The Gown(40)

“Hi, Heather. Come on in. Take a seat.”

She sat, and waited, and eventually he dragged his eyes from the sheets of paper spread out on his desk. As if he was dreading what came next. Or, rather, wanted her to think he was dreading it.

“So. Heather. The people at MMI have been concerned by our drop in ad revenues for a while now. Very concerned. Now, they could have just shut us down, which would have been a disaster. Instead they’ve decided to start up a Canadian edition of Business Report, and Bay Street will be folded into it. Each issue will include eight to ten pages of purely Canadian content.”

Heather nodded.

“I’m sorry to say that the restructuring will involve some redundancies in our editorial staff here, and I’m especially sorry to tell you that your position has been eliminated.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. Not the most articulate response, but it wasn’t as if Richard was really listening.

“I want you to know that I’ve insisted they give you a very attractive package, very attractive, and I’ll provide a glowing reference. Absolutely. As well, MMI also offers career counseling and a variety of transition resources. Kendra in HR will be furnishing you—”

“So I’m out.” Finally she’d found her voice.

“Yes. I wish I could—”

“What about the offshore banking piece? I only just started digging in.”

“We’ve got it covered. And, well, I hate to do this, but MMI is asking that redundant staff vacate the premises as soon as possible.”

“Okay. I guess I had better get on it.” She stood, went to his door. “Good luck with everything,” she said, not bothering to turn around.

Since she routinely sent blind copies of all her emails to her Gmail account, all she had to do was copy her contacts list, send it and a handful of story ideas she’d been developing to her private account, and erase a few hundred personal messages. Easy enough to sort out before they sent in security to frog-march her out.

“God, Heather. This sucks.” Brett flopped down on his chair and let out a long, lingering, highly annoying sigh. He wasn’t the one who’d been canned.

“That’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Her voice felt weird. Robotic, if she had to describe it.

“Do you want me to get you some boxes? There’s a whole pile of them already set up in the hall.”

The suits had thought of everything. “Sure. But I only need one. I don’t keep much stuff here.”

It took her another ten minutes to pack up her things—some pictures in frames, her aloe vera plant, a handful of pens and sticky notes—and she was done. The box held before her like a shield, she said good-bye to her friends, promised she’d stay in touch, and retreated to the safety of the cab that Brett had called for her.

Not to cry. Not even to fume. She couldn’t be sure about it yet, but she wasn’t all that upset. A little unsure about what she’d do next; a little embarrassed, too. But her main feeling was relief.

Maybe this would give her a break. A chance to step off the hamster wheel and think about what she really wanted to do with her life. She hadn’t stopped scampering on that wheel for years. From high school to university to internship to job to job to job, she’d always said yes to the offers she’d been given, always convinced that forward was the only way to go. She’d had her head down for more than a decade now, staring at that wheel beneath her feet, so sure she’d trip and fall if she ever looked up.

Screw it. She was going to stop, and breathe, and let herself think for a change. And she was going to take a vacation before she set foot in another office.

SHE SPENT THE afternoon napping, only waking when a text from Michelle set her phone buzzing.

MICHELLE: hey you. still up for dinner tonight? where are you anyway?

HEATHER: upstairs. came home early. long story.

MICHELLE: ok. didn’t hear you. do you want to walk? reservation’s for 7. tanya’s meeting us there.

She didn’t say anything to Michelle and Sunita on the way over. Better to wait until they’d all had at least one drink, and then she’d get it over with. By the time Tanya arrived, a solid half hour late as usual, Heather was on her second glass of sauvignon blanc and was feeling a little punchy.

“So I lost my job,” she said as soon as Tanya was settled and their starters had been delivered.

“Whaaaat?” her friends chorused.

Sunita was shaking her head. “How is that even possible?”

“Corporate restructuring. I’d go into the details but it’s actually pretty boring.”

“Tell me they gave you a package,” Michelle implored. She was an accountant and the most practical person Heather had ever met.

“They did. Three months of pay, which isn’t bad. They also threw in career counseling, which, let’s be honest, is a total lie. They’ll probably just give me a pamphlet that describes how to write a winning résumé.”

“You’re not panicking, are you?” Tanya asked worriedly. “Because you really shouldn’t panic.”

“Of course you shouldn’t,” Sunita agreed. “You were the smartest person there.”

“Your stories were the best thing about that magazine. Everyone knows that.”

“Tanya’s right. They’ll be lost without you,” Michelle said. “And you don’t have to stay in magazines. You could try public relations. Or corporate communications—those jobs pay really well. You’d be making twice what Richard was paying you.”