Sometime Soon

sixteen



I finally get around to leaving my car at the shop to have the bumper repaired, and I rent a car from the conveniently located rental agency next door. I depart the repair shop in a blue Hyundai Sonata that rattles and smells of mold.

“Rob wants to see you,” Joan states. I nearly stroll right by, ignoring whatever greeting Joan has offered this morning. But then my caffeine deprived brain realizes she’s said something else.

“What?” I ask stopping several paces past the reception desk, my full coffee sloshing in its cup.

“Rob said he wanted to see you as soon as you got in.”

Rob never asks to see me through a third party. He always just stops by my cubicle or relates information to me when he runs into me in the hallway. I stare at Joan as though her uninterested expression holds the answer.

Her eyes focus on a spot behind me. “Good morning,” she chimes. A new sales guy, whose name I don’t know, nods and walks by.

I turn and hurry to my desk, dropping my bags on the floor of my cubicle, and taking my coffee with me to Rob’s office. If I were being laid-off, I didn’t think it would happen this way, although the nervous butterflies in my stomach obviously know it’s a possibility. More likely, it’s about the white papers again, and the fact that features are being pulled. But why would he have Joan instruct me to go to his office for that?

I find Rob in his usual position, behind his desk, banging on his keyboard, the top of his head reflecting the fluorescent lights.

“Hey Andrea,” he says when he notices me in his office doorway. “Why don’t you shut the door and have a seat.” He taps a few more keys, finishing whatever he’s working on, as I sit down in one of the two chairs across from him. Then he turns and focuses his attention on me.

“Did you see my email about the features being pulled?” I ask. “I’ll have the rewrites for you this week.”

He thinks for a second, seeming to scan his brain for information. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

I begin to tap my foot nervously on the carpet. Obviously, that’s not the topic he has in mind.

“Andrea,” he begins, folding his hands on the desk in front of him, “as you’ve heard, we’ve been doing a lot of talking with Napa out in California.” He pauses for a reaction.

I nod for him and stop breathing in anticipation of his next sentence.

“Based on those discussions, it looks like we’re going to be combining our marketing groups. Starting immediately, two of their people are going to join our team.”

“Oh,” I say taking a breath, the butterflies slowly dispersing.

“They are going to work remotely from the California office,” he continues, “but they’ll report to me and get all their project work from us.”

I nod again, wondering why this warrants a private meeting with me.

“They also want to move their wireless security group into our group. Again, reporting to me.”

I grin at him, trying to look impressed. Rob must be pleased to be growing his empire.

“But with our group doubling this way, it’s going to be hard for me to keep tabs on all the project work. So what I’d like to do is appoint project leaders. I’d like you to be the wireless project lead.”

“Oh,” I respond, blinking with surprise.

“What do you think?” He watches me for my reaction.

“Um, well, thanks for thinking of me, but what exactly does being a project lead mean?”

“It means that you would be my point of contact on projects, and you would manage the others and their contributions. You would give them their assignments and review their work before passing it on to me. And you would continue to have your own project work to do. It’s a very good opportunity, Andrea. I know you’re up to it.”

I plaster on a grateful expression as I wonder exactly how to word my next question. I am flattered to be asked, but I’ve seen too many promotions around here that equal lots more work with no more pay and no real upside. I also think of the awkwardness of having to manage Nate, who has been here longer than me and in my opinion has seniority. “Is this a promotion?” I finally ask.

Rob runs a hand over his smooth head. “It could be a promotion,” he says carefully. “Tom and I discussed it, and we’d like you to take the project lead position for a trial period. If it goes well, then we can make the title official. At that point, it could include a jump in salary and maybe some stock options.”

He is still watching me, and I feel my heart rate speed up. Just like I thought, he wants to give me more work with no more pay, at least not in the short term, and his wording has the left the possibility of no official promotion ever occurring. But other than time, I suppose I have nothing to lose by accepting the project lead position and continuing to interview for other positions. The title of project lead would look good on my resumé.

“This sounds like an interesting opportunity,” I finally say. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

His patient expression transforms into a pleased grin. “Of course we thought of you. You’ll do a great job.”

And just like that, I’m project lead.

“I’ll send out an announcement to the group later in the week, along with information about the department changes,” Rob continues. “Until then, let’s keep this to ourselves. We’ll talk more about what you’ll be doing as project lead later in the week after the announcement is made. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” I answer, standing up to leave.

“Oh, Andrea, don’t miss The Bachelor tonight.” Rob starts to turn back to his laptop, but stops midway to impart this important piece of information to me. “They’re getting down to the wire. Who do you think he’ll pick? I bet it will be the blonde,” he says.

