“Remember I told you about that promotion I’ve been working toward since last fall? The one I thought I’d be a shoo-in for after Andrew made me do the presentation alone and kicked Sebastian off of it?”
God, it feels like such a long time ago, and at the same time very little has changed. Just hours upon hours of staring at a screen and tipping some eyedrops in every now and then when my eyeballs feel like sandpaper from not blinking. I glance at the menu that’s a little too sticky for comfort even though I know I’m going to get the same thing I always do.
But it’s a ritual. So I do it.
The waitress interrupts our conversation and we order our usual, handing back the menus and waiting for the clip of her shoes to fade.
“Yee-ess,” Ángel stretches the word out into two syllables.
“They announced the program manager appointment today.”
“Congratulations?” It’s cautious. He knows my mood well enough to know the difference between celebratory drinks and drowning my feelings.
“Congratulations toKeith,” I spit the name out like it’s a curse.
Fucking Keith. Just because he’s “personable”, as if that’s what you need to be a good developer and program manager. I get shit done. I always get shit done and outpace him every time. Of course when I brought that up to Andrew he just bludgered me with a “you’re indispensable where you are now. We can’t afford to lose you as a developer. No one can do it like you can.”
As if that made it any better.
“Not ballroom bastard Keith?” Ángel injects the correct amount of appalled into the question and it makes the edges of my mouth quirk up into the ghost of a smile.
“One and the same. The guy you chased off at the bar tonight. You know, he had the gall to say just because he’s my boss now doesn’t mean we can’thave funtogether.” My face is twisted in disgust and even the thought of it is almost enough to put me off of my meal.
“Oh, hell no. You cannot keep working there.”
I slurp some of my Sprite, somehow always better from a fountain than a can, and steal some fries from our communal order.
“That’s almost not the worst part. When I confronted the general manager about it he ‘couldn’t exactly say why’ but the reason I wasn’t hired was because they’re worried I’m not dedicated enough. They think I’m going to get pregnant as soon as I get the job and then fuck off and waste their time.”
“So that little comment to the Gin-tern was?—”
“—me being pissed about the image they have of me in their minds. Yes. If they knew a thing about me they’d know it’s a non issue. Which, it shouldn’t fucking matter whether I do want kids or not. It’s such outdated bullshit. I don’t know what to do. What wouldyoudo?”
Ángel shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. “Rachel, I’m a bartender in my mid-thirties that writes poems that no one will ever see, and my aspirations for anything more died a long time ago. At this point I’m happy if I can make rent and get groceries for the week. We are opposites, you and I. I’ve never wanted to conquer the world. I’m just glad to experience the little things.”
The sigh that leaves my lungs is so heavy it hurts.
“It can’t all be for nothing. Years of this, for it to bejust this. Is it wrong to want more? To want to be acknowledged?”
“If that’s what you want to get out of your work environment—if what you need to keep going is being valued and not just being paid—then maybe you need to rethink some things. You mentioned Sebastian got out of there. Have you thought about doing the same?” he asks.
I shrug and we dig into our food, the rich taste of garlic aioli spreading across my tongue. The burger soaks up the last of my drunken sorrow and Ángel has given me something else to ruminate on besides being upset.
Should I consider leaving?
“Would that be giving up?” I ask, my doubts sneaking out. Only with Ángel. He’s the only one who’s seen me at close to my worst and I know he won’t judge me for my moment of weakness.
“Does letting go of something that’s no longer serving you equate to giving up? I don’t think so. You’re not the kind of person to slowly atrophy sitting at the same desk for years just because you’re somewhere familiar. Sometimes you’ve got to keep moving to keep the blood flowing and your spirit alive.”
I chuckle. “You really should get back to the poetry book. It doesn’t feel fair that I am the only one benefitting from that brain and those words of yours.”
His tan skin flushes, just barely visible but I know the tells by now.
“You first. I’ll follow your lead.”
“I’m taking that as a legitimate agreement. I’ll look for something else and then you need to look up some agents again. We’ll be brave together.”
Sticking my hand out across the table, his palm is warm against mine and we shake on it. Silly. But it feels like a start, the bleakness of being overlooked again not aching as badly knowing someone has my back and believes in me.
