My parents share a look, stacking their sheets of paper and putting them to one side. That’s a good sign that they’re listening to me.Progress, a friendly reminder in my head cheers. I imagine an angel on my shoulder doing a little happy dance and it makes me smile, calming me enough to get my breathing to return to normal.
“Is this about the work you did this summer? Because we loved having you on the team,” my mom says, and my dad nods in agreement.
“I did all that without recognition,” I mumble.
“Right,” Dad says, nodding again as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Scarlett, I can see that you’re upset—”
“Yes, I’m upset, Dad. I didsomuch work, missed out on spending time with my friends all summer, got behind on schoolwork, all for . . . nothing.”
My mom tries to reach for me, but I step back. “If this is about money . . .”
I almost laugh. “It’s about more than that.Somuch more than that,” I say, letting out an incredulous laugh. My mom opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “Look, I produced some of my best work and it’s like I wasn’t even in the room. I don’t get recognition for anything, no matter how hard I try or how much I show you I’m capable of doing somethinggoodfor this company.”
I let out an agitated breath, finally taking a seat beside my dad. Neither of them says anything and I look at the presentation board, sighing when I realize how easily I’ve managed to get worked up and steered us off course. I had a plan, goddammit. A good one, too. And here I am about to startcryingbecause they clearly don’t get me at all.
I drop my eyes to the table. “I had this whole thing planned,” I say quietly. “I was going to show you a presentation I put together on how much I deserve to be taken seriously. To have arealrole in the company. But the truth is, I’m so tired. All the time. I’m distracted at school because all I can think about is the collection I’ve been working on and how badly I want to see it come to life for Voss. But neither of you care. Maybe you never have.”
Silence washes over all of us.
I don’t know what I thought would happen, but this wasn’t it. This . . . silence. Sitting in silence with my parents isn’t usually uncomfortable. Most of the time we’re all doing our own thing until someone speaks and we’re talking over one another and getting on each other’s nerves.
Silence like this isn’t anything I’m used to, and I hate it.
I hate that it feels like I’ve done something wrong just by sticking up for myself. How my parents think everything is rooted in money or power when all I want is to be recognized. I want to be thought of when my parents are considering new lines or need help brainstorming designs. I want to be seen by them.
Eventually, my dad leans back in his chair and speaks. “We thought that would be the case.”
I blink at them. “What are you talking about?”
“The reason you don’t have a job within Voss isn’t because we don’t recognize your talent or your hard work. There’s a particular way things are done when family are to be employed, and you’re not there yet. There’s still a lot you need to do,” he explains.
I fold my arms on the table, eyebrows furrowed as I pin them both with a look. “What more could I possibly need to do?”
My mom glances at my dad before looking to me. “A list of things actually.” I just stare at her, needing more information,anything to make this make sense. “We had considered over the last couple of years if you might be ready, but we didn’t feel you were quite there yet. But you coming here today, showing us how badly you want this . . . Maybe you are ready.”
“For what?”
My dad smiles. “What you need to do.”
I shiver, leaning back in my seat. “You’re starting to freak me out.”
Dad stands, turning to the desk behind him and pulling out a key from his pocket. He unlocks a drawer somewhere under the desk and the sound of rustling paper fills the quiet room. I watch him for a couple more seconds before he pulls out a purple plastic folder with some papers inside.
“What is that?” I ask, my patience thinning.
“A list of things you need to complete before you’re allowed to be employed by Voss,” he says simply, and my eyes bug out of my head. He slides back into his seat, carefully opening the folder and handing me the list.
“This is a joke,” I whisper, scanning over the list, my eyes getting wider the further down I read. There are only six bullet points, but some of them are straight up insane. “Thishasto be a joke.”
“It’s not a joke,” my mom says, reaching out to hold my dad’s hand. “Look, it’s simple. You complete this list of six very manageable tasks, and your dad and I can find a job for you as a designer at Voss.”
I don’t even try to hide my laugh, and a loud, awkward one slips out of me. “You want me to getmarried? Mom, are you serious?” She nods. She actuallynodsat me. My own mother. “Dad, areyouserious?”
He grimaces, scrunching his face up. “A little less about that one actually.”
I shake my head violently. “There’s no fucking way you want to wait until I get married before I can do something I’m clearly qualified to do.”
My mom laughs softly, and the second the sound slips out of her, my dad joins in on her laughter. The weight on my chest eases a little as my mom says, “We wanted to make sure you were paying attention. We don’t actually want you to get married, Scarlett.”
