Chapter 53
53
Sunday 13 November
Even though I had a lot of things to say to Suresh in person, I didn’t use Valerie’s PI. That’s just not how I roll. But I did tender my resignation, as promised, via email.
Then all hell broke loose. But thanks to the wonders of technology, I muted all the hysterical texters. I turned on Netflix, and I literally, not euphemistically, chilled.
I felt great.
Monday 14 November
Went to the office to collect my personal items, as requested by HR. My garden leave of three months had been approved by, you guessed it, Evan himself.
Three months. That is almost unheard of in this part of the world and in this sector. I was almost feeling guilty for the firm when I remembered all the long hours of overtime I’d sacrificed to these ungrateful bastards in the hope of making partner, and all the guilt evaporated in a jiffy.
Got in around 4:00 p.m. to complete my exit interview with a skinnier Mong, back from his second dengue scare and who couldn’t stop blinking away tears during that one hour, bless him, and the stony-faced HR manager.
When the HR manager had gone, I pulled out my phone to ask Mong about the email I had seen. I needed the closure.
“Did you really think Suresh was the better candidate for partner this year?”
He did a double-take. “Suresh? What are you talking about?”
Wordlessly, I showed him the screenshot of his email.
Mong read what was on the screen and looked a bit shocked. “Andrea, honestly, that’s not what happened. Here’s the actual email I sent.”
He showed me his phone. “Read it,” he said quietly.
Dear partners,
In terms of both candidates, Suresh and Andrea, I do think that Suresh is the better candidate on paper . . . but Andrea is the better candidate overall. She is a fighter. She will never give up. That’s what I think if you asked me to choose between these two excellent candidates.
Best, Sim Mong
“I chose you,” he said. “I will always choose you, my Work Daughter. Besides, you do get that you saw a
draft
email, right? Did you really think that I would miss a full stop? Me?”
“I didn’t know what to think, I was so shocked,” I admitted. A tear came to my eye. “But I suppose I should have known better than to think the legendary Toh Sim Mong would commit a typo.”
“Amen.” He hugged me, tight. “Dear God, I’ll miss you. I wish you the very best in the next stage of your career. I have no doubt you will be a star, no matter where you end up . . . just as long as it’s not with a competitor.”
“It won’t be,” I assured him, sniffling.
“Right-o, my love.”
Then he left me to go back to work, indubitably.
I entered my office and saw my team—Kai; my juniors, Josiah
and Xi Lin; the associates I was friendly with: Carla, Pei Lynn, Dina, and Wai Seng—gathered inside with a farewell cake and gifts, including a beautiful ink-black Chanel 19 maxi flap bag from Mong (thanks to Kai’s guidance, no doubt). I was so touched.
When the eating, singing, and speeches were done and everyone had left, I started to pack my belongings into the large Ikea plastic crates and several cardboard boxes that Kai had prepared for me. I heard a knock on the door and said absently, “Come in.”
“It’s me,” Suresh said, looking dapper in a sharp dove-gray suit and a turquoise tie. He shut the door behind him.
I pretended to be busy, riffling through an open box I’d just packed, consisting mostly of, surprise surprise, old sports bras and leggings. “Can I help you with something?” I said stiffly.
He picked up a business card (Langford-Bauer’s) from the “dump” pile on my table and studied it intently, maybe because I’d crossed out his name and scrawled “Satan’s spawn” on it. “I heard yesterday that you’re leaving the firm from Anousha, who heard it from Evan. Obviously I was the last to know. Just like when Eric proposed to you.”
His tone was prickly, and I felt my hackles rising. “Well, it’s not like we’ve been communicating much since Anousha came back,” I said.
“And now you’re leaving the firm, I’m guessing to become Mrs. Deng?” His tone was cutting. “I don’t blame you: you’ve always hated your job, and now here’s your gilded exit strategy.”
So Suresh still thought I was engaged to Eric, and that little barb, from him of all people . . .
“Well, I’m glad I’m not stuck in a dead relationship where my partner treats my career as being more important than the man himself,” I blurted, too hurt to correct him about Eric.
He was bemused. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Why don’t you ask Anousha, who you never broke up with,” I replied, ducking my head and picking up the box before he could
see the tears welling in my eyes. “Well, no worries. With me out of the running you’ll definitely have a clear shot at being made partner next year.”
He threw up his arms. “Andrea, what are you
talking
about? I quit. Almost a month ago. And I’ve negotiated an early exit from my notice period.
