Page 3 of One Last Summer
Now here, almost a year later, my shoulders twitched as the uncomfortable memory echoed through me. Nothing had hurt as much as that comment, not even the breakup itself. Something about it had felt too revealing, like he’d suddenly figured out something about me that I didn’t yet understand.
The next morning I’d marched into the office with swollen eyes and a raging hangover, and informed Amaya that I wanted to take on a heavier workload as project manager, to see if I could gain some experience that could level me up to vice president even. She’d been vaguely alluding to a promotion in the months since, and I’d kept hustling, assuming it was just within reach.
One of the finance bros next to me gave me a friendly elbow jostle, and I popped my head up just in time to see Amaya windmilling her arms as she said with gusto, “—the person who has been here almost as long as I have. Let’s give her a round of applause, shall we?”
I’d completely spaced out, and the roaring applause shook me out of the past and back into the room. I knew instantly who she was talking about, and the eager, curious faces of seventy-five of my colleagues—all frozen in my direction—confirmed it.
She was talking about me.
2
PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, Clara! cried the alarm bells going off in my head. It’s happening! She’s about to promote you in front of the entire office.
The realization was so thrilling that my fake smile transformed into something genuine, proud even. I quickly puffed up my chest and tucked a loose strand of hair—the same stick-straight, bark-brown strand that would inevitably fall right in front of my eye in approximately thirty seconds—behind my ear.
All eyes were angled in my direction, and the two most important ones in the room were gazing down at me with such affection that I instantly felt guilty for totally tuning out what she’d been saying before.
“From intern to assistant to almost every other job in between, she’s worked her way up to project manager, where she’s juggling some of our biggest accounts. Clara, we all see how hard you bust your ass here at Four Points. How many of us have left to go home for the night, only to see the lights still on in Clara’s office?”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“Girl, you are an example to all of us.” Grabbing her glass back from Abe, Amaya pointed it in my direction as she pressed her other hand against her chest, creasing the creamy silk blouse that looked both entirely effortless and perfectly put together.
“Thank you,” I said with a polite nod. It was an attempt to be humble in front of a crowd, but inside I was full-on glowing. I’d dangled the fantasy of this promotion in front of my own face like a carrot, and it had been the only thing keeping me slogging along in the wake of this bleak, depressing year.
Charles can have his swan boat engagement, I thought. I have this.
“An example,” she drew the words out slowly, seriously, “of burnout.”
“Wait, sorry. What?” My chin practically dropped off my face in shock as I rewound her speech in my head, desperately trying to process exactly what was happening.
“She wants you to take a micro-sabbatical,” Lydia hissed in my ear. “Like a vacation.”
“Clara Millen, your Four Points, Five Days micro-sabbatical starts now,” she said, bending forward, hands on her knees to look at me, as my colleagues laser-beamed their eyes onto my face. “Because you need it more than anyone else here.”
Every drop of moisture exited my mouth until all that was left were dust and some teeth. All the grinding, and late nights, the years I’d spent following her instructions to a T, and the last twelve months of foaming-at-the-mouth devotion to my job and she was…
… diagnosing me with burnout, like she’d run me through some sort of internet quiz? Which, I recalled with a flush of shame, was something I had actually taken a couple of months ago thanks to an Instagram ad and which had, indeed, suggested that I might be kinda fried at work.
“But the Alewife pitch,” was all I managed to squeak out as my hair slid—as predicted—right back into my face.
“Can wait,” she said, chipper. “I want you to focus on you first.”
Landing a major account like Alewife had been on my goal list for years, and I was mere days away from being able to put a giant check mark next to it. What the hell was happening?
“She was supposed to go to New Hampshire this week!” Lydia blurted out next to me, and Amaya’s face lit up.
“Perfect!” she replied with a clap of her hands, tossing her empty cup on the floor below her.
“But I can’t actually take a whole week off right now,” I protested, trying desperately to keep a calm look on my face, even though inside, panic reigned. Sure, the pitch wasn’t in the greatest shape, but I’d get it there. I always did.
Amaya thought for a moment, index finger tapping at her painted lips.
“Clara, tell me, in your own words. How are you feeling? Right now.”
Exhausted. Confused. Like I wanted to cry and throw up at the same time, and then hide in my bed for approximately forty-eight hours.
“Fine,” I countered.
