I’m Not Afraid

Sophie

I promised myself I wouldn’t return to Just Add Coffee. When I got in my car earlier and started driving back there, it was because I had just finished a frustrating meeting where I was cut off, spoken over, and dismissed a record number of times. Neither of the men in the room cared to hear a word I had to say. That didn’t stop their lewd comments or lascivious looks, though. Safe to say, I was ticked. I wanted one of those amazing flat whites to take my mind off of the percentage of my clients who treat me as less than human.

Of course, Boyd had to bring up my little slip when he handed me my drink. He looked amused. I was mortified, but not enough to stop me from going back like I had initially thought. Yes, the coffee is that good. In my capacity organizing shipments from overseas for large companies, I’ve arranged plenty of coffee orders—never from a privately owned Indonesian farm. Hearing him talk about their niche market was really interesting.

My head is a jumbled mess when I return to work, running through potential contacts and options to look into more specialized farms to offer unique products to clients. Unique often means more expensive, but Just Add Coffee is evidence that also means superior.

“Sophie, your fath… uh, Mr. McNamara requested to see you immediately. I wasn’t sure where you were, so I bought you a little time,” Andy rambles as I walk past his desk toward my office.

Just what I needed. “Thanks, Andy.” I don’t ask what he said to placate my father, but it doesn’t matter. He will find something to be disappointed in me about, regardless. I could be in a hospital bed after having an emergency heart transplant and he’d be bothered by my lack of work ethic.

I walk down the corridor toward Henry McNamara’s office, stopping to ask his assistant, Joel, for permission to enter. He gives me the go-ahead, so I swing open the wide oak door.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes. I trust you sorted out your lady troubles?” My father points a vague finger toward my abdomen.

Not cool, Andy. Not. Cool.

“I’m fine. What do you need me for?”

“Clarence and John stopped in to see me after your meeting with them. They weren’t very pleased, Sophie. They requested another sit down with me.”

Of course they did. Now, I could fly off the handle in a fit of rage and blame it on PMS or uncontrollable lady hormones, but that only perpetuates the stereotype my father has created of women in business. That we’re delicate, unhinged, sensitive, emotional, and essentially useless. Instead, I say nothing. Defending myself to Henry is a lost cause, which I discovered before I even got my first period. I’ve had practice with this. You never anger the beast.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?”

Would it matter if I did? “There’s nothing to say. They weren’t happy, and you’re going to ‘handle it’, right?” I use air quotes because that’s what he says every single time.

“I’m never going to be able to leave this company to you if you don’t start handling it, Sophie.”

My jaw clenches as I dig my nails into my palms. The harder I work, the more I get the impression he’s not planning to leave me in charge, anyway. He’s just looking for excuses to make it sound more reasonable to freeze me out. Anyone who feels that their father’s love is unconditional is lucky. I’m pretty sure my father’s love is non-existent for anything other than his business.

“I went into that meeting prepared, and my presentation was on point. No matter how prepared I am, I can’t make people listen to me.” Should have stayed quiet. I regret my defensive words as soon as my brain processes them.

My father fiddles with a pen, tapping it against his opposite hand. “That’s your problem, Sophie. You don’t make people listen to you. If you’re going to succeed in this business, people need to trust what you’re saying and hang on to your every word. If they have questions, answer them without hesitating. Know the industry inside and out, and if there’s something you don’t know, pretend you do.”

Trust me, dear father, I know this business inside and out. I’ve made it my life. Given it my all. And for what? So my father can keep telling me I can never know enough because of my second X chromosome? If he wants me to prove I’m fierce enough to command attention, so be it.

“Yes, sir.”

I stomp back to my office, not bothering to check in with Andy upon my return. We’ll discuss my menstrual cycle as a defence at another date. For now, I have work to do.

It’s after seven before I leave the office. I was lucky to find a townhouse condo only three kilometres from the location my father moved McNamara Enterprises to, so the commute is minimal. I could walk, but the extra hour a day that adds isn’t something I can budget in. Plus, I need to walk Wilson when I get home.

