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I glance at the clock. There are still two hours left to tick away before the meeting at the upscale restaurant, which gives me enough time to finish getting ready, have a moment of panic, reset myself and my armor of practiced poise, and then take the subway to the restaurant. Perfect.
It’s ‘just’ a lunch meeting, but the truthis, it could change my life. Which is why, with each passing second, I have to work harder to pretend I’m not growing more and more nervous.
The morning sunlight streams through the window, casting a soft glow over my tiny bedroom. Well, it technically doesn’t qualify as a bedroom, but it’s where I sleep in the too-small apartment I share with my roommate and bestie, Maggie. We’ve done what we can, but it’s nothing special—too bland due to the clauses in our rental contract, and too expensive to do anything about it, anyway.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves by staring into my eyes in the mirror instead of focusing on the paint on my bedroom walls because that isn’t going to help. What is going to help is nailing this meeting, because if it works out, I’ll be able to afford a place that can’t be mistaken for a closet.
I can't be anything short of perfect at this business lunch.
I head to the closet I share with Maggie, staring at the array of clothes hanging before me. If there’s one area that I don’t need to splurge on, it’s clothes. My closet goes all the way back to my high school days. I’d gotten a summer job as a receptionist, and with my first paycheck, I bought myself a layered silk blouse that made me feel unstoppable. Back then, it’d taken so little for me to stand tall and proud, but that naivete has been tested through the years. Still, the blouse makes me smile wistfully.
I run my fingers over the different fabrics and colors, each piece holding a memory or an emotion. There’s the jade green minidress, a clingy little number I got online that I wore for my twenty-first birthday celebration, and again on my twenty-fifth. Both good memories.Absolutely not appropriate.
There’s the black and white skirt and suit combo that I wore for my grandmother’s funeral. A tough memory that I don’t know I’ll ever be able to let go of. Gramma was a sweet lady who might not have had much, but she always had a lot of love and an infinite amount of patience with her rambunctiousgranddaughter. I still miss her, and I promised her that I’d wear this suit when I ‘make it’.
But that’s not today…yet.
My eyes land on a sleek black knee-length dress, its silhouette simple yet elegant. It was a gift from Evan, my boyfriend, a few months ago. At the time, things between the two of us had started to get a bit rocky because I’d been busy and stressed about landing a job after my internship. He’d bought the dress, saying it was a show of faith in my skills. I’d read it as a show of faith in our future too.
It’s all going to work out, sooner rather than later, and starting with today. First, and most importantly, get the job. Second, get the guy. Third, happily ever after.
I snag the dress off the hanger, feeling like it’ll bring me good luck, and hold it against my body. It’s perfect against my curves. It really is one of the finest dresses I’ve ever seen, let alone owned, and when I’m in it, I feel invincible. Evan has wealth I can only imagine, so of course, the most expensive dresses in here are from him.
As I stare in the mirror, considering my reflection, all I can think is that even though the dress is expensive, it isn’t memorable. And today requires making a statement.
Reluctantly, I put it back. Indecision doesn’t typically follow me around every corner. I know who I am, what I’m capable of, and have perfected the art of putting on an armor to disguise my ho-hum upbringing, lack of an Ivy League education, and barely established upper-crust contacts. But today will make or break me. This is the opportunity of my lifetime, and I’ve never felt as much pressure as I do in this moment.
The hangers slip across the metal rod as I search through every single dress I have and then scope out Maggie’s clothes, too. Thankfully, she doesn’t mind sharing, and we’re not too far off size-wise, but her style is significantly more fashion-forward than myconservative wear.
Maggie and I met freshman year of college when we were assigned roommates. Despite our differences—who’d think a fashion marketing major and an economics major would be friends?—we became thick as thieves. We later chose to remain roommates, even after graduation, when she generously invited me to continue our arrangement. I pay a pro-rated amount that’s significantly less than what she and her supportive parents pay, but she still helps clean the bathroom every week, the same way I do.
Finally, I spot the perfect ensemble—a deep emerald-green blouse, paired with a tailored black pencil skirt. Not mine, unfortunately, but Maggie won’t mind sharing.
The green and black go perfectly with my long, black hair, giving me a professional and eye-catching look that’s entirely badass future executive.
I’ll look like not only do I belong there, but my presence is what’s been missing.
I quickly change into the outfit, feeling a surge of confidence as I smooth out the fabric over my thighs.
Checking out my backside, I smile.This is the one. I canfeelit. “Next time we go out,” I tell my reflection, “remind me that Maggie’s drinks are on us.”
I’m just deciding on what purse to pair it with when my phone goes off. I glance, grinning as I see it’s a pair of group chat texts, one from Maggie and the other from our mutual friend, Ami.
You got this!
Yasssssss! You don’t need luck, you’re that damn good!
It’s both inspirational and eye-rolling, but they serve their purpose in making me smile. At that same moment, I see that Evan hasn’t messaged me yet, but we talked last night, where I wished him good luck before a business dinner of his own. Later, I asked how it went, but he didn’t respond.
He’s probably busy this morning, I tell myself as I take asteadying breath. I make a mental note to check in with him after the interview. He’ll want to know how it goes, and I want to hear about his dinner. I’m sure it went well for him. Failure isn’t something he’s familiar with. After all, he grew up in the Wall Street life.
With my outfit and makeup complete, I give myself one last look in the mirror, taking in the sophisticated image I've created. The nervousness still lingers, but I’ve hidden it away so deeply that it’s not visible. I won’t let something as flighty as butterflies hold me back.
Fake it ‘til you make it.
It’s probably not the best piece of cliché advice, but it’s worked in the past so I’m not messing with it.
I left a small town to come to the big city for school, made the most of that opportunity, and have worked damned hard to make a name for myself. I’ve hustled, doing side jobs to keep the bills paid while working an unpaid internship. I joined the right social groups and showed up at all the right events. I’ve outworked every other twenty-seven-year-old from London to Los Angeles and in the space between. I’ve got the education, the work experience, and the instincts to be more than just a paper pusher.
