“How about we focus on getting you ready for this weekend? We know you’d be a great fit for this new job, so how do we make sure they know that, too?” Luci asks, swiftly moving us into what she thinks are safer waters.
“Oh!” I pop up, lifting my finger into the air, looking like some sort of deranged bobble-head with my top-knot swaying back and forth. “I almost forgot the best part,” I add, sarcastically. “The Olssons are major donors for SchoolsFirst.”
“How the hell did you pick the one non-profit that those shitty people donate to?!” Riz asks, indignant on my behalf.
“Unfortunately, ‘those shitty people’ donate to several non-profits around the city. A side effect of having more money than you know what to do with, while also wanting to give the appearance of being half-way decent people.” I reach down and shuffle through the mess to find a pink starburst on the coffee table, unwrapping it and quickly popping it into my mouth.
“Claudette didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was dating Anders,” I continue. “But I can see this going terribly wrong for everyone involved. I’m not sure if I should bring it up tomorrow or not.”
Thinking about losing out on this job almost makes me cry again. I’ve been tearing up randomly all week; when I walked into Intro to Acting class Monday and my coffee was waiting for me, when Mom texted asking if I would be at family dinner, and most notably, for absolutely no reason at all. Surely my body is almost out of tears.
“Why don’t you see how the weekend goes before you bring anything up?” Jules cuts into my thoughts. “If Claudette says something or the moment feels right, ask her if she is concerned about your personal relationship with a donor. I’m guessing as long as the money is still coming in, it’s not a major concern.”
And that right there is exactly why I’m worried. It would be the next logical place for Erik to try to target Anders, taking down an entire non-profit with him. And it would be my fault a great organization loses one of its main sources of income.
This weekend has cemented the fact that SchoolsFirst is where I want to be. It’s the oddest juxtaposition of feelings—while the feeling of rightness increases, so does my unease.
I can’t take this job if it’s offered to me. And I know that it will be offered to me. Everyone I’ve met has welcomed me in a way that makes me feel like I’m already a part of the team.
The last part of the weekend is a Sunday lunch with members of the board. I triple checked that the Olssons were only donors and not on the board, but for some reason I’m unsurprised when I walk into the restaurant and spot a familiar head of red hair.
Alice Olsson is apparently joining us for lunch today.
I make a hard left as soon as I spot her, heading toward the restrooms instead. Blissfully, no one else is in here so I take a second to run cold water over my hands.
Breathe in, hold for three. Breathe out, hold for three.
This technique just makes me think of Anders and the breath work he’d make us do in class.
Which makes me want to cry again.
I look at myself in the mirror and try some positive self-talk instead.
“You will not cry inside this public restroom, Rebecca Bardot. You are a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man.” But then I start thinking about how nice it would be to have Anders here… or at least to be able to call him. “Okay, maybe you need a man. Or want a man… I don’t fucking know!” I scrunch my face up and stick out my tongue at my mirror self.
Right then, the bathroom door swings open, and I was not aware it was possible for that motion to be elegant until just now. I freeze, staring at Alice’s reflection in the mirror. It’s like my entire body has decided now is the time to glitch, and even though my brain is screaming at my feet to RUN!, my body doesn’t get the message.
“Hello, Rebecca,” she intones, and I can immediately picture a version of her, thirty years her junior. The kind of woman Anders’ parents probably hoped he would marry one day.
In present day, she reminds me vaguely of Emily Gilmore.
I glance back at myself in the mirror and see my biggest insecurities. My frizzy curls—random pieces sticking out in every direction—the freckles dotted across my face and chest, the bra strap that’s peeking out from under my boat neck top. I tuck that in as inconspicuously as possible and turn toward her. “Mrs. Olsson. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
She lifts a single botoxed eyebrow. “Yes, I gathered that when I saw you make a dash toward the restrooms.”
I hesitate, unsure of how to proceed from here. “I—I’ll… I won’t take the job. Is that what you want?” My arms cross over my chest, like a disgruntled toddler.
Green eyes appraise me from head to toe. She walks over and begins washing her hands in the sink next to me. Again, I’m struck by total confusion on how the hell someone can wash their hands primly. She takes a towel from the counter to dry off, turning toward me in the same motion.
“I never thought Anders would choose a coward.”
Her words hit me like a slap, my head rearing back. “Excuse me?”
“I also will be unable to recommend you for the position if you quit before I have that opportunity.”
“Rec—recommend me? I thought you were here to make sure I didn’t get the job.”
Her lips press together and she hums, considering me. She turns back toward the mirror fishing her lipstick out of her purse even though her make-up looks as if a professional just applied it. “It might behoove you to know,” she muses, “that Anders’ father and I are separating.”