Page 91 of One Last Summer
“Is everything okay, Clara?” Amaya’s voice was soft but pointed, a more delicate and discreet version of, “Hey, pay the fuck attention to our client.”
“Yes! Yes. Let me just turn this on do not disturb real quick.” I fiddled with my phone as I searched for some way to turn off my alerts. My brain wasn’t computing. I’d done this a million times, but for some reason, I couldn’t figure out how to stop it from buzzing.
But then again, I didn’t want to.
I might not have known what I wanted for my future, but this was certain: I wanted to be there for Sam.
I’m on my way, I typed, before looking up at the room full of confused faces around me.
“You know what? I can’t do this.” The words came out clear and direct, fearless. Lydia twisted in her chair to look at me, mouth agape.
“Should we take five minutes?” Gabbie gently smacked her hands together, plan settled. “I could definitely use a bathroom break.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, I can’t do this pitch, or work on this project. I’m sorry.”
“Clara.” Amaya’s voice was dagger-sharp, swiftly weaponizing my name as a warning.
“I think I’m quitting? Wait, why did I ask that like a question? It’s not a question at all. I am. I’m quitting. Amaya, I’ve loved working for you, but I think it’s time for me to move on.”
I expected panic, anticipated its acidic rise in my chest. Instead, an eerie calm settled over me. How had I not realized this before?
My work hadn’t been stale because I was floundering or bad at my job; it was stale because I didn’t want to do it anymore.
“If this is about making you come home early”—Amaya’s face was frozen in a smile, which I knew was a cover, her way of staying in control of the nightmare unfolding in front of a client no less—“we can obviously talk about extra vacation time. And I’ll expedite your promotion paperwork. I’ll have Abe get on that now.”
Next to her, Abe was already on his phone, typing away.
“I appreciate that. But I don’t want extra vacation time, or a promotion,” I said, shoving everything I’d laid out on the table back into my bag. “There’s nothing you can give me that will make me stay.”
“I am very confused right now,” Gabbie said, reaching for her glass and chugging it back in one swift motion. She dragged a hand across her mouth. “Are we not doing this?”
I looked over to Lydia, who offered me an encouraging nod of her head. “Gabbie, I’m so sorry. But this whole idea came to me because of how amazing it felt to be back with my oldest friends, who I hadn’t seen in years. Because I’d been so focused on this job, even time away felt like a distraction. But they’re not a distraction. They’re the people who truly get me, you know? Like even in the moments when I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing with my life. Like right now, maybe. This definitely might be one of those moments.”
“Clara.” The smile had evaporated from Amaya’s face, replaced with steely determination. “I’m counting on you. Gabbie’s counting on you. Lydia’s counting on you.”
“I’m actually not counting on you at all,” Lydia said, but Amaya didn’t even acknowledge her. She kept speaking, slow and deliberate. But a quick glance down revealed her fingers clenching the edge of the table, the tips almost white.
“We’re all counting on you, Clara,” she repeated. “You committed to working on this project. I think we’re owed that.”
“How about what I owe myself?” I said, my chair squeaking against the wood floor as I shoved it back. “My friend Sam needs me. She’s counting on me to be there for her. And that’s what I want to do.”
I turned back to Gabbie and her bearded henchmen. “I can either stand here and try to sell you on this idea of magical summers and everlasting friendships or go show up for the person in my life who embodies all of those things. Seems like an obvious choice.”
Lydia let out a shocked laugh and raised her hands in quiet applause as I stood.
“The plan we’ve come up with for your Summer Ale is solid, no matter who’s in charge,” I said to Gabbie. “And we have great people at Four Points. Amaya will set you up with an amazing team. Lydia could probably finish this pitch right now.”
“Oh no, not happening,” she said, taking one final swig of her water. “I’m going with you. Amaya, this can be my micro-sabbatical, right?”
She jumped up without waiting for Amaya’s answer and maneuvered around the table until she was close enough to loop her free hand through my arm, tugging me away from the table as Gabbie and Amaya sat and watched, stunned into a kind of horrified stupor.
“Thank you,” I said with one final look at my now ex-boss. “I think the time off really did help me figure some stuff out. But you should call it a ‘playcation.’ Something fun, if you want people to be excited about it. Micro-sabbatical is so formal and stiff.”
I grabbed my bag off of the chair—phone still buzzing inside—and pushed through the conference room door, practically skipping with Lydia down the path of open cubicles that led to reception. My heart pounded out a song inside my chest as we spilled out the front doors, back into the bustling Boston morning.
“You remember how I called you the other day and said you were a genius for going rogue and sending the creative to Gabbie?” Lydia said.
“Yes,” I said, still in a daze from what had just happened inside. “Why?”
