is black and white with dancing skeletons on the border. “Phoebe’s having a Halloween party on Halloween before everyone goes trick-or-treating!”
The invite’s cute. I admire the font and print style. It’s been professionally done, and I like the card stock. “See, you have friends.”
“Well, she invited the whole class, but still.” She flops into Robert’s chair and sits Indian style. “She lives in Clyde Hill on this big acre and a half, and kids were saying there are ponies and a tractor pull and lots of games. Phoebe’s family has a Halloween party every year, and everyone dresses up.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Can we go buy my costume tonight? Halloween is just five days away.”
The phone on my desk rings. I glance at the number. Jet City Coffee. I don’t pick up. I need to finish running some numbers before I can call them back. And before I can run their numbers, I’ve got to upload the winery’s holiday calendar to the printer and double-check the PowerPoint presentation for Ewes and Lambs Maternity Clothing Store. They’re a regional upscale clothing chain about to take their stores, and brand, national. It’d be a great account, and I could use Shey and her models, which would be fun for me.
