Love and Miss Communication Read Free

a senior associate, it was Evie’s job to marshal the juniors toward the finish line. Florencio Alvez, Calico’s COO, had sent her nine new messages in the last hour. She had a particular fondness for Florencio, who she knew had personally requested that she be put on the project. They had worked together previously when Calico sold off its residential parts division last fall. It was those moments—being in charge of a team, the satisfaction of a job well done, having her efforts rewarded by being personally solicited by a client—that made the tedious work and the grueling late nights almost manageable. She responded to Florencio and rested her head against the cushions once again, but couldn’t find peace. She was still stressed about being so late to the wedding, and even more so, unnerved by her conversation with Bette.
    Looking out the window, she noticed there was still another ten blocks of Lincoln Tunnel traffic before they would pick up any speed. She decided to call her mother, Fran, for a pick-me-up. Fran was what most daughters would consider a maternal dream come true: wholly uncritical, perpetually optimistic, and unfailinglysupportive. If Fran ever expressed worry about her daughter being overworked or lonely, she was sure to mask it exclusively as concern for Evie’s happiness. This was unlike Bette, who didn’t bother with pretense. Bette was legally blind when it came to finding a bright side in bad situations, which was a personality trait Evie regrettably shared. Fran, on the other hand, was the master of manufacturing silver linings.
    “Hi, Mom,” she said.
    “Hi, Evie—where are you?”
    “On the way to Paul’s wedding, though I’m like friendship-ending late at this point. There is so much Lincoln Tunnel traffic. Honestly, who knew so many people wanted to go to New Jersey?”
    “You’ll get there, sweetie. Please congratulate Paul for me. How are you doing?”
    “I’m fine, but I just had the most aggravating conversation with Grandma.” Evie relayed the details.
    “Evie, you know how she is. She’s a woman of a different generation. She wants you to get married, have kids. She never had the chance to pursue a real profession. It’s foreign to her.”
    “What about you? Is that what you want too?” Evie asked. “I assume you’re excited that your daughter might be a partner at Baker Smith in a matter of months. There are only like twenty female partners total.” Twenty-two to be precise, but Evie didn’t want to show that she’d counted.
    Before having Evie, Fran was an advertising executive at Ogilvy in their D.C. office. After becoming a mom, Fran parlayed her experience into consulting work for local businesses, still finding time to devote considerable attention to her real passion—third-tier regional theater.
    “You know I’m proud,” Fran said. Evie noticed her mother didn’t answer the first part of her question.
    “Good. Because it’s a really big deal. I wish someone would acknowledge how prestigious this is. Or at least pretend.”
    “I do realize. Remember the ‘Yale Mom’ hat I wanted to wear on Parents’ Weekend but you wouldn’t let me? I’m very proud. But these are your accomplishments, not mine. You don’t need my validation. Or Bette’s.”
    Don’t I? Evie wondered. It certainly seemed at times that she did.
    “I know that.”
    “Listen, honey, you have a great time at the wedding. We’re meeting a colleague of Winston’s in town for dinner, so I have to jet.”
    Winston was Evie’s ultra-WASPy stepfather, who Fran married two years after Evie’s dad passed away unexpectedly. Winston was tall and built like a boxcar. His face was perpetually tan. Not in an artificial orange way—more like a worn-in leather couch. Pink polos and Nantucket red pants with embroidered whales made up a good chunk of his wardrobe.
    “Oh, and don’t forget that April and May are also coming for brunch tomorrow,” Fran added, referring to Evie’s