Kim sat in the small, nondescript boardroom at Apex Outerwear, a polystyrene cup of water in front of her. She found it odd, the use of a foam cup, in a business that was all about appreciating nature and the outdoors. A reusable glass would have been more environmentally sustainable and on brand. She hated the thought of that cup sitting in a landfill for hundreds of years. And as she took a sip, she hated the way it felt on her teeth.
Her client, Neil, entered. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, taking a seat across the utilitarian table from her. Neil also seemed incongruous with Apex Outerwear’s brand. He was an incredibly stylish, rather effeminate man who seemed infinitely more suited to sipping fine wine and watching opera than snowshoeing through the wilderness to pitch a waterproof tent.
“Thanks for coming in,” Neil said. He seemed to have forgotten that Kim had actually requested the meeting. She had put it off as long as possible, but it was time to discuss finding a new designer. Obviously, she and Tony could no longer work together. They had delivered the last flyer on time and on budget; though Kim had submitted her copy to Tony a couple of days late. With all the crap going on in her life, she deserved a little leeway. And in a passive-aggressive way, she had wanted Tony to stress and panic. In the end, they’d pulled it together. But Tony had to be replaced.
She had considered contacting him as a professional courtesy; she’d gone so far as to compose an e-mail before deciding it was redundant and deleting it. Tony was a jerk, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know Kim would be finding someone new. And he had plenty of other projects to keep him busy.
“Good of you to see me,” Kim said. “I know how busy you are.”
“It’s insane,” Neil said. “So I hope you don’t mind if I get straight to the point.”
The point?
“We’re going to take the monthly flyer in another direction. We want to focus more on social media and our online presence.”
“I can adapt to that,” Kim said confidently. At best, Kim had a cursory knowledge of social media platforms. She’d created a Facebook profile and an Instagram account—neither of which she looked at—to keep her kids on their toes, but she wasn’t exactly a Luddite. And she was an intelligent woman. She could learn Internet marketing; it wasn’t neurosurgery.
“We think this is a logical time for us to find another writer . . . someone more tuned in to the eighteen-to-thirty-four market.”
“I’m tuned in to that market,” Kim lied, her voice shrill and tinged with desperation. “I’ve got a lot of millennials in my life.” But she didn’t. Her nephew in Oregon qualified, though their relationship had dwindled to an annual Christmas card with twenty bucks inside—twenty bucks because she had no idea what to buy someone that age. Damn.
Neil sighed and looked down at the table. “I’m sorry, Kim. But we’re not going to renew your contract. We’ll give you a month’s notice and write you a good reference, but . . .”
There was something loaded in that but. This wasn’t about tapping into millennial buying patterns; there was something deeper at play here. She felt anger well up inside her. “What’s really going on here, Neil?”
“As I said, it’s time we updated our approach. It’s not personal. . . .”
“Have you talked to Tony Hoyle?”
Guilt flitted across Neil’s almost feline features. “We’ve always loved Tony’s design work. He came to us with a proposal. We liked what he had to say.”
“He was my subcontractor. The relationship started with me.”
“You were on a month-to-month contract, Kim. Tony brought us an exciting young writer who had innovative ideas on platform management. It’s time to step up our game.”
Kim leaned back in her chair. “This is ageism.”
“It’s not.” Neil leaned back, too, mirroring Kim’s body language. “Tony said you’re having some legal troubles. He said you were having trouble getting your copy in on time.”
“Once. And I was only two days late.”
Neil pursed his lips for a moment before addressing her in a purposefully gentle voice. “It sounds like, perhaps, you should focus on your family and your lawsuit for now. I’m sure you’ll be able to pick up more work when your personal life settles down.”
He knew. He knew everything: Ronni’s eye, the lawsuit, Jeff’s drug use, Kim and Tony’s brush with adultery. . . . Tony had shared every sordid detail with their client in order to steal the account. The evidence was in Neil’s eyes, full of pity, disgust, judgment. . . .
Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she stood. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, voice quivering. “I’ve always been a consummate professional.”
Neil stood, too. “And my reference letter will reflect that.”
Kim moved toward the boardroom door, her body vibrating with rage and shame. Neil didn’t follow, didn’t offer to walk her out, but his relief at getting rid of her was palpable. He couldn’t wait for the dismissal to be over so he could forge ahead with his new, hipster flyer team. Well, it was not going to be quite that neat and tidy.
She paused in the doorway and turned toward him. “I didn’t want to say anything but . . . Tony’s being investigated for child pornography.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She walked out.
IT SHOULDN’T HAVE upset her so much. She didn’t need the job—Jeff had made that abundantly clear since the day she’d signed the contract—but she wanted the job. That flyer was the only thing Kim had that was hers alone. It was her foot in the door, her semi-creative outlet. It was the only fucking thing that kept her from becoming the cliché of the overbearing stay-at-home mom with no life outside her children. “I work part-time,” she would say, and watch the impressed expressions on people’s faces, see them marvel at her ability to juggle a job and hands-on parenting. As she drove toward Hillcrest, her chest felt heavy with the weight of longing and regret.