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The hostess approaches the table next to us, a group of five women with her, their hands full with gift bags. Several of the women place their bags on the cushioned bench spanning the wall—the same bench I’m sitting on.
“I love your idea for the romance subscription boxes,” Avery says, “but right now your Instagram feed looks impersonal.”
“You’re right. I’ve been thinking about that for a while now. But I don’t have any romance in my life. No husband in my future.”
I might not be the social media guru in the advertising and marketing boutique where we work, but even I recognize my feed isn’t quite right. I’ve studied the popular Instagram influencer accounts, and they have something mine doesn’t.
A personal theme.
A hint of their own brand.
Which is ironic since branding is my specialty.
But I work predominantly with large accounts, which tend to avoid the personal photos that appeal to a sizable proportion of women. The corporations use stock photos of people. Perfect-looking people. People who aren’t related to or who aren’t dating the other individuals in the image.
“There she is,” one of the women at the table next to us declares, loud enough for those around her to hear.
My eyes inadvertently shift to the waddling woman approaching the next table—and my heart squeezes into a tiny fist.
It’s only then that I pay closer attention to the gift bags beside me on the bench, and I barely bottle a groan. Of all the tables in the restaurant Avery and I could be seated next to, it had to be the one with a baby shower.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Avery says, not paying attention to the women. “The pictures are gorgeous. You’ve done a great job with your product shots, but you need to step up your game if you want to be more competitive.”
The cheering from the women almost smothers Avery’s words. She glances at their table, and this time she’s the one who grimaces when she sees the mother-to-be.
Avery covers my hand with hers. “Are you okay?”
A smile stretches across my face, as natural as a bikini in a blizzard. “I’m fine. But it’s not like I have a husband or boyfriend. And our apartment doesn’t allow pets, so that option’s out, too. But that’s okay. Right now my number one priority is my job. And given that I’m in the running for the promotion, the position will mean less time for growing my business.”
“Any idea when Irene plans to announce who she’s giving the position to?”
“She hasn’t said anything specifically about it yet, but I have a feeling it’s this afternoon.”
“Make sure you get plenty of sleep now,” one of the women at the neighboring table says rather loudly. “ ’Cause once the baby’s born, you can say good-bye to sleep for the next eighteen years. And you’ll look like a zombie for the first few months.”
One of her friends pipes in, “I told James when Lydia was born that he has four options to choose from, but he only gets one each day: dinner, a clean house, a pretty wife, or a happy baby. And a happy baby makes for a happy wife.”
Knowing laughs from several of her friends slice into me with scalpel precision.
Pretending I didn’t hear them, I wipe the condensation on my glass with my thumb, eradicating a droplet sliding down the side. “And that’s why we should celebrate tonight,” I tell Avery. “I’ve done so much overtime lately, and Irene’s been dropping hints about a big announcement today.”
“I agree. You’ve worked hard for it. You deserve it.”
“I know I do,” I say, but a flicker of doubt shadows through me. “Although that’s what we thought for the last promotion. But Irene gift-wrapped it for Matt.”
“But this time, it’s for the junior account manager position, and you’ve got it. No one has sacrificed as much for the company as you have. And you know it all, and everyone loves you.”
Loud “awwws” rise from the table next to us. I glance at the pregnant woman who’s holding an adorable toy bunny with floppy ears.
My insides tighten, crushing my uterus to dust.
Well, it would have if my uterus still existed after the car accident almost ten years ago.
The accident that stole my daughter, my unborn child.
My phone pings on my desk and I read the text. Around me, other like-minded creatives sit at their computers in the open area, working on their projects or talking business on the phone.
Zara: Any word yet on the job promotion?
