“Well, look at what Curie’s doing. Be original. Make your own way.”
He walks off.
Chapter Twenty-One
Pascal
For the next hour, I try to focus on work. But it’s impossible. Dad’s words keep circling in my head over and over and over again. Each time, a new layer of anger, doubt, disbelief and resentment settles over me like mud at the bottom of a river.
Just look at what Curie’s doing.
She graduated with a degree in art and photography. She used that, plus her extroverted personality, to become an influencer on Instagram. Does he really think I should be like Curie?
But I don’t take that many pictures, and the only reason I’m on Instagram at all is to follow Curie.
And that’s not all that’s distracting me. Every time somebody walks by my cubicle, I feel like they’re giving me a pitying look. Every time I hear a whisper, I feel like it’s about how pathetic I am.
Intellectually, I know it’s crazily egotistical. A junior analyst like me isn’t that important at the firm. But I swear, it seems everyone has heard what Dad said. Combined that with how my idea was dismissed during the meeting last week, I might as well be sitting in the center of the bullseye of loserdom.
Annoyance at myself surges at the negative emotions. My stomach is hurting too, mainly from stress, and I place a hand over, hoping the warmth will soothe it. My belly always acts up when I’m upset.
I go to the bathroom and sit in a stall. Finally, no more pitying glances. I pull out my phone and start to text Curie, then stop. Is this so important that I need to unload it on her during her honeymoon? Her wedding ceremony already got ruined because of me.
I put the phone away and stare at the floor. Is Dad right? Am I deluding myself into thinking I’m good at what I do? I just don’t know what else I need to do to contribute and stand out. To make a difference at the firm.
If Dad doesn’t think I’m any good, it makes sense the VPs will share the same opinion. And that explains how they’re treating me in meetings these days.
Maybe it’s time you update your résumé and look for something else.
The notion is killing me. But I haven’t been promoted in four years. Dad could’ve been gently hinting that I should give up.
Well, until today. Today he just came out and said it.
I start to stand, but the door to the bathroom opens. I hear several shoes tapping on the tile floor, voices animated and excited in a hushed way that indicates they’re having an extra-juicy conversation.
Oh geez. I hesitate, feeling like I’m back in seventh grade, when hiding in bathroom stalls was how you got the best gossip. I cross my arms and wait, not wanting to go out and see anybody. I don’t have the energy to be social and pretend I’m fine.
“That poor girl. It’s so sad that she doesn’t know that she’s going to get passed over again,” one of them says. I hear water run.
My stomach knots tightly. Now I wish I hadn’t had the burger with Court.
They could be talking about somebody else, a small voice in my head says, although without much conviction.
“I know, right? She’s trying so hard to impress her dad, too.”
Bitterness fills my mouth. How many female employees have a dad to impress in the firm?
“And failing. He’s been objecting to her promotion every year.”
The revelation slams into me like a freight truck. For a second, I can’t process anything. Finally, what Court told me flashes through my head. He said somebody had to be sabotaging me. I dismissed it because the idea that one of my coworkers was stealing my work or trying to take the credit was crazy. But my own dad?
Why would he do that when he knows how much it means to me?
Maybe because you just aren’t very good at your job…? He said as much earlier, a mean voice whispers in my head.
“Wonder why. Her evaluations look great.”
“Who knows? Maybe he has ridiculously high expectations.”