I can’t help but give the reappearance of his good humor an answering grin. “I know it’s a stereotype, but the blonde seems like an airhead to me. I think he’ll choose someone more on his level, like maybe the red head,” I answer.

The right side of Rob’s mouth hitches up sardonically. “You’ve got a lot to learn about men, Andrea.”

I review my answer and realize that I can’t argue my point with much conviction.



Nate is at his desk when I return. Immediately, I feel guilty. I’m not supposed to say anything, but do I owe Nate a heads up, I wonder? What will he think? Maybe he’ll be pleased to know that our group remains a part of the overall company plan. Then again, maybe he’ll just resent me. I greet him and boot up my laptop, feeling too keyed up to concentrate on work.

I could email Bryn and request an impromptu Starbucks meeting, I think, watching my laptop screen come to life. That’s what I would have done before the whole Bryn confession upset, and I do want to speak to her about Katie and Mike, but maybe not today.

I still have a phone call to return to Ryan. Lauren and Jonathan have convinced me to give him another chance. But it didn’t take much convincing. Also, I figure if he’s really thoughtless and unreliable those qualities will show up again soon enough. I also have a less than exciting job interview this week that I need to prepare for. There are so many pending items in my life, none of which I can make any progress on right now. Suddenly, sitting within my cubicle walls makes me feel claustrophobic. I grab my purse and decide to go for a walk. I feel Nate eyeing me as I leave without a word.

Out on the sidewalk, standing in the warm morning sunshine, I feel my heartbeat slow to normal. I pull out my cell phone and call Mom to give her the news of my new title and the bad news of my stagnant paycheck. She’s thrilled as she always is when anyone recognizes how wonderful her progeny is. The fact that the world does not do so on a daily basis always surprises her. Her advice to me is to see the new job through and to not jump so fast to a new company. Since I hate change, I’m inclined to agree.

Next, I dial Ryan’s number. I’m nervous to speak to him, and I suddenly want to get it over with. I know that I won’t be able to simply pretend that he hadn’t blown me off last week, but I’m not sure how to bring it up without sounding pathetic.

He answers on the third ring sounding very business-like.

“Hi. It’s Andrea,” I begin casually.

“Hey, Andrea. How’s it going?” He sounds pleased to hear from me.

“Good. You?”

“Good,” he answers. “How was your weekend?”

“It was a pretty busy weekend actually. I saw some friends and went to a family barbecue.” The subtext here being that my life is busy, and I’m not waiting around for you to call me. “How about you?”

“I drove Wes home. He starts school this week.”

“You’ve lost your slave labor then?”

He laughs. “I’m afraid so.”

“Did you tell your dad about his, um, continued problems?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t easy though. Now it’s up to him to handle things. I gave him my opinion about Wes seeing a therapist. I think he may finally be coming around on that point.”

“That’s good. Wes seems like a nice kid. I hope it turns out okay.”

“Yeah. Me, too. So, do you think you’re up for grabbing some dinner with me one night this week?”

“Well,” I hesitate. Then I take a breath and plunge forward. “You gave me the impression we had plans for last Thursday. When Thursday came and went and I never heard from you, I was a little confused.”

I hear a noise from the other end, like a breath being exhaled into the receiver. “I remember mentioning the possibility of getting together last week, but we never planned anything definite, did we?”

“I was under the impression that Thursday was fairly definite. The exact plans weren’t ironed out yet. You said you’d call about those. But the day was set.”

“Well, I really don’t remember that. I got called away on business at the last minute and the whole week got pretty hectic. If I forgot a date with you, I’m sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” I mutter. It was an apology without a confirmation of guilt.

“You’re pissed, huh?” he asks, but he sounds amused rather than bothered.

“Pissed might be a little extreme.” There is no way I’m going to let him know he matters enough to illicit an emotion as strong as pissed. “More like, skeptical of any future plans we may attempt to make.”

“Ah, I see. I have to earn your trust back. I can do that. Will I get the chance?”

I find myself smiling at the phone. “Yes. I guess you can have another shot.”

“I appreciate that. How about Wednesday night?”

“I can do Wednesday.”

“How about if I pick you up around seven and take you to an Italian place that I know?”

“That sounds good.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“I hope so,” I reply and press the End key as a tremor of excitement runs through me. Maybe forgetting our date was an honest mistake. Maybe Ryan isn’t a bad guy, just a busy, slightly forgetful one.

As I make my way back to the office, I hum a Death Cab for Cutie song I heard on the radio this morning when I turned up the volume to block out the Hyundai’s rattling. What an interesting morning it has been. Things are looking up. Of course, as I think that, I realize that whenever I take stock of any good luck in my life, it nearly always turns bad from that point on.