Page 96 of What I'm Looking For

“Currently,” Irma continues, “Women to Women only engages in Program-related investing, which does not seek a return. A certain percentage of our annual payout has to be PRIs to fulfill our charter. However, we can engage in MRIs—market rate investments.”

She tips her head and wags a finger at me. “This is where you might be of value: researching companies to find ones that are making a positive impact. One of the reasons we want to do this is that many SRI groups avoid businesses involved in a number of activities they consider harmful, like tobacco, gambling, etcetera. But that reject list often includes family planning. WTW wants to actively support such businesses. Additionally, we need to grow our own funds so we can lend more to those in need.”

The excitement building in me now is nothing like the high I feel when Steve and I conquer a roomful of investors. Until I heard Irma speak today, I hadn’t clocked just how unhappy I’ve been at work. I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on people losing their jobs, because it literally makes me sick to my stomach. If I could use my skills to do good? “That sounds like the dream job I didn’t even know existed.”

Irma smiles. “Well, it doesn’t exist yet with us. And to be honest, I may have a hard time selling you to my partners. You’re young and inexperienced in some of the areas we need covered. I’ll talk to them when I get back, and if they’re willing to meet you, could you come down to Philadelphia?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! I’d have to get time off, but I have vacation time I haven’t used, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Goose bumps pebble my arms as Irma hands me a business card. “Wonderful. Give my assistant a call and send her your CV. If we can make it work, I’ll get back to you. We will want to talk to your current supervisor, of course.”

“Of course.” Asking Roland for a recommendation to go somewhere else will be tricky, but a worthwhile risk. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate you making this effort.”

“Well, as I said, I like helping out young women in finance. We need to support each other.” She raises her hand, signaling the waiter for the check. “I’ve got to head back to my room to get some work done before tomorrow’s meetings, but I’m very glad to have met you, Kate. I hope we’ll be working together. Sooner or later.”

I’m speechless. When the waiter arrives, however, I find my voice and insist on paying for the drinks. I make it through a professional handshake and out the door before I squeal and jump around.

That wasnothow I expected the meeting with Steve’s professor to go. I figured I’d walk away with a list of nonprofits to research, or grad programs to check out. Instead, I have a potential job interview that could be a turning point for my career.

I’ve been dragging my butt through my days since Will and I broke up, unable to focus on anything fully. But now I can’t wait to get home and polish my résumé.

How is it that a single answering machine message could have such an impact on the course of my life—giving me a priceless opportunity while taking away a treasured relationship?

As I near the T station near Tufts, my steps falter. I’m within walking distance of Will’s place. Every part of my being wants to rush over there and tell him everything that just happened. I check my watch. It’s after seven on a Thursday night. He probably has a show. Or is working at the bar. Should I stop by, just in case?

Going over all the reasons we broke up, I’m still not sure if any of them really make sense. Yes, I’m risking my heart with him, but if I were to draw up a profit and loss statement of the relationship, I gained so much more than I gave up.

Any enterprise has to take risks in order to expand and grow. If I were to give my life an honest appraisal, things had stagnated before I met Will. A graph of my accomplishments would show a significant spike since the day Will made me that fake old fashioned. I go on research trips all by myself, I stand up to harassment, I carry myself with confidence. The guys at work seem to respect me more and challenge me less. If I were putting together a recommendation on Will, I’d have to point out that he brought balance to a situation I hadn’t even known was out of whack.

Another thing about talking to Irma Ortega? It’s clear that I don’t have any examples to follow at Rhodes Wahler. No older women who have forged a path, who have figured out how to be successful at work and have a home life. Maybe that’s something I’d be able to learn at this new job. If I get it.

Is it too late to fix things with Will? When I told him I was too overwhelmed at work to deal with our relationship, he seemed pretty eager to get out the door.

Here on the corner, at a literal fork in the road, my big brain counsels my poor little heart. We have to face reality at some point. One, he’s not likely to be home, and two, every indication points to the fact that he’s done. With me and with us. I waited too long to acknowledge his true value, and now it’s too late.

Tears cool my cheeks in the light breeze. I turn away from Will and toward the T station, grief for what might have been, heavy on my shoulders. There’s a Will-shaped hole in my life. It’ll be a good long time before I’m able to think of him without being sad.

However, these feelings are not the self-loathing and overwhelming emptiness I felt when Jonathan ended things.

I’m my own person now, a person that I actually like. I don’t need a man to complete me. Being with Will taught me that it’s possible to share my life without losing myself.

Smiling through tears, I send a silent thank you to my very favorite vest-wearing actor/bartender. Even if he won’t be in my life, I’m grateful for the time I spent with him.

I truly hope that eventually he finds what he’s looking for too.

Chapter26

BEEP. Monday, 10:35 a.m.

Will, hi, this is Marnie Farrell at Boston Casting. Graham Wolfson handed me your headshot this morning, and I actually have an audition today that I’d love to bring you in for. We have slots open for a few times this afternoon. Look forward to meeting you.

WILL

A week after stalking out of Kate’s place, a letter in my mailbox with her return address on it is the last thing I expect to see. Everything’s been so crazy I haven’t even begun to process the breakup. BetweenR&Jrehearsals, picking up shifts at the bar so I can pay bills, and a string of auditions thanks to Graham, I’ve been working from early morning to late at night every single day. Thank goodness, otherwise I’d be wishing Kate were there or that I was going to her place afterward.

Now, I’m contemplating whether or not to even read the letter. Do I want to hear her apologies? Or worse, her explanation that she’s found the right guy and it isn’t me? Not sure and definitely not, but I may as well just rip this Band-Aid off quickly.

July 7, 1988

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