“But Victor was supposed to get it by midnight.”
“I know. Life took over.”
Oscar stopped what he was doing and eyed her. He was usually frenetic, freely spilling his anxieties around the joint, so his stillness was unsettling. “I was counting on you.”
“I get it, but—”
“I mean, as if I don’t have enough to do already, I have to cover—”
“I need time.” Those words hadn’t been in Marlow’s mouth a second before.
“Sorry?”
“Time … off.”
Oscar snorted a half-laugh like she was making a joke. “We’re three months from the festival. We’re supposed to be putting on the Summer Summit—”
“It’s not going to happen,” said Marlow. No one ever pushed back with Oscar. It wasn’t worth it, but here she was anyway. “Victor isn’t bought in.”
“We were redoing the pitch so he cangetbought in.”
“I needed last night.” There. She’d said it. But he stood still, staring at her, jaw clenched.
“I can do it later but—” Classic Marlow, backing down. Because why—she wasn’t worth it? Everyone else was better? She should be grateful for the work? What’s that saying? How can you win the battle when the enemy has outposts in your head?
“Well, if you can do it for me, then do it.”
“Next spring,” said Marlow. “It’s too late now. We wouldn’t even be able to promote in time, let alone program. And honestly, I tried last night, but my kid graduated yesterday, and I suspect something’s up but I don’t know what, and I don’t think she knows either, and I haven’t had time to find out because I’ve been working on this pitch that took weeks to build and which you asked me to redo in one go. And I didn’t. I parented my kid instead. I know I’m only contract, but I never take a break, and I need one.”
“When?”
Synapses in her brain were firing. What to say, what to say? “Today.”
“It’s Friday. I don’t even have the time to talk to HR—”
“I’ll be back a week Monday. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.”
“Who’s going to do the PowerPoint?”
As close to a yes as she’d get. Take it and run. “I’ll send you the file by tomorrow morning. And I’ll let HR know,” she said, heading for the door. “Thanks so much.”
Marlow hit her desk and grabbed her laptop, power cord, bike bag, and helmet. Get out before he changes his mind.
Akiko watched her run to the elevator. “Everything OK?”
“Late for a thing!” Come to think of it, maybe the thing she was late for was her life.
Marlow got her helmet on, unlocked her bike, and was about to leave when she saw a purple flower growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. She pulled out her phone, got close enough to capture the little hairs on its stem and its tiny fragile petals, and shot it slow mo, swaying in the wind. She posted the video to Instagram and texted Sabine.
Got next week off. Let’s go to France, sort out the house thing. Check fares. Be home in 20.
Out of breath, Marlow parked her bike in the garage and took the path into the garden to climb the coach-house steps, wiping sweat from her face with her shirt. She’d probably beaten her all-time record cycling home, fueled in equal parts by panic about insubordination with Oscar and wondering if their passports were up to date. What if she’d gotten ten days off of work only to find them expired, so they had to sit at home and contemplate how she’d jeopardized everything by—Don’t catastrophize. Don’t build up what-ifs to tsunami-like levels without knowing the facts.
She ran into Violet, drinking wine and dealing with the bane of her existence in the garden.
“Hey,” said Violet. “Have I mentioned how much I hate dog-strangling vine?” The plant Violet was currently wrestling with had taken over, and, true to its moniker, was threatening to choke out all the other plants.
“Only a million times,” said Marlow, taking off her sweaty helmet. “Listen, I might be going on a trip. With Sabine. For ten days. Can you do the compost and trash?”