Before I get to my door, I pass by Celeste’s and knock. I hear faint barking from the other side and smile. My little guard dog.

Celeste’s muffled, “Who do you think it is, huh?” makes me chuckle. She loves the little fur ball and talks to him like he’s going to reply. She swings the door open, greeting me with a smile. Her white hair is stylish in its pixie cut, and she’s dressed in a leopard-print blouse and burgundy capris pants. There’s never a day she doesn’t wear makeup and put herself together. In her words, ‘you never know who you’ll run in to.’

“Sophie, dear. Come in. I’ve made you dinner.”

I bend down to pet Wilson as I shuffle inside her home. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have whipped something up.”

“Nonsense. Not after working a full day. Let me make sure you’re fed properly. You’re far too skinny. Men like a woman with some meat on her bones.” The septuagenarian ambles toward her kitchen, waving off my comments.

I stop myself from pointing out that my goal in life is not to please a man with my figure, but I let it slide. She’s from a different era and most of the time, I love that about her. She reminds me of my grandmother, who thinks happiness lives and dies with a relationship. Though, clearly her eldest daughter didn’t inherit that way of thinking, because she’s stuck with my father for thirty years.

“Did you two have a good day?” I ask, slipping out of my shoes and walking into the small, open-concept space.

“Same as usual. We had a great round of Jeopardy! today. There was a category on crochet stitches and another on Elvis songs. Would you believe it?”

“Wow. Right up your alley.” I giggle to myself as I drop on her floral sofa. I know better than to ask if she needs help in the kitchen; she slapped my knuckles with a wooden spoon a few months ago when I tried to lend a hand.

Wilson climbs on my lap as soon as I’m seated, waiting for me to give him some attention. Not going to lie, it feels good that he still knows I’m his person. Celeste only has one estranged stepson and a granddaughter a few years younger than me, but they haven’t seen each other for more than a decade. Wilson has become her surrogate grandchild. She spoils him like any good grandparent would.

“Dinner won’t be but a minute. Tell me about your day. Anything interesting happen?” she asks in a sing-song voice.

My throat goes dry, causing me to cough as I’m scratching under Wilson’s chin. Interesting isn’t the word I’d use. Weird, sure. Being dismissed because I’m not a middle-aged man, so I can’t possibly be good at my job. Returning to my new favourite coffee shop for more reasons than the delicious drinks. Or having my tardiness excused because of fake period issues. I could tell Celeste about any of them, but because I don’t want to address the drama of my day, I oversimplify things. “No, nothing. Same old phone calls, emails, spreadsheets, and male chauvinists.”

“Oh, dear. I do wish you’d think about working somewhere else. You’re young and a real whipper-snapper. You don’t need that toxic place.”

She’s right. It is toxic, but it’s also my birthright. My obligation. I’ve invested too much into this job to go elsewhere. It would be like taking out a mortgage on a house, paying it for twenty years, then up and leaving it behind to take on a new mortgage somewhere else.

Anyone who has a hint of jealousy over children born to parents with a successful business, I wish they understood the flip side. The grass isn’t always greener. It’s not always guaranteed opportunities and trust funds. The only money I have comes from my paycheques. I’m not banking on an inheritance or having my income supplemented by “daddy dearest.” Mostly, the familial business connection has limited my potential, not enhanced it.

“Pay no mind to that now. It’s time to eat.” Celeste exits the kitchen with two steaming pasta bowls.

We sit at the small kitchen table with ivory upholstered chairs, eating mushroom stroganoff, drinking the remaining white wine Celeste didn’t use in the recipe. It may sound crazy, but aside from Ashlyn, my elderly neighbour is my best friend. I’m happy to say I’m hers, too.

By nine o’clock, I need to get home and prepare myself for tomorrow, so I say good night to Celeste, then Wilson and I walk fifteen feet to my front door. We only stop inside long enough for me to change into yoga pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers, then I take him for his nightly walk.

The entire three kilometre trek, Fall Out Boy pounds through my headphones, and all I can think about is my coffee break tomorrow. But it’s not just because of the coffee.