“But that’s why I have to think about it. Because it’s my problem.”
Evelyn hears me. I can tell she’s taking me se
riously from the way she puts her water glass down and looks directly at me, leaning with her forearms on the table. “You have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here, Monique. You can see that, right?”
“Of course.”
“So do yourself a favor and learn how to grab life by the balls, dear. Don’t be so tied up trying to do the right thing when the smart thing is so painfully clear.”
“You don’t think that I should be forthright with my employers about this? They’ll think I conspired to screw them over.”
Evelyn shakes her head. “When my team specifically requested you, your company shot back with someone at a higher level. They only agreed to send you out once I made it clear that it was you or it was no one. Do you know why they did that?”
“Because they don’t think I—”
“Because they run a business. And so do you. And right now, your business stands to go through the roof. You have a choice to make. Are we writing a book together or not? You should know, if you won’t write it, I’m not going to give it to anyone else. It will die with me in that case.”
“Why would you tell only me your life story? You don’t even know me. That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”
“What are you after, Evelyn?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“I’m here to interview you.”
“Still.” She takes a sip of water, swallows, and then looks me right in the eye. “By the time we are through, you won’t have any questions,” she says. “All of these things you’re so desperate to know, I promise I’ll answer them before we’re done. But I’m not going to answer them one minute before I want to. I call the shots. That’s how this is going to go.”
I listen to her and think about it, and I realize I would be an absolute moron to walk away from this, no matter what her terms are. I didn’t stay in New York and let David go to San Francisco because I like the Statue of Liberty. I did it because I want to climb the ladder as high as I possibly can. I did it because I want my name, the name my father gave me, in big, bold letters one day. This is my chance.
“OK,” I say.
“OK, then. Glad to hear it.” Evelyn’s shoulders relax, she picks up her water again, and she smiles. “Monique, I think I like you,” she says.
I breathe deeply, only now realizing how shallow my breathing has been. “Thank you, Evelyn. That means a lot.”
EVELYN AND I ARE BACK in her foyer. “I’ll meet you in my office in a half hour.”
“OK,” I say as Evelyn heads down the corridor and out of sight. I take off my coat and put it in the closet.
I should use this time to check in with Frankie. If I don’t reach out to update her soon, she’ll track me down.
I just have to decide how I’m going to handle it. How do I make sure she doesn’t try to wrestle this away from me?
I think my only option is to pretend everything is going according to plan. My only plan is to lie.
I breathe.
One of my earliest memories from when I was a child was of my parents bringing me to Zuma Beach in Malibu. It was still springtime, I think. The water hadn’t yet warmed enough for comfort.
My mom stayed on the sand, setting down our blanket and umbrella, while my dad scooped me up and ran with me down to the shoreline. I remember feeling weightless in his arms. And then he put my feet in the water, and I cried, telling him it was too cold.
He agreed with me. It was cold. But then he said, “Just breathe in and out five times. And when you’re done, I bet it won’t feel so cold.”
I watched as he put his feet in. I watched him breathe. And then I put my feet back in and breathed with him. He was right, of course. It wasn’t so cold.
After that, my dad would breathe with me anytime I was on the verge of tears. When I skinned my elbow, when my cousin called me an Oreo, when my mom said we couldn’t get a puppy, my father would sit and breathe with me. It still hurts, all these years later, to think about those moments.
