Page 3 of She Was Made for Me

In fact, being let go might actually be agoodthing. A blessing in disguise and all that.

I’ve almost managed to convince myself when my phone rings. Dad’s name flashes on my screen and despair rushes up inside me.

Shit. Who am I kidding? This isn’t a fucking blessing.

I set my laptop aside and reach for my phone, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Sweetpea.”

I sniffle at the sound of his comforting voice. It’s almost as if he knows, somehow.

“I tried your office line, but someone else answered and said you don’t work there anymore.”

Okay, so hedoesknow.

“What’s going on?”

I clear my throat. “I, um… yeah.” Of all the people I have to tell about this, my father would be absolutelylaston my list. I was kind of hoping I might be able to get another job quickly enough that I wouldn’t even have to tell him. Then I could casually mention it after the fact, like yeah, I’d been given an exciting opportunity at a new company, and how cool is that?

Instead, I have to tell him that his only child, his pride and joy, is nowunemployed. I hate letting him down like this.

My face heats with shame as I mutter, “I was let go this morning. They had budget cuts, and…”

“What?” Dad’s voice rises in disbelief. “How could they lose one of their most promising project managers?”

I press my eyes shut, my stomach knotting into a tight ball. God, I am the worst daughter on the planet, because not only was Inotin a project management position, my parents were under the impression that Iwas.

It’s not my fault. I mean, itismy fault, but really it’s a misunderstanding I haven’t been able to bring myself to rectify. I’d told my folks I’d gotten a job as an assistanttoa project manager, but Dad misheard me and thought I’d said Iwasan assistant project manager. I took a breath to correct him, almost amused at how it was as if I was reading a script from an episode ofThe Office,but when he went on to say how proud he was of me, and how the money he’d spent on college had been worth it—gulp—I couldn’t bear to tell him that no, I wasn’t managing exciting projects, I was fetching coffee for the people who were. Besides, I’d reasoned, they’d promote me soon enough, so it didn’t make sense to disappoint him.

And then, you know, four years somehow passed and here we are.

Anyway, it was all for nothing. I don’t have a job or any prospects lined up. I have a handful of contacts, which will probably amount to nothing, and I’ve wasted years of my life. I might not quite be there yet, but I’ve got a pretty good view of rock bottom from here.

“Um, about that,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Ugh, this isn’t easy. My father’s a successful attorney who raised me to work hard and make things happen for myself. To tell him that the wonderful things he’s been thinking about me since I graduated were based on a lie… I’d rather perform naked gymnastics to a packed crowd at Madison Square Garden.

“Hang on a second.” I hear the door to his office close, the familiar creak of his leather chair as he settles in front of his expansive oak desk. I only visited Dad’s office once, years ago, but the feeling of it sticks vividly in my mind. The law firm had an air ofimportanceabout it—like the work they did mattered. It made me realize how much I wanted to do work that mattered, too.

I sigh, needing to get this out. If I don’t tell him now, I never will. And I’ve lived with this untruth long enough.

“Dad—”

“You know what I think, Violet? Screw them. If they can’t see what they’re missing out on, that’s their loss.”

“Thanks, Dad. But—”

“What are your plans moving forward?”

I falter. Sometimes conversing with my father makes me feel more like I’m a witness being cross-examined on the stand than his daughter.

“I’m already sending my resume out and getting in touch with contacts I have.”

“Excellent. Do you have anything lined up?”

Lined up? I only left the office an hour ago!

“Not yet, but it won’t be long until I do.” I pick at a nail, hoping my voice conveys more confidence than I feel.

Dad is quiet for a beat, and a slow churn begins in my gut. He’s not buying this. Why would he? And I still haven’t told him the worst part yet.

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