It was the middle of January. New York City snow had come and gone, leaving a disgusting gray slush along the sidewalks and edges of the road. Kristine, whose boss had sent her out for a very specific coffee order thirty minutes ago, now hustled in heels through the sludge, her eyes on the automatic doors that would welcome her back into the warmth of the high-rise building. Upstairs, Richard waited for his coffee— and she already knew he wasn’t happy with how long she’d been.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Kristine grumbled at the coffees, which sloshed angrily and burnt her fingers. The line at Richard’s favorite coffee place had wrapped around the corner because it had offered some deal on a new marshmallow chocolate chip brownie. When she’d asked Richard if another coffee shop would work for him today, he’d texted back angrily: JUST DO YOUR JOB.
In the elevator, Kristine tried to steady her breath. There was nothing worse than gasping in front of Richard, who so often berated her for her lack of fitness. When was she supposed to exercise? Sometime after her fourteen-hour shift? After the short dinner she normally stuffed it into her mouth before she passed out in bed. When?
Again, Kristine reminded herself of how lucky she was to have gotten this job at all. As Patrick said, thousands of business students had applied for the position after graduation, and Kristine had been Richard’s choice. This was the steppingstone to greatness.
Richard’s secretary hissed as Kristine approached. “Where have you been? And why do you look like you ran a marathon to get here?”
Kristine puffed her cheeks. “The line was around the block.”
“So? You know what to do, Kristine. You lie. Tell them you’re late for a funeral. Anything to get to the front,” the secretary said.
Kristine flared her nostrils angrily. Little did this secretary know that Kristine had experienced her fair share of loss and wasn’t so keen on lying about a funeral. Her father had died, for goodness sake.
“Just go,” the secretary said, waving toward Richard’s door. “He has fifteen minutes to go over the next account with you. Let’s pray he doesn’t take your head off.”
Kristine rapped on the door, heard Richard’s arrogant, “Come in,” and entered. Richard sat behind his desk, studying a print-out upon which Kristine had written every detail that he was required to know for his upcoming meeting with a new client. Last night, Kristine had stayed two hours after everyone else to finish that document, which he now basically threw to the corner of the desk.
“Kristine.” He shot her name icily. “When you hear that I need a cup of coffee, do you think to yourself, ‘Oh! I have three hours to do that.’”
Kristine’s tongue was very dry. “The line was around the block.”
Richard waved a hand, uninterested. “Do you know how many people wanted this job, Kristine? How many people would trade their right arm to stand where you are today?”
Kristine bristled but said nothing. She wanted to ask Richard when he would drop the coffee issue so they could get to the task at hand. If Kristine didn’t prep him for this next meeting, he wouldn’t be ready for it. He would look like a fool.
Kristine placed his cup of coffee on the desk, sat in the chair opposite him, removed her notepad from her pocket, and tapped the edge of her pen against the paper. She looked at him expectantly as though she was the adult, and he was the toddler.
“Victor has a real problem with our initial pitch,” Kristine said simply, choosing to ignore his tantrum. “Which is why I’ve restructured points two through five, as you can see on that document.”
Richard coughed and flipped through the document again. “If only I wasn’t so tired. Maybe I could make sense of this.”
“There’s a coffee right in front of you.”
“Let’s not use such a sharp tone with me, young lady.” His eyes glittered menacingly.
Kristine had the insane desire to throw the contents of her coffee cup onto his pristine white shirt. Instead, she righted her smile and said, “As I said, I think Victor will appreciate the slight changes to the narrative. If you follow the script in front of you, I imagine the meeting will go very smoothly. What do you think?”
Back at Kristine’s desk, she dropped her face into her hands and allowed a few tears to fall into her palms. It was important she didn’t let her colleagues see her weakness, as that sort of thing was always used against her. Like Richard and Patrick reminded her, everyone wanted her job, and everyone wanted to undermine her. Tears were a woman’s thing. She had to be hard like a man supposedly was.
Kristine scanned her emails and was grateful to find her mother had written her not an hour before. Kristine had asked her mother to email her rather than text her, as it meant reading Heather’s emails would look more like work.
Kristine,
Hi, honey. I hope you’re doing all right. I’ve just come from the hospital to see Aunt Kim. Unfortunately, she’s still in a coma, and the doctors have no idea how long it will last. The longer it goes, the more difficult it will be for her to recover. As you can imagine, Jennifer has been inconsolable. We’ve had her over to the Keating House a few times for dinner, but it’s very difficult to get her mind off the topic of her mother. We all know that Aunt Kim was a wonderful snowmobile rider. Who knows what happened out on that road?
It terrifies me to remember that anything can happen at any time. Please, tell me that you’re keeping yourself safe in the city. Please, tell me that you and your sister are taking good care of each other.
I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of that boss of yours. You’ve been quiet about him since New Year’s, but I want you to know that I’m here to talk whenever you need to. You were always so driven to meet your goals, but this boss doesn’t have to be a “necessary steppingstone” to those goals, you know? Maybe there’s no real space for cruelty in the world. There shouldn’t be, anyway.
