I HATE THAT I have to attend a weekly calendar meeting with my staff, but I accept that such a thing is part of being the person in charge. That doesn’t make it any easier to pay attention to Audrey as she details all the investors coming in to Vinea to chat with Logan and all the places Shane needs to go to discuss community relations.
I miss holing up in a room with my computer, three monitors blinking at me as I code furiously, chasing down the rush of a successful program that meets its objective: streamlining something important for people. Making their lives easier.
I sigh and look up at the screen, where Audrey is talking through the color-coded map of leadership obligations. Logan is in her element, syncing up links and bios for each executive in real time, attaching all the pertinent info to each calendar entry. I’m so glad I poached her from that shitty investment firm where they were treating her like crap.
I smile and admire my leadership team as they sit there, thriving. But, soon, it’s time to hear my list of responsibilities. My job has shifted so dramatically since I built my flagship software product. I used to jump out of bed with a busy mind and tinker with code. The first time I sent my program to another researcher, waiting to hear their opinion of the program was exhilarating. Like riding a roller coaster. The flurry of amazing text messages I got in response? Felt like one of the loops halfway through the ride, when you’re over the nerves and just loving the weightless experience of inertia.
“Mmm,” I say by accident, causing the team to turn and look. “Sorry. Was waxing nostalgic for a minute. Tell me more about this keynote address I’m delivering.”
Audrey folds her hands in front of her and leans toward me. “I hope the rest of the team will support me in saying I think it’s time we brought in more support.”
The room fills with murmurs of agreement and I look around. “What sort of support?”
Shane raises their hand. “Marketing and communications, please! We have to stop outsourcing to an agency. You need someone in-house and you need to stop writing your keynote addresses yourself. All due respect,” they pause and I nod, gesturing for them to continue. “A pro can come in here, whip up company emails, spruce up our web copy, talk to the press, and bang out a speech for you and it’ll feel like you wrote and said it all. I’m serious.”
I bite my lip. I’m friends with writers. I’m no stranger to the impact of good professional communicators. I’m just upset that it hadn’t occurred to me that we needed that here at Vinea. Well that’s not true. I always feel this desperate need to do everything myself. Who else can do it as well as me? Then I cringe, because I look around this table at all these people I love who are amazing at their jobs. I groan, suddenly worried our tremendous growth hasn’t been as well thought out as I assured the public. “What else do we need? Don’t hold back on me, team.”
They all start speaking at once until Audrey grabs a dry erase marker and starts taking notes on the walls. I’d forgotten the conference room had walls we could write on. That must have been Audrey’s idea. Soon, we have a plan in place to hire a vice president of business strategy, a communications director, and a few others whose titles I frankly don’t understand. But I trust Logan and Shane and Audrey when they say we need them.
I don’t love the idea of conducting this many executive job searches in the short amount of time before we go public. I start to panic a little bit, worrying that we should have had this sort of team in place long before we started accepting the level of investment we’re getting.
There are only a few minutes left in the meeting when we get to the calendar item I was most looking forward to discussing: the Franklin Middle School field trip. I perk up as Audrey reviews the plan of action, starting with the swanky chartered bus picking up the kids, continuing with the amazing breakfast and lunches we’re bringing in for them, and culminating in a bunch of hands-on activities we set up, including some coding workshops and fully loaded touch-screen tablets for the school to keep.
Logan figured out that if we donated all this stuff to the school PTA, we didn’t have to go through all the red tape of having the school board approve the tablets, and soon she and Shane are engaged in a technical battle of wits about fiscal and community responsibility. Audrey uses the opportunity to lean in to me and whisper, “did you happen to see that your dad’s birthday is next week, too?”
Crap. I swallow. “Yep, thanks Audrey, I’ve got it all in hand.”
I do not have it in hand. I haven’t made restaurant reservations anywhere, let alone made travel accommodations, bought a gift, or wrangled up my siblings for a celebration the Colonel won’t appreciate anyway. I’m going to have to charter a damn private plane if I want to be here for the field trip and also make it home to Virginia.
Logan and Shane agree to disagree about something and the meeting adjourns. I retreat to my office to figure my shit out before I have to meet with a research hospital CEO. “Okay,” I say to the empty room. “This is fine.” I pull out my phone to call my father, who answers after one ring.
“Colonel Vine speaking.”
“Hey, Dad. How’s your day going?”
“Samantha I don’t have time for casual conversation.”
I close my eyes. “Noted. Have you given any thought into how you’d like to celebrate your birthday?”
He pauses and I clench my teeth together. This could go so many directions, and I really wish I could predict which it would be. My father is like a computer program I can never crack. He’s not predictable, except that his actions are predictably unsettling. Eventually, he says, “I anticipate my children organizing a suitable celebration.”
Of course. And by “children,” he means me, because I’m the oldest. So, obviously, I’m meant to take on the full burden of organizing the meal and the gift so that my siblings aren’t inconvenienced by my “failure to plan ahead.” We went through this routine when Dad turned 50 the year I was launching Vinea while simultaneously attending school full-time with a double major in statistics and computer science. God forbid my brother or sister call a bakery or a restaurant.
I shake my head. That’s defeatist thinking and I need a growth mindset here. “Of course, Dad. I was just checking if you had a particular restaurant in mind. Or an experience! My friend Orla just took her dad on one of those pedal bar rides. It looked so fun, the whole family riding around sipping some suds…”
“We have open container laws here in Virginia, as you well know, Samantha.”
“Right. Anyway, I’ll call up the trattoria like usual. Six o’clock, right?”
“That is the standard time dinner is served.”
“Okay, well, I’ll probably meet you there since I’ll be traveling from my office.” I hurriedly wrap up the conversation before he can realize that I’m not taking a day off work to travel down there and spend quality time with my siblings.
I fumble around my desk for a piece of paper so I can write “CALL DAD” and then cross it off with flourish. I realize I own a tech company and could do this electronically. Sometimes the physical act of marking off a list feels cathartic. I decide to add CALL SEAN and CALL SARAH. And I add an H to her name just because I know it would piss her off if she saw it. I also know I’m not going to call her. She hasn’t spoken to me in years apart from absolute essential communication at holidays. I’ll send her a text after I give Sean his marching orders.
I manage to quickly book the restaurant online and order a small cake from my favorite bakery here in Pittsburgh. I figure I’ll just bring it with me on the flight, which I’ll have to book later. I’ve just about got myself psyched up to call my brother, when Audrey taps on the door. “Crap,” I say to her. “It’s time for the hospital guru, isn’t it?”
She nods. “Remember, she’s Belgian, so all the parts of her name have a French pronunciation.”
I squeeze her arm. “I appreciate you, Audrey. Always making me look good.” I stand up from my desk, smooth out my skirt, fluff up my hair, and walk away from chores that make me groan, toward a meeting that should fill me with energy.
Except I’m not quite feeling this meeting. I know the whole thing could be a quick email. Most research hospitals are already using Vinea in their labs, and sharing data across studies at different institutions. Our program makes it easier for labs to collaborate as long as they all have the right permissions. Of course, Vinea has the permission forms and International Research Standards built in as clickable options. My meeting today with Madame Dubois-Devos is just a formality. Yet instead of feeling excited to shake hands with someone else who loves my work, I feel unsettled.
As I walk with Audrey to the door, I decide it must be because my father was once again emotionless. I plaster on a smile and drum up my best French pronunciation as I greet my guest.