“And my position?” I said.
The pause that followed was approximately four seconds. I counted it later, reconstructing the scene. Four seconds is a long time for a business conversation. It is the length of a pause that contains an answer the speaker does not want to give directly.
“We’re going to restructure,” Victor said. “Your role, as it currently exists, won’t continue.”
I want to be accurate about this. He did not say fired. He did not say terminated. He said restructure and won’t continue, and these are the words of someone who has decided something and also wants to believe he is being kind.
“You’ve been a huge part of getting us here, Grace. That’s not in question.”
Then what is in question, I did not say.
“What’s the notice period?” I said.
Four weeks, paid. Three months severance. Professional and clean. These are, I want to acknowledge, better than what is required, and I believe Victor offered them because he is someone who wants to believe he is fair. I took them, because they were real money and I was going to need real money.
I drove home. I sat in the car. I made a list.
The thing I did not know, in the car and for three weeks after, was the phrase my father had used to describe my eighteen years to someone who asked. It came to me from Jana, who is our operations coordinator and who has always been someone who tells the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, because she believes discomfort is preferable to a lie you discover later. She told me carefully, with apology built into her delivery. She had overheard it in a hallway conversation. She was not sure of the exact wording. She thought I should know.