I love you so much,
Mom
Kristine managed to leave the office at half-past seven, at which time she scrambled into the night and hailed a cab to take her to Brooklyn. In the soft darkness of the back of the cab, she texted Bella and Patrick that she was on her way. Bella wrote back immediately to say she and her sort-of boyfriend, Florian, were already there. Patrick didn’t write at all.
Kristine’s heart thudded slowly. Outside her window, she took in the dramatic contrasts of a city that would always surprise her. People wore haute-couture or else slept in tents under bridges. Kristine and Bella were somewhere in the middle, both hungry with dreams. Kristine was to be a high-powered businesswoman and marry into a powerful New York City family, while Bella wanted to crawl up the ladder of the art world. It was funny where life took you.
Bella and Florian already sat at the trendy restaurant in Brooklyn, there beneath a lime green light, their hands clasped over the table as they chatted joyfully. Kristine’s heart lifted, and her shoulders released their tension. She would always feel that way when she saw her twin. It was always like coming home.
“Hi!” Bella jumped up, dropping Florian’s hands to hug Kristine close.
“Oh. Hi.” Kristine breathed, closing her eyes tightly. “You smell so good! New perfume?”
Bella laughed as their hug broke. “I stole some from Florian’s roommate.” She furrowed her brows, studying Kristine’s face as they sat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Kristine waved a hand.
“It’s Richard. Isn’t it? That idiot. He makes your life a living hell.”
Kristine shook her head, not wanting to get into it. “Mom emailed me today. Kim’s still…”
Bella nodded, a shadow passing over her face. “I know. She wrote me, too.” She then turned to Florian to explain, “Our Great Aunt Kim was in a terrible snowmobile accident on New Year’s Day. We’d just spent the day with her. She’s been in a coma ever since.”
“That’s terrible.” Florian stuttered sadly. “Do they know what caused the accident?”
Bella and Kristine shook their heads, both awash with memories of their beautiful great-aunt. Before either of them could think of something to say next, Patrick breezed through the double-wide doors, nodded at a passing waitress, and dropped down to kiss Kristine on the cheek. Kristine found her voice and said, “Hello! How was your day?”
Bella and Florian both exchanged glances, probably about Patrick’s swanky suit and his demeanor, which demanded attention and respect. That was okay. That’s what this dinner was about, anyway. Kristine wanted Bella and Patrick to learn to like one another. No, that wasn’t it. She needed them to like each other. It was one of the most important things in her life.
“I just closed a fantastic account,” Patrick said as he sat, rapping his knuckles against the table. “You should have seen me in there. I had complete control over the room. Everyone was eating out of my hands.”
Bella and Florian tried to smile.
“That’s fantastic, Patrick.” Kristine squeezed his arm.
“So, I guess you’re well on your way to reaching your New Year’s Resolution,” Bella suggested, her voice lined with acid.
“Pardon me?” Patrick asked, apparently not remembering what he’d said for his resolution.
“Never mind,” Bella offered. She then glanced toward Florian and said, “Florian just got an offer to feature his sculptures in a gallery space here in Brooklyn.”
“That’s great news!” Kristine said.
Patrick bristled. “Which gallery space?”
“The Pyramid,” Florian said proudly.
Patrick dropped his gaze to the menu. “I see.”
Florian arched his brow. “Is there something wrong with The Pyramid?”
“No, no. I just know the real money doesn’t show itself at that kind of gallery,” Patrick said evenly. “But you know. It’s a steppingstone to the next thing.”
Bella looked livid. “Excuse me? When was the last time you had your art featured in a gallery, Mr. Businessman?”
Patrick laughed. “Art isn’t exactly my thing, as you know. Money, on the other hand, is. I’m just saying. Maybe if I had been Florian, I would have waited for a better offer.”
“Well, you’re not Florian,” Bella seethed.
Kristine wrapped her hand tenderly around Patrick’s bicep. “Why don’t we order some cocktails?”
Bella continued to glare at Patrick, even when Florian whispered for her to “drop it.” The waiter soon arrived and took their cocktail orders, along with a selection of appetizers. Kristine reminded herself not to eat too much, as she’d seen a dramatic uptick in respect from Richard since she’d lost about three pounds. She didn’t want to lose that respect.
The night continued on, with Patrick finally finding it within himself to ask Bella about her painting series and Florian about his sculptures. Kristine was grateful to fall into the cadence of her sister’s words, surrounded by both her love and Patrick’s. Later, in the bathroom, when Bella asked her (yet again) if she really thought Patrick was “the one,” Kristine bristled and asked, “Isn’t he getting better?”
To this, Bella said, “Do you really want to date someone who has to ‘get better’ when it comes to the way he treats your family?”
“He loves me, Bella. I’m happier than I’ve been in years,” Kristine insisted.
Bella nodded, her eyes wide. It was clear she didn’t believe her. Kristine wasn’t sure if she believed herself, either.