That’s
what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“What, because even Anousha couldn’t make you partner?” I said.
“Andrea, I’ve
never
been in serious contention for partnership, not this year anyway, even if I’m eligible for it. My move to Singapore was in reality a self-inflicted demotion because, and you should have known this, there was no way I could have built up my network and brought in enough business this year in time for the partnership rounds. That’s why Inderjit’s been so adamant about buying us a house in London. He wanted me back in the partnership saddle—
in London
.”
“But you kept talking about it!”
“I was still halfheartedly working toward it, but only because Anoush wanted an expensive wedding. Then somewhere along the line, in Jakarta, when I had a lot of time to think, it became abundantly clear I didn’t care about being partner or even being a lawyer at all. Plus I liked needling you. You seemed so obsessed with it, so I thought I’d play along.”
“B-but . . .” My thoughts were speeding in every direction; I was gobsmacked. “So . . . so . . . so who got made partner?” It was the only question I trusted myself to ask without bursting in to tears. All this while I’d been beefing with him over the stupid partnership—and he hadn’t even been in contention?
He pressed his lips into a pale line. “It was Genevieve. Haven’t you heard? They just announced it over email.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had ruined
everything
because of Genevieve. No, I corrected mentally, because of my stupid ego, because I was so obsessed with being the best. I was furious.
“But what . . . what will you do next?”
“My comic. I’m going to try to turn it into a graphic novel, like that agent suggested.”
“Congrats,” I said.
“But enough about me, what about you and Eric? What’s next?”
“We’re buying a castle together,” I lashed out.
“Good for you,” he said tonelessly. “I broke up with Anousha yesterday, by the way, when she got back from her one-month observership in Seattle.”
“Good for you,” I said, equally tonelessly, even though I felt as though someone had sucker punched me. So that’s why he took so long to do it. He was consistent in being a gentleman, at least.
Then I bolted with the half-packed box of stuff I’d been working on before he came in. Despite my recent journey of self-improvement, I’m still at heart afraid of confrontation; I wanted to resolve the misunderstanding, but I was terrified he’d laugh at me and say that I’d just been a distraction at work, and now that he wasn’t gunning for partner, now that he’d broken up with the woman he’d been with for over a decade, he’d want to be single or date someone hotter and more successful than me.
So while I still had several boxes in my office, I would get Kai to retrieve them for me later. I just had to get away.
I ran to the toilet, found an empty stall, and shut myself in there. I tried to stem the rising tide of tears by thinking about the spring collection of Louis Vuitton bags, but that backfired since I wouldn’t be able to afford them anymore. Shit. Then I thought about the chaos that would hit my least favorite clients, what with me and Suresh leaving, the two best hustlers in the firm, and someone subpar like Genevieve being made partner, and like magic all my tears and regrets about leaving died away.
Every dark cloud has a silver lining—but theirs wouldn’t.
All’s well that ends well—except for them.
Good things come to those who wait—and they will wait forever.
(OK, OK, I’ll stop.)
I stayed in there longer than I should admit, not wanting to run into Suresh again on my way out. Finally I got myself together, gathered my things, left the toilet with my head held high, and got into the elevator, where I promptly bumped into Genevieve, who’d been on maternity leave till a couple of weeks ago and had returned looking svelte and well rested, everything a mother with a newborn wouldn’t usually be. I savored the small happiness of knowing I’d never have to see her or smell her again. When the doors opened to the building lobby, I was about to breeze past her (as fast as I could, considering I was carrying a box of books and other trinkets), when she piped up in a conversational voice all the while side-eyeing me, “Isn’t it a shame when people leave? Especially when they know they can’t go further in a firm?”
Something in me detonated. Maybe it was yesterday’s shrimp curry. I didn’t linger to investigate. “I wouldn’t be so smug: your husband is on TINDER, and WE MATCHED!” I shouted, as the elevator doors closed on her surprised, and grossed-out, face before she could make her own exit. And I know it was childish, dear Diary, but by golly, it felt good.
I can’t believe I used to care about what she thought about my choices in life.
I placed the box on the floor and fished in the packed Celine bag for some tissues to plug my running nose (allergies triggered by Genevieve’s ridiculous fragrance) when I realized there was something else in there that I’d managed to forget about: Suresh’s letter.
My heart hammering, I tore it open with trembling hands. Read the handwritten words, again and again, until my vision swam with it.
And then I began to run.